Han Graceley

Episode 2: The Dream Funeral By Grace Antiedu The Witchdoctor’s Warning By the fourth night, Nfor stopped sleeping altogether. He sat by his doorway with tired eyes and dry lips, watching the moon cross the sky, too afraid to close his eyes. But exhaustion eventually won. And again, the dream came. This time, he was not just at the funeral, he was digging his own grave. By morning, he was shaking. His wife, worried and desperate, begged him to see someone -not a doctor, but a traditional healer. Someone who understood these kinds of things. They traveled two towns away to visit Ma Gundo, a well-known ngambe woman who lived near the banks of River Mezam. Her eyes were cloudy with age, but her voice carried the weight of knowing. Nfor sat on a mat in front of her while she scattered bones and cowrie shells into a woven bowl. She stared at them for a long time, her face growing dark. Then she spoke. “You have been called into the world of the dead,” she said. “But you are still alive. Tha...

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Episode 1: The Dream Funeral The Man in the Coffin By Grace Antiedu  It began with a dream. Nfor, a 46-year-old carpenter in the quiet town of Bamenda, had always been a sound sleeper. But one night, he jolted awake, heart pounding, soaked in sweat. He had dreamed of a funeral. Not just any funeral, his own. He had seen himself lying in a white coffin, dressed in the same shirt he wore the day his mother died. The coffin was surrounded by people he didn’t recognize. Yet they all wept for him, some with real tears, others with a kind of uneasy joy. He shook the dream off. Told himself it was nothing. But the next night, it came again. Same coffin. Same shirt. This time, he saw the church, a place he’d never entered in real life. On the third night, the dream changed. He wasn’t inside the coffin anymore. He was standing beside it. Watching it close. Watching himself buried. Nfor’s days grew restless. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t eat. Even when he was awake, he felt the cold hands of...

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By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheampomaa Neneh didn’t eat the next day. Her eyes stayed glued to corners, her ears tuned to every creak, every whisper. She saw things no one else saw—faces flickering in windows, her own reflection watching her too closely, shadows that seemed to crawl. By evening, she’d made a decision. She needed to go back. Not to prove anything. But to understand. She slipped out of the dormitory, this time with salt in her pocket—something her grandmother always said could ward off spirits. She whispered a prayer her mother used to say when storms shook the windows at night. “God of the living, walk beside me.” The night was thick with silence. The well waited. As Neneh approached, she heard the voice again - fainter now, desperate. “Help me… please I can’t breathe down here…" She knelt beside the stone edge and looked in. Just darkness. Deep, endless darkness. “Who are you?” she whispered. The voice paused. Then: “Adeline.” Neneh’s blood froze. Adeline. Th...

 The Voice in the Well By Grace Antiedu &Nana Ama Acheampomaa Neneh didn’t scream. She wanted to. Every muscle in her body told her to run. But her voice stayed locked in her throat, just like the cold hand that seemed to clutch her spine. She turned—slowly. Nothing. The compound was still, save for the rustling of dry leaves and the distant croaking of frogs. But something had moved. She was sure of it. And the voice… “You came.” Neneh backed away from the well, flashlight trembling in her hand. She didn’t run until she reached the dormitory. She didn’t sleep that night. The next day, Neneh tried to tell herself it was a trick—some cruel prank by her classmates, or her own mind playing games. But the next strange thing didn’t wait long. It happened the following evening. She stood before the dormitory mirror brushing her hair when she noticed something odd. Her reflection blinked—twice—before she did. She froze. This time, her scream shattered the air. Her dorm mates rushed to...

 👻 Episode 2: The Dare That Went Too Far By Nana Ama Acheampomaa The rumor about the well had always circled the town like a restless wind, especially among students at Saint Miriam’s Girls’ School. Most laughed it off—until night fell. Then, even the bravest refused to pass by the old mission compound. But one evening, after prep, Neneh made a mistake. It started as a dare. Her classmates, gathered in their shared dormitory, had been swapping ghost stories by torchlight. Neneh, headstrong and skeptical, rolled her eyes at every tale. “You people are too bush,” she scoffed. “There’s no ghost in that well. Just echo and imagination.” “Then prove it,” said Itoe, the boldest of the girls. “Go there tonight. Alone.” The others gasped. Neneh laughed nervously, but pride wouldn’t let her back down. “Fine. I’ll go.” At midnight, while the others whispered in fear beneath their covers, Neneh slipped out. She took the long corridor behind the chapel, her phone’s flashlight barely cutting t...

