I always believed my life was normal—wake up, go to work, come home, binge-watch weird conspiracy videos, and sleep. Repeat.
That was until last Tuesday.
I’d just moved into a new apartment block—an old colonial building in Nairobi West, full of creaky floors, dramatic neighbors, and one ancient caretaker named Mutiso, who always seemed to know when you’d run out of salt.
That night, I came home late, juggling a box of smoky chicken wings and my laptop. I was halfway through the corridor when I noticed something strange.
There was a new door at the end of the hallway.
Great. My neighbors were running a cult and didn’t even invite me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking—”Maybe you never noticed it before.” But I did. I’m observant. I’m the guy who once spotted a typo on a billboard at 80km/h. That door wasn’t there yesterday. or the day before.
It was sleek. Black With a brass knob shaped like a lion’s head.
And it glowed.
Not like neon glow. More like… moonlight, Soft, Inviting, Whispering.
Yeah, whispering.
I laughed nervously and looked around. The hallway was empty.
I stepped closer. The plaque on the door read:
“3AM Society – Only the Chosen May Enter.”
Great. My neighbors were running a cult and didn’t even invite me.
I leaned in to listen. And that’s when the door unlocked—with a click—by itself.
Let me just say right now: I’m not one of those horror movie people who enters the creepy room just because. No. I’m Kenyan. We run first and ask later. I backed away.
But something inside me itched. Curiosity? Destiny? Or maybe the chicken wings were spiced with shrooms.
Whatever it was, I slowly pushed the door open.
The inside was… massive. Like bigger than the building massive. I stepped in, and the door slammed behind me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t in my building anymore.
I was in a giant library—ceiling stretching endlessly above, shelves filled with books labeled with dates. Some from the past. Some… from the future.
And in the center, there was a large table. Five people in cloaks sat around it. One of them looked up and said:
“You’re late. We’ve been expecting you.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“Of course you. Your script starts today.”
Before I could say another word, they handed me a sealed envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a single line:
> “At 11:11 PM, someone you know will vanish. Don’t call the police. Follow the code.”
I looked up. But the cloaked people were gone. So was the library.
I was back in my corridor. My wings were cold. My laptop was missing.
And I’d just officially entered the weirdest Tuesday of my life.
To be continued…
Next Episode: “The Vanishing Game”