Four years earlier
Yaba Psychiatric Institution
Lanre stood in the hallway staring through the small glass window of the metal door.
Inside the white room, men were breaking apart.
One scratched endlessly at his arms.
Another rocked back and forth on the floor, whispering to himself.
A third repeatedly slammed his forehead against the tiles.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The sound echoed through the corridor.
Lanre didn't blink.
Every first-born male in my family hears voices, he thought.
And eventually they end up here.
Or dead.
A whisper slipped through his mind.
Next.
Lanre's fingers curled slowly into fists.
Next.
The word repeated again.
Long. Thin. Quiet.
Next.
Lanre stepped back from the window.
Beside him stood his grandmother.
Small.
Bent.
But her eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
"They told us only the men were affected," Lanre said quietly.
The old woman sighed.
"I'm sorry about your sister."
Lanre's knuckles tightened until the skin split.
Blood dripped slowly onto the floor.
"The curse is growing."
Lanre turned away from the window.
Inside the room, a patient suddenly started laughing hysterically.
The sound crawled down his spine.
His grandmother continued calmly.
"I know you're angry."
Lanre stared at the metal door.
Small dents covered its surface.
Some were stained dark with old blood.
"Your wife had a baby girl recently," the old woman said.
Lanre froze.
The hallway suddenly felt smaller.
Darker.
The old woman slowly raised her head.
Her eyes met his.
"End it."
Lanre's stomach twisted.
"What?"
"Put an end to it."
For a moment, Lanre couldn't breathe.
His face twisted with disgust.
"You're insane."
But the whispers in his head were getting louder now.
Next.
Next.
Lanre glanced back through the window.
Inside the room, the patients had gone quiet.
All of them.
Every single one.
They were staring at the door.
At him.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.