Ghostly Encounters at Yaba Cemetery

Cemetery Tales: Ghostly Encounters at Yaba Cemetery

The full moon hung heavy in the night sky, casting pale light over Yaba Cemetery. The air was damp, and the wind whispered through the trees like a low sigh. It was quiet here, except for the distant hum of traffic from the nearby streets. But tonight, the stillness felt different—unnervingly so, as though the earth itself were alive with secrets.

Tayo stood at the gate, his flashlight cutting a narrow beam through the darkness. His heartbeat felt out of sync, too fast, too uneven. He had come alone, against every sensible warning from friends. His curiosity got the better of him; he had to see what lay behind the locked gates. He could hear his own breathing, sharp and steady, as he gripped the flashlight tighter.

Yaba Cemetery was old, one of the most well-known burial grounds in Lagos. Many legends surrounded it, especially stories of ghostly sightings. People spoke of shadowy figures gliding between the gravestones and faint voices during the witching hour. Some dismissed the tales as mere superstition, while others swore by their encounters. Tayo had never been one to believe in ghosts, but he also couldn’t resist proving it to himself.

The lock on the gate was rusted but gave way easily. He pushed the heavy iron door and stepped inside, feeling the cold earth beneath his boots. The air was colder here, and the sound of his footsteps felt overly loud in the silence. His flashlight illuminated old headstones, crooked and moss-covered. Some were barely legible, their inscriptions worn down by time.

Tayo had just begun to explore when he heard it—a sound. A faint scuffing, like footsteps in the grass. His breath hitched, and he froze. He swung his flashlight toward the sound, its beam cutting through the darkness. The light landed on a small, overgrown grave. It looked normal enough, but his heart continued to pound. He told himself it was an animal, some small creature disturbed by his presence, but the sound came again—closer this time.

Suddenly, he felt a chill in the air, colder than the wind. His body tensed. The scuffing sound was unmistakably human, or at least it felt that way. He stood frozen, unable to move, unable to make a sound. His flashlight was now shaking in his hand.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Tayo could barely breathe. The figure was tall, dressed in white. It moved with unnatural fluidity, crossing the gravestones with an eerie grace. Tayo’s first instinct was to run, but his legs felt like they were cemented to the ground. His mind raced, fighting the urge to panic. He shone the flashlight toward the figure again, but now it was harder to see; the beam seemed to falter, as if the light itself feared what lay ahead.

He whispered to himself, “It must be a trick of the light, it must be shadows.” But even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at his thoughts. His hand trembled as he tried to steady his flashlight, and when the light caught the figure once more, it was closer. This time, he could make out details: the face was pale, almost featureless, with hollow eyes that stared back at him. Tayo’s mouth went dry. This was no trick of shadows.

Before he knew it, the sound came again—a whisper. He couldn’t make out the words, but it felt as though the air itself was speaking, cold and direct. His entire body was rigid. The figure moved toward an old oak tree, disappearing into the shadows once more. Tayo’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. He knew he should leave, but his feet wouldn’t respond.

The cemetery felt larger now, more menacing. Every noise, every creak of the wind in the branches, felt purposeful. Tayo thought about turning back, but every instinct told him to keep going—to uncover the source of the mystery. Perhaps it was his own hubris, but his curiosity felt stronger than his fear.

He took cautious steps toward the old oak tree, heart pounding. His breath felt shallow. As he reached the place where the figure had disappeared, his flashlight began to flicker. He cursed softly under his breath, fiddling with it as he stood at the base of the tree. That’s when he felt it—a sudden, icy hand on his shoulder.

Tayo froze.

He wanted to turn around, but his body wouldn’t respond. His breathing felt caught in his throat. He could feel the cold hand, bone-chilling, pressing into his jacket. His voice was gone. It was as though the cemetery had come alive, as though the earth itself had risen to trap him here.

He didn’t dare look back. His mind spun with thoughts of escape. Finally, after what felt like hours, he forced his legs to move. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled backward, his feet stumbling against the uneven earth. He swiped at his flashlight, desperate to find light, and suddenly the beam was steady again.

He shone it toward the spot where he thought the hand had come from. There was nothing there.

His heart was in his throat as he backed toward the gate, his breaths coming in sharp bursts. His mind swam with confusion, fear, and exhaustion. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching him the whole time, that the cold hand had been real, that the whisper had been words meant for him.

When he reached the gate, his hands fumbled with the rusted lock. He could hear the wind picking up again, the sound of the leaves rustling. His breath came so quickly that he could barely think. With trembling hands, he pushed open the heavy door and stumbled back onto the quiet Lagos streets.

Tayo didn’t dare look back. His mind was racing too fast, replaying the moment over and over again. What had he seen? Was it just his imagination? But deep down, he knew better.

He walked the long road back to his apartment, the sound of his footsteps filling the quiet night. His mind would not let him rest, nor would it let him forget the figure in white, the icy hand, and the whisper that had come from the shadows.

He would never return to Yaba Cemetery.

The experience had shaken him. And as he lay in his bed that night, his mind kept drifting back to the whisper and the cold hand. What had it meant? What had it wanted?

And was it still watching him?