 By Grace Antiedu & Nana Amma Acheamponmaa  Story 2: The Voice in the Well In the small town of Buea, nestled beneath Mount Cameroon, there was a well said to be cursed. It stood behind the remains of an old colonial mission house—half-covered in moss, surrounded by silence. No one used it anymore. Not since the year Adeline disappeared. Some say she fell in. Others claim she was pushed. But the truth was more disturbing. At midnight, if you passed near the well and listened closely, you could hear a girl’s voice crying faintly from below. “Help me... I’m still here…” Most dismissed it as imagination. But then one day, 15-year-old Neneh heard the voice with her own ears. She didn’t believe in ghosts—until the voice began calling her name. 📍 Next: Episode 2 – The Dare That Went Too Far 💀 When curiosity opens a door, something always walks through....

  By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheampomaa Achuor never told a soul. Not his parents. Not Ernest. Not the man whose room he accidentally entered that dawn. He returned home that morning pale, shivering, and silent. No one asked—maybe they didn’t want to know. In places like Limbe, silence is often safer than truth. But the encounter marked him. After that day, Achuor avoided the lavatory path at dawn. He no longer lingered in the yard alone. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, he’d wake up sweating, heart pounding, with the image of a decaying face hovering just above his own. The family eventually moved out of Middle Farm camp. Life went on. New surroundings, new friends, new routines. But Achuor carried something no relocation could erase: the memory of a spirit who should have rested, but didn’t. Akyale’s sightings gradually stopped. People said maybe she finally gave up… or maybe the person who killed her died, and she was now at peace. But those who remember that tim...

By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheampomaa In the heart of Middle Farm camp, before the sun crested the hills and even before the cock could crow, ten-year-old Achuor stirred from sleep. It was his habit to wake early and slip out to the lavatory, long before the others in the camp rose and turned the shared path into a waiting line. The lavatory sat about a hundred meters behind his family’s house, near a thick row of plum trees that loomed like silent guards. At that hour, the world was hushed, swallowed in shadows. Only the wind rustling through the leaves reminded him he wasn’t completely alone. But that morning felt different. As he stepped onto the path, the air turned heavy. He paused. A cold shiver crept over him like fingers brushing his neck. Gooseflesh prickled his arms. Something was watching. He moved forward slowly, his heart thudding louder than his footsteps. The trees, cloaked in darkness, swayed gently but there was no breeze. Then, he saw her. A few feet ahead, hove...

By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheampomaa By the second week after Akyale’s burial, the atmosphere in Middle Farm had changed. Children walked in pairs, even in daylight. Mothers held their little ones tighter. And the school where Akyale once sat became the center of fear. It started with a scream—one of the pupils saw her. “She stood by the classroom window,” the girl said, trembling. “She didn’t blink. Just stared”. Another boy claimed to see her in the hallway, blocking his path. Others heard her name whispered in the toilets when no one else was around. Teachers tried to dismiss it as imagination. But the fear was real. Even staff avoided the school grounds after closing. One afternoon, a group of pupils was playing when a gust of cold wind blew across the yard. There was no rain, no storm -just a chill. They all stopped and looked toward the far gate. A figure in a pale cloth stood there, watching silently before vanishing into thin air. It was Akyale’s burial cloth. By now, th...

Episode 1: The Death That Stirred the Camp. By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheamponmaa  Death came quietly for Akyale- a girl of the Bayangi tribe, bright-eyed and full of promise. One week, she was seen walking to school, the next she was gone, buried in haste. But it was not the death itself that shook the people of Limbe’s Middle Farm camp—it was what followed. Akyale had once been a classmate of Ernest, the older brother of a boy named Achuor. The news of her sudden death spread like wildfire, casting a dark cloud over the community. People didn’t talk about her being sick. There was no accident. No clear explanation. Just a hushed burial and an overwhelming feeling that something wasn’t right. And so, as is tradition in certain parts of Cameroon, the family placed a sword on her chest before laying her to rest. It was an old ritual—one not often spoken about in public but known well among the elders. The sword was meant to call her spirit to justice. If anyone had a hand in ...

In many African cultures, death is not the end—it is merely a passage. But sometimes, that passage is not peaceful. This series, Whispers from the Other Side , brings to light the untold stories of spirits who refuse to rest. Set in towns and villages like Limbe, Middle Farm, and beyond, these tales are drawn from whispered legends, vivid imaginations, and fragments of real-life encounters passed down through generations. Each story explores the thin line between the natural and the supernatural, weaving together mystery, cultural beliefs, and the chilling fear of the unknown. Some spirits come seeking justice. Others linger in confusion. And a few… come to warn the living. Whether you're here for the thrill or the folklore, prepare to journey into places where footsteps echo in empty corridors and cold winds carry forgotten names. Welcome to the other side. By Grace Antiedu & Nana Ama Acheamponmaa 

Hello world. Welcome to my blog and stay tuned to the beginning of an exciting adventure with me.  Yours truly, Grace & Nana Ama.