The Shut down

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I told myself all week that I wouldn't go. I hated parties — too loud, too crowded, and too full of people who loved to act like the semester hadn't just nearly killed them. But still, there I was, standing near the edge of the dance floor, blinking under strobe lights and wondering if it was too early to sneak out.

The Shutdown.

That's what they called it. The final party of the semester — the one where reputations were made, relationships ended, and apparently, people disappeared.

Nobody said it openly, but the stories were always there.

“He left the party and never got home.”

“They found her in her car — cold.”

“Another shutdown death. Just cult wahala.”

It was always blamed on cults, accidents, or drunken mistakes. But it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a *pattern*.

And this year, I felt it more than ever.

“Lola!” Tobi waved, weaving through the crowd with two drinks in hand. “You actually came. Thought you were ghosting.”

I gave him a dry smile. “I’m not here for long. I just want to say I showed face.”

“Typical,” he laughed. “Let me know when you’re ready to dip.”

By 11:40 PM, I was ready.

“I’m leaving. Can you drop me?” I asked, finding Tobi by the DJ booth.

“Yeah, come,” he said, already heading for the exit. “My car’s not far.”

As we walked, a guy in a black hoodie approached, holding his belt like he wanted to remind us he had something hidden behind it.

“Boss, anything for the boys?” he asked, eyeing Tobi like he was trying to measure his bank balance with his eyes.

“Later, abeg,” Tobi waved him off.

The guy didn’t insist. Just watched us walk past with that slow, unreadable look. That’s when I noticed *them*.

Two men. Standing deep in the trees across the road from the parking area. Dressed in dark clothes, one of them holding something long and metal. They weren’t moving. Just watching.

I *didn’t react*. Just kept walking and talking like I hadn’t seen anything.

Goosebumps rose on my arms.

Then—*firecrackers*.

The sky lit up in green and gold flashes. Everyone screamed and laughed, thinking it was part of the fun. I didn’t laugh. I knew what it meant.

The *fireworks weren’t for celebration*. They were a distraction — a cover for the sounds no one was supposed to hear.

*THUD.*

*THUD.*

A low, sickening rhythm followed, We reached the car. Tobi opened the door, but I turned to scan the road behind us. That’s when I saw it — a car, hazard lights blinking, doors wide open. No one inside.

“Tobi…” I said, pointing.

He looked, and his smile faded.

Then we heard it — a faint rustling in the bushes beside the road.

A girl burst out, barefoot, dress ripped, face scratched, and eyes wide with terror. She didn’t scream. Just ran blindly into the road.

Tobi slammed the brakes as she collapsed in front of us.

We jumped out.

“Hey! Are you okay?” I crouched beside her.

She shook her head, trying to speak, but all that came out was a choking sound. Her hands clutched mine like she’d fall into the earth if she let go.

Behind her, in the darkness, I saw the shadow of *someone stepping back into the woods*.

They were still out there.

Watching. Waiting.

Then a voice echoed across the parking lot — strong, angry, loud.

“Enough!”

The music paused.

People froze.

It was *Terror*. Real name: Tade Ilemona. Final year. Nobody crossed him. Nobody heard him talk. Until now.

“I’ve kept quiet long enough,” he said, walking into the open, his voice clear over the stunned silence. “They’ve turned our parties into hunting grounds.”

Gasps.

“What’s he talking about?” someone whispered.

“They kill us. Year after year. And we dance over the graves.”

And just like that, the Shutdown wasn’t fun anymore.

It was war.

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