IYA AJE OF ADO FOREST
A YORUBA HORROR TALE
In the olden days, when the moon still listened to human cries and the forest answered names, there was a village in southwestern Nigeria called Agbonle.
It was a peaceful Yoruba village surrounded by thick forests, red earth roads and ancient iroko trees that seemed older than memory itself. But every village has a shadow and theirs had a name. Madam Morounkeji, people called her "iya rere" to her face – "the good mother". Behind her back, they whispered another name, "iya aje" – "the witch".
She was a widow who lived alone at the edge of the village in a mud house with a black wooden door that never stayed open for long. Her wrapper was always dark indigo and no one had ever seen her smile without feeling cold. Children disappeared near her compound, goats went missing, new brides suffered strange miscarriages, healthy men suddenly fell ill after eating food she brought during festivals. Yet no one dared accuse her.
In Yoruba land, not every evil walk with horns, some wear gele and speaks so softly.
One rainy season, a young school teacher named Adewale was posted to the village from Ibadan. He was educated, bold and did not believe in village superstitions. When the elders warned him not to walk near Madam Morounkeji's house after sunset, he laughed.
"Baba, na ordinary old woman", he said. The old men only looked at one another.
One of them, Baba Fasegbe, leaned closer and whispered; "young man, some people are old because death is afraid of them." Adewale laughed again. That night, as rain beats hard against his roof, he heard a knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. At first, he ignored it. Then came a voice, soft and old female. "Adewale omo mi…. open the door".
His blood froze instantly because he had never told anyone his name. He approached the window slowly, Madam Morounkeji stood outside barefooted in the rain and not a single drop of water touched her body. Her face was tilted upward, eyes fixed directly at the window, smiling. A smile too wide for a human face.
Adewale stepped back, "who are you?", she laughed. A sound like dry bones rattling in a calabash. Then she said in Yoruba; "mo ti ri e" I have seen you.
The lantern inside the room suddenly went out, darkness swallowed everything. Then he heard movement inside the room, not outside. Something moved behind him, slow footsteps, dragging, he turned and found nothing.
Then lightning flashed through the window. For one terrible second, he saw her reflection in the mirror standing behind him and her eyes were completely white.
The next morning, Adewale was found outside his room, unconscious in the mud. His chest was covered in strange marks with three long scratches like claws. When he woke up, he refused to speak for three days.
On the fourth night, the village heard screaming from his room. Men rushed in with lanterns, what they found made grown hunters tremble. Adewale was crouched in the corner, staring at the ceiling laughing, pointing, and repeating same words.
"She crawls upside down…. She crawls upside down…." The men lifted their lanterns on the ceiling there was fresh muddy footprints, like an old woman's feet. Leading from one corner of the room to another.
The elders finally decided that enough is enough, they summoned Babalawo Akinyele, the most feared herbalist and diviner in three villages. He arrived before midnight, dressed in white cloth, cowries hanging from his wrists. He listened quietly, then he said; "this is not an ordinary witch, she feeds on fear and life." That night, they went to madam Morounkeji's house. When they knocked, the door opened itself. The house was empty, no furniture, no food, only a single wooden chair in the center and beneath it was human bones including children's bons.
One of the women outside screamed…. Then came the sound, a laugh from the roof. Everyone looked, madam Morounkeji was crouched on top of the house like an animal. Her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Her eyes glowed pale in the moonlight then she leaped, not down but up straight into the darkness above the trees.
For seven days, strange things happened.
Babies cried at the same exact hour.
Dogs refused to bark.
People heard their names being whispered outside their windows.
A man who followed the voice into the forest was found hanging upside down from an iroko tree dead, his eyes was missing. The village fell into terror, no one stepped out after sunset.
Then on the eighth night, Adewale disappeared. Only blood stain remained on his mat and on the wall, written in ash; "eni to ri mi, ki i ye" whoever sees me does not survive.
The Babalawo prepared a final ritual. At midnight, he led the elders into Ado Forest, where the ancient spirits were said to dwell. Deep inside, they found a clearing. The saw madam Morounkeji standing and surrounded by black birds, in front of her was Adewale alive but kneeling drenched in blood. His eyes went blank as if his soul had been emptied, the old woman began to chant. Her voice as no longer human, the ground shook, trees groaned.
The Babalawo shouted incantations and threw scared powder into the air. The birds exploded into a storm of feathers. Morounkeji screamed, her body began to twist. Bones cracked, her arms lengthened, her face stretched into something half woman and half beast.
Then, with one final scream that echoed through the forest…. She burst into flames. But before she turned to ash, she laughed and said; "I will not die alone." The fire leaped straight onto Adewale.
By morning, both of them were gone. Only two piles of ash remained.
Till today, the people of that village say that when rain falls at midnight and someone knocks three times at your door never answer. Especially if the voice says your name, because madam Morounkeji still walks.
