The envelope was already on Ikenna's desk when he got back from class.
It wasn't there before. He was sure of it.
The room was locked. The window too. But somehow, it was there—an old brown envelope, thick with something inside, sealed with a wax crest he didn't recognize. His name, written in black ink:
Mr. Ikenna O. Mbanefo.
He stared at it for a full minute. No postmark. No return address. Just that old smell, like paper left too long in fireless heat.
He peeled it open with a slow breath. Inside: a single page, typed on a faded typewriter.
---
"To the Heir of the Mbanefo Line,
You are hereby summoned to claim your rightful inheritance in the township of Ember Hollow, Plateau State.
Arrival Date: April 14, 2025.
Failure to attend will result in permanent forfeiture.
Come alone. This is a private matter.
Tell no one."**
Signed: The Executor.
---
Ikenna frowned.
"Mbanefo line?" he muttered. His parents weren't from Plateau. They'd never even mentioned the place.
Still, something gnawed at his spine. The letter felt alive. As if the words didn't just sit on the page—they waited.
---
Two states away, in a cramped Lagos apartment, Maya was already screaming.
"I'm not going," she said, crushing her own letter against the floor. "I'm done with this. No more dead towns. No more voices."
She paced the room in bare feet, paint staining her hands. Across the wall behind her, a mural had formed in hours—she hadn't meant to paint it.
But there it was.
A blackened house. Children with melting faces. A man kneeling in fire, smiling.
Her phone buzzed for the fifth time. Unknown number.
She picked it up. Static. Then a child's voice:
"See you soon, Maya."
The call dropped.
She screamed again.
---
In a church in Jos, Pastor Samuel clutched his Bible tighter.
The letter sat before him, unopened, yet he knew what it said.
He'd seen Ember Hollow in his dreams.
Ash falling like snow. Blood running uphill. A thing with no face preaching from the pulpit.
He thought he buried those visions years ago. Thought the fasts, the prayers, the tongues of fire had burned them away.
But the letter found him anyway.
He knelt.
"Lord," he whispered, "you are my light in darkness. Tell me this is not my test. Tell me it is not time."
The candle on the altar flickered out.
---
In different corners of Nigeria, they each received the same invitation. Some opened it with hope. Some with fear.
But none of them knew the truth.
The town was not offering them an inheritance.
It was calling them back.
And Ember Hollow never forgot a soul it touched.