The forest had never been quiet.
Even before dawn, when the sky still carried the dull grey of unfinished sleep, the forest behind Umu-Obi village always breathed. Birds argued with one another, insects hummed without rest, and leaves whispered secrets whenever the wind passed through them. Silence was not its nature.
That morning, Aderinsola noticed the silence before she noticed anything else.
She stopped walking.
The basket on her head shifted slightly as she froze, one hand instinctively rising to steady it. The dirt path beneath her bare feet felt the same as it always did—cool, slightly damp—but something else had changed. The air pressed against her ears, thick and empty, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.
"Did you hear that?" she asked quietly.
Beside her, Zainab adjusted the wrapper tied around her chest and frowned. "Hear what?"
Aderinsola didn't answer immediately. She turned slowly, eyes scanning the trees. Tall iroko trunks stood like watchful elders, their roots twisting into the earth. Nothing moved. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed unsure of itself.
"The forest," Aderinsola said finally. "It's too quiet."
Zainab snorted and shifted the basket on her own head. "You worry too much. Maybe they're sleeping."
"They don't all sleep at once," Aderinsola replied.
Zainab rolled her eyes. "You always say things like that. Come on. If we're late again, your aunt will not let us hear the end of it."
At the mention of her aunt, Aderinsola's shoulders stiffened. She adjusted her grip on the basket and continued walking, though she did not shake the unease crawling up her spine.
The path narrowed as they moved deeper into the forest, the red earth giving way to fallen leaves and tangled roots. This was familiar ground. Aderinsola had walked this path since she was old enough to balance a calabash on her head. She knew where the thorns hid, where the ground dipped suddenly, where snakes sometimes crossed at midday.
Yet today, her feet hesitated.
Zainab noticed. "Why are you dragging like that?"
"I just don't like this morning," Aderinsola said.
Zainab laughed. "Morning cannot like or dislike you. You sound like my grandmother."
Aderinsola smiled faintly but said nothing. Her grandmother used to say the same things—about mornings, about paths, about days that arrived with hidden intentions. Her grandmother also used to say that destiny rarely announced itself loudly.
They reached the clearing where wild yams grew, vines twisting around one another like restless fingers. Zainab bent to cut a thick vine, her machete slicing cleanly.
"Help me with that one," she said, nodding at a stubborn root.
Aderinsola stepped forward and crouched beside her. As she reached for the vine, a sharp chill brushed her wrist.
She jerked her hand back.
"What is it?" Zainab asked, alarmed.
"Nothing," Aderinsola said quickly, though her heart had begun to race. She rubbed her wrist. The feeling was gone, but unease lingered.
They worked in silence for a few minutes. The forest remained still.
Then Aderinsola felt it again.
This time, it wasn't a touch. It was a presence.
She straightened slowly.
"Zainab," she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Do you feel like… like someone is standing behind us?"
Zainab paused. "Don't do that."
"I'm serious."
Zainab stood and turned sharply, machete raised. There was nothing there. Just trees. Shadows. Stillness.
"You see?" Zainab lowered the machete. "Your mind is wandering."
Aderinsola wanted to believe her. Truly. But as they gathered their baskets and turned back toward the path, she noticed something that made her stomach tighten.
Their footprints were the only ones on the ground.
No animal tracks. No disturbed leaves. Nothing.
It was as if the forest had watched them arrive… and chosen not to follow.
They reached the edge of Umu-Obi as the sun climbed higher. Smoke curled lazily from cooking fires, and the distant sound of women pounding yam filled the air. Life resumed its familiar rhythm the moment they stepped out of the trees.
Zainab sighed in relief. "See? Nothing followed us. You worried for nothing."
Aderinsola nodded, though she didn't fully agree.
As they parted ways near the old well, Zainab hesitated. "You'll come to the river this evening, right?"
"If my aunt allows," Aderinsola said.
Zainab smiled. "When does she ever allow anything?"
Aderinsola watched her friend walk away before turning toward her aunt's compound.
The compound was quiet when she arrived. Too quiet.
"Auntie?" she called as she entered.
No answer.
She lowered the basket and stepped inside the mud-walled house. The air smelled of herbs and old smoke. Her aunt, Morenike, sat on a low stool near the back wall, grinding dried leaves with slow, deliberate movements.
"You're back early," Morenike said without looking up.
"The forest was strange today," Aderinsola said before she could stop herself.
Morenike's hands paused.
"Strange how?" she asked carefully.
Aderinsola hesitated. She had never heard that tone from her aunt before—quiet, guarded.
"It was quiet," she said. "Too quiet."
Morenike resumed grinding. "Forests have moods."
"That's what Grandma used to say."
Morenike's jaw tightened. "Your grandmother said many things."
Aderinsola swallowed. "Auntie… is there something I should know?"
Morenike stood abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. "Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Go and eat."
"Auntie—"
"I said go and eat."
Aderinsola fell silent. She turned away, but as she reached the doorway, Morenike spoke again, her voice low.
"Did anything touch you in that forest?"
Aderinsola froze.
"…No," she said after a moment.
Morenike studied her face, eyes sharp, searching for cracks. Whatever she saw there made her sigh.
"From today," Morenike said, "you will not enter that forest alone."
"I never go alone," Aderinsola replied.
"Even so," Morenike said. "If anyone calls your name from inside the trees—do not answer."
A chill slid down Aderinsola's spine.
"Why?"
Morenike turned away. "Because not everything that knows your name knows you."
That night, Aderinsola dreamed of footsteps behind her.
They were not loud. They did not rush. They followed at a careful distance, patient and unafraid.
When she woke, her heart pounding, the forest outside her window was silent again.
And somewhere beyond the trees, something that had noticed her that morning had decided not to look away.