And in Yoruba land, witches do not always die.
Sometimes, they wait.
IYA AJE RETURNS
PART 2- THE FLAT IN ABUJA
A Yoruba horror tale continues.
Many years had passed since the night madam Morunkeji turned into ash in Ado Forest. The village of Agbonle slowly became a fading memory, swallowed by time and silence.
Children who once trembled at moonlit stories became grandparents who warned their own children; "never answer a voice that calls your name after midnight."
Most people laughed.
The world has changed.
There were streetlights now, phones, cars, apartments.
People no longer feared forests, but evil does not die because electricity comes. It only changes address.
In Abuja, in a quiet apartment block in Gwarinpa, a young woman named Tolani had just moved into a one-bedroom flat on the third floor. She worked as a content creator and often stayed up late editing videos for social media.
The flat was cheap, so cheap that her friends joked she had found a miracle. The landlord only smiled and said; "just don't open the door at night unless you are expecting someone" Tolani laughed it off, "uncle, this is Abuja, not village movie." He said nothing more.
The first week was peaceful. The flat was beautiful- white walls, glossy tiled floors, a wide mirror in the sitting room, and a balcony overlooking the quiet street.
Then strange things started.
At exactly 12:13 a.m every night, her ring light switched off itself. At first, she blamed NEPA fluctuations, then her phone started recording videos on its own.
When she checked the gallery, she found clips filmed while she was asleep. In every video, the camera pointed toward the sitting-room mirror.
Nothing moved, nothing at all except on the fifth night. At every edge of the frame, a dark woman-shaped figure stood behind the curtain.
Still.
Watching.
Tolani froze.
She lived alone.
That same night, while scrolling through the video, she heard it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She looked at the same time, 12:13a.m.
Her chest tightened.
Another knock.
Then a voice, soft old female voice "Tolani omo mi…. open the door."
Her blood ran cold, she had never told any neighbor her name. She crept toward the peephole, nothing. The corridor was empty, then the voice came again. This time from behind her; "I said open the door." She spun around, nobody. But in the mirror, there was a woman standing near the kitchen wearing dark wrapper, head tie and smiling.
Tolani screamed and turned, empty room. When she looked back at the mirror, the figure was gone.
The next morning, she told her friend Femi, who laughed and blamed stress. "Na too much editing and horror reels," he said. But that night he came over to keep her company. At exactly 12:13a.m, the TV switched on. Then a woman's laughter filled the room, dry, cracking like old wood splitting.
Femi grabbed the remote, the TV would not go off. Then the screen changed, it showed the apartment corridor live from outside. They watched in silence as a woman slowly walked barefooted toward Tolani's door. Her feet did not touch ground, she floated. The camera glitched and her face appeared close to the screen. Too close, eyes white, smile stretched wide.
Femi staggered backward "Jesu…"
Then came the knock, the same three knocks. But this time, from the bedroom door. Both of them were in the sitting room. No one was in the bedroom.
They ran out the flat down to the stairs, straight to the landlord's apartment. The old man listened quietly. His face drained of color. Then he whispered; "it has started again."
Tolani stared, "what started?"
The old man took a deep breath. "My grandma was from Agbonle"
The room went silent.
He continued, "she told us of a witch woman burned in the forest…but before dying, she swore she would return wherever people stopped believing."
Tolani's hand shook
He looked at her "this land…. This building… was built with sand brought from that old village."
That night, they called an elderly Yoruba cleric from Kubwa, mama Adunni, known for prayers and spiritual deliverance. She entered the flat just before midnight.
The moment she stepped inside. The temperature dropped. The mirror in the sitting room cracked by itself. A thin voice whispered from the wall; "you cannot send me away."
Mama Adunni lifted her bible and began to pray.
The lights in the flat exploded, darkness then footsteps
Above them,on the ceiling dragging.
Tolani looked up, mud footprints moving upside down across the ceiling. Exactly as the old village story had said. Then the woman dropped, not fell. She dropped gently from the ceiling like a spider. Madam Morounkeji, her face was half burned, half human.
Her white eyes fixed on Tolani "you opened the momory of my name."
The room shook, windows shattered, the old witch lunged.
Mama Adunni shouted a prayer so loud that it echoed through the flat. A burst ooof wind slammed through the room. The mirror shattered completely and from broken glass comes dozens of whispers.
Children's voices, crying, trapped souls.
The prayer continued until dawn. When the first sunlight entered the flat, the witch let out a terrible scream and dissolved into black smoke.
Gone, or so they thought.
Three days later, Tolani moved out. She never returned, the flat was locked permanently.
People in the building say that every now and then, new tenants only come to inspect it but none stay.
PART 3 LOADING…..
WHERE THE HOROR GETS DEEPER