Gregory had been on the road from Port Harcourt to Bauchi for hours, and when night finally swallowed the highway, he decided he’d had enough. He spotted a flickering sign that read “Ikwikwi Hotel”, and, with a sigh of relief, pulled in. All he wanted was a clean bed, a silent room, and eight hours of peace.
What he got instead… was warfare..
The moment he switched off the light, the room came alive. Tiny footsteps pattered like a marching band. Something zipped past his toes. Another creature giggled—Gregory swore he heard giggling.
By midnight, he was battling shadows. By 2 a.m., he was praying. At 3 a.m., he discovered the ultimate insult: one of his shoes had been chewed like suya.
At sunrise, Gregory was done. Completely done.
He stormed out of his room like a man possessed, waving the mutilated shoe in the air.
“God will judge this place!” he shouted as he stomped down the hallway. “Amen somebody!”
Guests peeked through their doors. Staff scattered. One housekeeper actually dove behind a potted plant.
Gregory arrived at the reception desk, panting, eyes blazing. Amanda, the receptionist, froze like a deer caught in premium headlights.
