Adédoyin Àjàyí | Number Twenty-Seven | Fiction
Number twenty-seven was free.
I had been searching for an apartment for three months.
The ones I had seen were either too costly or too far from my workplace in the island. Alani, the agent I'd been in contact with, sent me a message on WhatsApp.
"Bros, I get one apartment for you. Na room and parlour," he'd typed.
I abandoned my beer and sped to meet him.
Number twenty-seven, Arogundade Lane, Lekki, was just twenty minutes from my workplace in Victoria Island. Perfect. The house looked abandoned, though it had the feel of a typical Lekki mansion. Rust spots where the paint had chipped away spotted the gate like confetti. The hinges creaked with a shrill, grating sound when I pushed the gate open.
The compound was wide and grass brushed against my ankles as I walked in. It felt like someone shut off the sound in the air.
"Nobody lives here?" I asked Alani.
The duplex was obviously empty. Thick cobweb colonies nested in the door's corners. The white paint of the walls had peeled in several places.
"No," he replied, "the landlord is abroad." He fiddled with his pocket. "But the BQ is for rent."
I nodded. That wasn't unusual. Many Lekki landlords had property all over the country and more than enough money to jet halfway across the world. I craned my neck towards the back. "The BQ is there?"
Alani nodded.
The grass was higher at the back.
"When last was a tenant here?" I mused.
Alani shrugged. "My guy just said it was free."
Weeds curled around the door like a barricade. We uprooted just enough to open the door. I curled my hand around the knob and heard a whiny sound. I froze. Alani looked at me, his eyes as round as discs.
A dog suddenly sped past the corner. It didn't stop. As if it was chased by someone. Or something. It got to the open gate and dashed out. I shrugged.
Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling and fan like question marks suspended in the air. Dust sat on every surface. The bedroom was just as big as the sitting room. It was painted light blue. There were tiny dots of brown at the base of a wall, and one blade of the fan was bent. I smirked. I would have to buy a new fan.
The BQ cost ₦250,000. I was stunned. It was ridiculously cheap. And spacious. I transferred the money to the account Alani gave me and he wrote me a receipt.
I stood at the door and watched him hurry towards the gate.
Like the dog did.
Did our entrance set it free or was it being chased?
# # #
I repainted the bedroom lime green. I changed the fan with the bent blade. I cut the grass. I didn't see the dog again.
Two months later, I noticed some brown dots at the base of the bedroom wall. They stood out against the green.
Perhaps I had missed glossing them over. The painting tired me out. The dots disappeared beneath a few brushes of leftover paint. I hummed and went about my business.
When I arrived home from work yesterday, I fell asleep watching TV. When I woke, the TV was off. I didn't remember switching it off. My foot collided with my slippers and sent it under the couch. I pulled the couch away from where it met the wall to reach for it.
At the base of the wall were more brown dots. They were more than the ones I saw in the room. They looked haphazard, like a scatter diagram. And they were larger. Like a finger flicked them there. They were at ankle-length. But they were brighter. Bigger.
I tried not to dwell on it.
The next day, I painted the living room too.
# # #
I cut my thumb when I peeled potatoes for breakfast one Saturday. I put a plaster on it and headed off to the field to play football. I hadn't seen my friend, Remi, since I moved here. We went to a bar after the game. He asked about my new place.
I sipped my beer. "It's on Arogundade Lane."
He furrowed his eyebrows. "Guy, hope it's not number twenty-seven?"
My hands shook a bit. I thought of the brown dots on the walls.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Nobody knows the landlord. And nobody stays longer than a year there."
Alani gave me the landlord's number. I made a note to try it the next day.
"Everybody says the landlord is a ghost," Remi concluded, laughing.
I laughed too.
And I sipped more beer.
When I got home, I went into the kitchen for some water. I unscrewed the bottle and gulped before going to my bedroom to drop my bag. Just above my bed was a brown dot. I walked closer. Only it wasn't a dot. And it wasn't brown.
It was a slash.
A red slash.
Blood red.
Right above where my head usually was.
The bottle felt colder against my palm.
I looked at the plaster on my thumb. I hadn't come in here when I cut myself, or did I?
I slowly turned and saw more red slashes at the base of the wall.
Where I'd painted over.
Bright. Red. Angry slashes.
Guy, hope it's not number twenty-seven?
I didn't sleep in the bedroom that night. I contemplated going to a hotel.
I slept in the living room. Nothing had changed there.
# # #
It was dark when I woke with a start. I switched on the light.
Red slashes covered every wall.
They numbered hundreds. My body trembled and my legs went off duty. I hadn't felt this way since I was in the dark alone as a kid. I held a chair to support myself.
I looked at the fan. All three blades were bent.
They were pointed in a direction.
Towards the couch.
The same couch I slept on.
I rushed into the room. The same slashes were there too. I grabbed my clothes and fled. I didn't stop running until I was outside the gate.
Like Alani.
Like the dog too.
# # #
Remi was alarmed.
"Oh boy, we're going to get your stuff first thing tomorrow. You can stay here, no problem."
I nodded. I tried Alani's number. My call was rejected. Bastard. He knew. I tried the landlord's number. It didn't exist.
Conversing with Remi over TV and beers calmed me some. I left the lights on when I slept. My sleep was short and troubled. I rubbed my eyes when I got up. Usually, Remi was an early riser from our days in the university. He wasn't up. I stretched and knocked on his door.
No response.
"Remi?" I called. I knocked again. I pushed the door open.
They were all over his walls.
Not brown dots.
Not red slashes.
Handprints.
Bloody handprints.
My hands came to my mouth.
I whirled, still seeing the handprints. In the middle was Remi, his eyes wide open, unblinking. He looked like someone had gutted him in a rage. Blood oozed from every slash on his body.
My blood would have been on the walls.
Instead, his was.
His lifeless eyes locked onto mine with an intense, accusatory stare.
My hands shook. I slipped and crashed against the wall. I bolted from his apartment.
Everybody says the landlord is a ghost.
Was it true? And had the ghost attached itself to me?
I can't go home. I can't stay with anyone. They'll probably die too. I've been roaming the streets of Lekki all day in my singlet and trousers, and blood on my body. Very soon, the police will know that a man was murdered and another man was seen running out of his apartment with blood on him. It's nearly eight PM. I'll probably sleep by a roadside shack.
Or can I stay with you?
By tomorrow, I'll be gone.
But sadly, you'll be gone too.
Adédoyin Àjàyí is a Nigerian writer. He writes from Lagos, the city that never sleeps. His work focuses on the jagged edges and many complexities of human relationships. His work has appeared in Brittle Paper, The Kalahari Review, Afrocritik, Literally Stories, African Writer, Arts Lounge, Spillwords Press, Journal of African Youth Literature (JAY Lit), The Hooghly Review, Flash Phantoms, Contronimo Magazine, and elsewhere. A Caine Prize for African Writing 2026 nominee, he was longlisted for the JAY Lit Prize for fiction in 2024, was published in Akpata Magazine’s “Stirred” and “Coming Out” anthologies in 2025, and Nantygreens' maiden anthology in 2026. When he’s not writing, you can find him reading novels, watching animal documentaries, or listening to Sadé Adú and The Weeknd. He tweets @AjayiAdedoyin14.