MYSTERY BEHIND THE HALLWAY
Chapter 6: Echoes from the Dissection Room
The power outage had been unannounced—again.
It started with the usual flicker at 9:43 PM. Dara stood at the edge of her room's narrow corridor, the emergency bulb swinging in time with the wind brushing through open windows. Zainab was already asleep on the top bunk, her soft snores cut through the silence like the ticking of a forgotten clock.
But Dara was wide awake, torchlight in hand, heart pounding.
This was the third power outage in a week, and each time it happened, she noticed something strange—always at exactly the same time. Doors creaked that shouldn't. Lights flickered in locked labs. Her phone would glitch. And tonight, she was going to follow the trail.
She slipped on her hoodie and tucked a small notebook into the pocket of her jeans. A careful glance confirmed Zainab hadn't stirred. She padded out silently, past sleeping roommates, past the senior common room where a black-and-white TV had been left on static. The stairs echoed beneath her feet.
Destination: the Anatomy Lab.
The Campus at Night
Obafemi Awolowo University had a different face after midnight. The halls looked wider, somehow more ancient. The breeze whistled louder than in the day, like whispers pushed through the leaves by invisible hands. Buildings that once seemed sturdy and bright now loomed like watching sentinels.
She kept her eyes low and flashlight off most of the way, relying on memory and faint moonlight. Torch usage drew attention. She knew that. Besides, she'd walked this path many times.
But not like this.
The Anatomy Corridor
She reached the hallway. Block B. Past ANA 204. Tonight, her goal was beyond that cursed room.
The dissection room, officially labeled ANA 206, was kept locked except during scheduled lab work. But she'd noticed the cleaner last week had forgotten to bolt it shut after hours. That's when she saw something that hadn't left her mind: a single drawer at the far end, marked "Expired."
The door groaned as she pushed it.
Unauthorised. Illegal. Reckless.
She knew it. But she was already in.
Her flashlight flickered. "Not now," she hissed, shaking it.
Inside the room, rows of metallic tables gleamed faintly. Cabinets lined the walls. A faint chemical stench—preservatives and death—hung thick in the air. Her steps echoed.
Then she heard it.
A whisper. No—a chant.
"Mandibula... sternocleidomastoid... fibula... cerebrum..."
A chorus of voices. Human, but wrong. The words echoed like a prayer.
She froze.
It was coming from inside the room.
The Phantom Chorus
She turned the flashlight toward the direction of the sound. Nothing. Just metal tables and old mannequins.
Then—movement.
In the glass of one of the wall cabinets, she saw shadows. Figures. Students in lab coats. Each with an expression of focus. Each reciting anatomy terms in low, rhythmic unison.
She turned around.
The room was empty.
Her breath fogged the glass.
One of the ghostly reflections blinked.
She ran.
But something told her she couldn't leave yet. Her curiosity clawed harder than her fear.
The Drawer Marked "Expired"
It was there, at the far wall.
A rusted cabinet, several drawers stacked vertically.
She approached. The voices had stopped.
Her hands trembled as she pulled the handle.
The drawer slid open. Inside: a cadaver, zipped in a translucent body bag.
The label had peeled, but the tag still read: D. AJAYI
Her own name.
She stumbled backward.
The face in the bag looked like her. Pale, lifeless, and horrifyingly serene.
She blinked.
Gone.
The drawer was now empty.
The Lab Attendant's Notebook
In her panic, she knocked over a metal tray.
It clattered loudly. Footsteps approached outside.
She dove behind a cabinet, heart pounding.
The door creaked open. Light footsteps. The lab attendant? Someone else?
A figure shuffled in. She couldn't see their face, only the shadow.
Then she heard humming.
A broken lullaby.
The figure wandered toward the back, paused, and placed something on the desk before exiting.
Dara waited. Minutes passed.
When the coast seemed clear, she crept forward.
A notebook. Tattered. Smelled like formalin.
Inside were records. Dates, names, and observations.
She flipped pages frantically. 2007: Chinedu M.—disappeared. Scheduled during blackout.
2011: Bisi O.—same pattern.
2016: Ifeanyi Nnaji.
2023: Dara Ajayi—scheduled for Midnight Practical.
She dropped the book.
The Exit
As she bolted out of the room, she felt something grab her wrist.
Cold. Icy fingers.
She screamed and yanked free, tumbling into the corridor.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Panting. Crying. She ran.
Did she imagine it?
Or did someone—something—try to keep her there?
The Return
Back in her room, Dara vomited into the sink.
Zainab stirred. "You okay?" she mumbled.
"Yeah," Dara whispered. "Just... a bad dream."
But in her pocket was the lab attendant's notebook.
And the name D. AJAYI was still in ink.
To Be Continued…