HAUNTED HOUSE OF MR BELLO KILLISHI

The Haunted House of Mr. Bello Killishi

At the far edge of Odo-Ala Street, where the road thinned into red dust and silence, stood the house of Mr. Bello Killishi. It was a tall, narrow building with cracked walls the color of old bones and windows that never stayed open for long. Even in the heat of afternoon, its rooms remained dark, as if the sun itself feared to enter.People said the house breathed at night.Mr. Bello Killishi had not always lived alone. Long ago, he was known as a cheerful trader who traveled from village to village, selling cloth, kola nuts, and stories. He laughed loudly, prayed often, and welcomed strangers into his home. But one season, after returning from a long journey across the river plains, he changed.He came back wealthy—but quiet.His wife disappeared soon after. Some said she returned to her father’s house. Others whispered that she never left the compound at all. Mr. Bello gave no explanations. He simply locked the gate and stopped greeting the neighbors.

Then strange things began.

At night, lamps inside the house lit themselves. Shadows moved behind the curtains though Mr. Bello was seen sitting alone in the courtyard. Children passing by heard soft weeping mixed with low chanting, like a prayer spoken backward. Goats refused to stray near the fence, and birds never perched on the roof.

The elders warned everyone:
“Do not go near the house of Mr. Bello Killishi after sunset.”But curiosity is a stubborn spirit.One evening, during a power outage that drowned the street in darkness, a young schoolteacher named Sadiya took shelter under the mango tree opposite the house. Rain had begun to fall, and thunder rolled like angry drums. As she waited, she noticed the front door of the haunted house slowly open.

No hand touched it.

A cold wind spilled out, carrying the smell of damp earth and old incense. Sadiya’s heart pounded, but her feet refused to run. Inside, she saw Mr. Bello standing still, his eyes hollow, staring at a corner where a woman’s shape shimmered like smoke.

“Why do you keep me here?” the figure whispered.

Mr. Bello fell to his knees.
“I wanted wealth,” he cried. “They promised me riches. They said no blood would be spilled.”The figure’s voice hardened.
“Lies always collect their payment.”Suddenly, the walls trembled. Faces appeared in the cracks—men and women bound by shadows, victims of a dark covenant made by Mr. Bello in his hunger for fortune. He had traded souls he did not own, and the house became their prison.

Sadiya screamed.

At dawn, neighbors gathered to find the gate wide open. The house stood silent and empty. Mr. Bello Killishi was gone. Inside, the walls had collapsed into dust, as if the house had aged a hundred years overnight.Only one thing remained: a deep imprint in the ground, shaped like kneeling knees.From that day on, Odo-Ala Street grew peaceful again. But on quiet nights, when the moon is thin and the wind restless, people swear they hear a man’s voice praying for forgiveness—while a woman