Whispered Warnings

Tobi sped out of the parking lot like his foot was welded to the accelerator. The girl lay crumpled in the backseat, her eyes shut, mouth slightly open. I kept looking back, half expecting someone to leap from the shadows and drag her back.

My heartbeat hadn't slowed since we left.

“She didn’t say anything,” I said, staring at her.

“She didn’t have to,” Tobi replied, voice tight. “Look at her. She’s been through something mad.”

“Something’s happening, Tobi. It’s not just cult boys or robbery.”

Tobi didn’t answer. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

We took her to the health centre. The nurse on night duty took one look at her and didn’t even ask questions. She was unconscious, bleeding lightly from a scratch on her forehead, and shaking like she’d been dragged through a nightmare.

They admitted her under emergency care.

“What’s her name?” the nurse asked.

“We don’t know,” I replied, my voice quieter than I expected. “We found her… she came out of the bush. Alone.”

The nurse gave me a sharp look. “From that party?”

I nodded.

She didn’t ask anything else. Maybe she already knew.

***

Outside the clinic, Tobi leaned on his car, silent.

I stood beside him, watching the campus melt into silence as the party ended. People were leaving in groups, laughing, tipsy, unaware. No one else seemed alarmed.

Then again, they never were.

Until someone ended up dead.

“You saw those two guys, right?” I asked.

“In the woods? Yeah. But I didn’t want to believe what it looked like.”

“You think they’re the ones?”

“I think they’re part of it. And that girl… she’s a witness.”

We fell into silence. Then Tobi said something I didn’t expect.

“Terror was right.”

I looked up. “You believe him?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve always heard the rumors. Thought they were just... exaggerated. But tonight? No. There’s something real behind it.”

I remembered what Terror said: *“They’ve turned our parties into hunting grounds.”*

And suddenly, I couldn’t un-hear it.

***

By morning, the story had twisted.

*“Some drunk girl collapsed near the party.”*

*“She was probably high.”*

*“Shutdown drama as usual.”*

The girl was still unconscious, and her ID showed her name was *Ifunanya Oko*, a second-year Mass Comm student.

I visited her again. The nurse said she had bruises on her legs and arms and signs of being dragged through rough terrain.

Still no police.

Still no report.

Again.

That afternoon, I got a text.

*Unknown Number:*

> “You’re asking the wrong questions. Stop.”

My chest tightened.

I showed Tobi.

“This is how it starts,” he said grimly. “Warnings first. Then threats.”

“I’m not stopping,” I replied. “Ifunanya survived. Others didn’t.”

That evening, someone slipped an envelope under my hostel door.

Inside: *A photo.*

A body in a car. Blood on the window. Dated two years ago.

And a note:

> “They were warned too.”

My hands shook as I folded it back.

This wasn’t a party gone wrong.

It was a system.

And I’d just stepped into it.

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