Ill at Ease.

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Actually, the first time Adaeze saw the old man, she felt completely ill at ease—but immediately brushed it off as Lagos stress.

She had just moved into Flat 9B of Obanikoro Heights, a name that made the crumbling three-story building sound far fancier than it was. The paint was peeling like dry fish skin, the water pipes wheezed like asthmatic old men, and the corridor and balcony lights flickered like horror movie extras. But the rent was cheap, and after house-hunting for two months, she considered the apartment a blessing.

Adaeze saw the old man on her second day, sitting on a plastic white chair outside Flat 9B.

The man was bald, wore a brown wrapper and no shirt, and his wrinkled eyes followed her as she struggled up the stairs with a nylon of plantains. He just... smiled.

A full-teeth smile.

"Good evening," she offered politely, slightly breathless.

He smiled wider.

Adaeze chuckled nervously as she stare at the old man, confused, and immediately slipped into her flat, her heart skipping and stumbling into a rapid beat as she peeked at him through the tiny hole in her door.

"Lagos surely had its share of strange people; maybe he was just eccentric. Or deaf. Or both," she muttered, still peeking at the old man, who was still smiling. She was already feeling ill at ease because his behavior was strange.

Days passed, and the old man was always there: morning, afternoon, night. Sitting and smiling at Adaeze.

He never knocked, never moved, never ate or drank water, never stood up. He just kept a fixed glance at Adaeze.

Adaeze tried everything: smiled, frowned, kept a long stare too, short nods—nothing changed.

Immediately, the unease grew roots.

One cool afternoon, Adaeze finally asked Mama Titi, the old woman who sold akara downstairs, "Please, Mama, that old man in 9C... is he actually okay?" she asked curiously.

Immediately, Mama Titi stopped flipping her beans and squinted. "9C?" She simply asked.

"Yes, the man that sits outside on the balcony. He doesn't talk." Adaeze clarified.

Mama Titi paused. "My dear, 9C has been empty for a long time now; infact, that particular flat has been permanently locked up," she explained with a pitiful facial expression.

Adaeze blinked " No, ma, I actually saw the old man just this morning," she said, confused.

Mama Titi wiped her hands, glanced back at Adaeze, and said, "Nobody lives in 9C; even the landlord sealed it himself. He said rats were dragging Bible with each other inside that apartment," she explained, chuckling.

Adaeze tried to laugh. "But he is always there! Bald man, brown wrapper, waving at me, big smile—like this— Eeee!" she mimicked the eerie grin.

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Mama Titi took one long look at her and slowly covered her akara basin.

"That's the same man who used to live there: Mr. Okoye. Very friendly, Kind, quiet, and peaceful; he is an easy going man. He died about twelve years ago," Mama Titi explained, looking at Adaeze suspiciously.

"Hit by a danfo," Mama Titi added. "Right outside the compound gate. He was smiling when it happened. People say he didn't even try to dodge; he just stood there waving and smiling. The danfo was not fast enough to dodge him; it was already too close to dodge; it was just too late." She described sadly as Adaeze just stood and listened, dumbfounded.

Immediately, Adaeze's stomach twisted.

That night, Adaeze did not sleep. Every creak in the ceiling sounded like footsteps. She stood up from her bed, went straight to her window, and peeked out her peephole.The old man was there, calmly seated on the balcony.

He was always there. Exactly at the same spot.

Still smiling.

"He doesn't even sleep or take a nap. Does this mean that he is really dead?" she thought to herself. Immediately, she became restless. She suddenly picked up her phone and called her friend, Ngozi, on Whatsapp video. "I swear, he's right there! Check!" Adeaze demostrated, pointing in the direction of the old man.

Ngozi squinted at the screen. "Babe, I don't get it, what are we looking at exactly?" she asked, confused still straining her eyes.

"The weird old man," Adaeze whispered, "sitting outside 9C!" she gestured, pointing in the direction of the old man again.

"Babe, there's nothing there. I see nothing, no old man, no one, just an empty space!" Ngozi gestured back.

Adaeze froze.

"What do you mean? He's on my right-hand side; just check again."— Adaeze turned the camera to double—check.

The balcony was empty

But when she lowered her phone and looked with her eyes... the old man was back.

Still.

Smiling.

She slammed the door shut and barricaded it with a table.

By morning the chair outside 9C was gone.

Relieved, Ada decided she had imagined everything. Her job interviews were piling up; she was tired and anxious. Sleep-deprived hallucinations? Totally possible.

Until she received a letter.

No stamp, just her name, written in crooked capital letters, slid under her door.

It read:

"THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR SEEING ME. MOST PEOPLE DON'T."

"Aaaaiiiiieeee!!" Ada screamed so loudly that the upstairs tenant banged the floor with a mop.

The next day, she tried to confront the landlord, an absent-minded old man named Baba Sola who mostly sat in his office playing ludo against himself.

"Sir," she said, her voice shaking, "who used to live in 9C before?"

He stared at her for a long moment.

"You have seen him, haven't you?" he asked.

She swallowed a dry mouthful of saliva. "Yes." she simply answered.

"I told them sealing the place wasn't enough," he muttered. "He never left."

"Why?" Adaeze asked, curiously.

"He was always lonely. Never talked much. Just smiled." The landlord explained.

"Then one day—bam! A danfo hit him while he was waving and greeting some one. He didn't even try to dodge the vehicle; he just stood there as if he wanted the danfo to actually hit him. That old man really had a strange and weird personality."

He let the sentence dangle like a rotting ceiling fan.

Adaeze did not wait to hear more.

One look was all it took. Before another word could land, Adaeze was gone—faster than a cat at bath time.

She packed that evening. No house or job was worth sharing a corridor and a balcony with an eternally grinning ghost. She left behind two saucepans, a mattress, and her pride.

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She moved in with Ngozi, who welcomed her with open arms and definitely with a Bible and a complete prayer session with pastor Goodnews, the popular pastor of the year.

"You sure you are okay now?" Ngozi asked, feeling concerned and rubbing her back.

Adaeze nodded. "I'll be fine. Just..."

She looked out the window. Nothing there.

But her chest still felt heavy, like someone was watching her from behind her thoughts.

"...still a little ill at ease, I guess."

THANKS A LOT FOR READING ME