The night was the usual kind—dark, cold, silent. Zara was under her new blanket, counting sheep and wondering why she couldn't just fall asleep. She'd had a very stressful day at work and had expected to be off like a light the moment her head hit her pillow.

Maybe it was the nice warm bath she had, or the delicious pasta she wolfed down this evening. Maybe it was the soft snores coming from Jay. She was used to the snores though, the rhythm. Up, up, low, bass, purr, repeat. It couldn't be that.

Was it the fight with Anita? She had ripped the girl's ugly installment like she was ripping evil from her life. She called her an ogbanje and had no regrets. That one was fair like an overripe mango and just attracted men to herself like a very tempting pile of rubbish. The girl had called her a bitch since she wouldn't let her go for lunch break as she was behind on work and things had escalated. Their boss had assured Zara she would face no disciplinary action so it wasn't that.

No, something else was nagging at her mind, but she wouldn't think about it too much else morning would come and she would have to go to work cranky. God knows she might slap a bitch if Anita so much as looked at her the wrong way while she's sleep deprived.

Hours later, her eyes fluttered shut between numbers and she lost track of how many sheep she had counted. She felt the chill then. It was not the draft from the open window or Jay's cold arm on her skin. It was a presence. Moving and breathing. Conscious. It saw her.

At first, she stilled. Better to act like she didn't notice it. Fake it until it leaves.

When the presence remained, oppressive and waiting, she tried to move. She would wake Jay up so they'd deal with whatever it was together. Her limbs failed her and when her frantic eyes were all that moved in her struggle to call for help, she knew she was doomed.

The presence moved in then. Gleefully. It wrapped itself around her chest, testing how much it could squeeze before her ribs gave in. Her gasps were inaudible, but she heard the pounding of her heart like when she was a little girl showing her ire on being asked to pound crayfish.

'You're so quiet now.' It whispered, and the voice brought to mind a forked tongue. Zara was certain she would feel scales if she ran her hand over the entity.

The voice also brought to mind a certain yellow girl Zara's fleshy arms might have strangled hours ago.

Ah!

The presence squeezed some more, like a farewell pat, then let go, joining an errant breeze out of the room.

Jay woke up to see Zara wheezing and clawing at her arms. He grabbed and shushed her, singing reassurances in her ears.

When she stuttered that she couldn't move, he called it sleep paralysis. She wanted to argue that she knew what sleep paralysis was, and that that wasn't it, but the fight was gone from her body and in its place was a deep dread because she would have to face Anita in a few hours.

Dread, because if she wanted her beauty sleep uninterrupted in the days to come, she would have to apologise. And worse, to that useless rainbow coloured cretin!

No! Lai lai! Jay must find a babalawo o.