Season 1 – Episode 1: \"The Mirror in Nneka’s Room\"

Nneka had just turned 17 when she and her mother moved back to her late grandfather\'s village house in Umuelechi, a sleepy settlement in the heart of Anambra State. The house, once grand, now stood aged — its red earth walls cracked and the zinc roofing rusting under the weight of time. Yet, despite its eerie quiet, her mother insisted it was “home.”

They arrived one dusty evening in a rickety bus, greeted only by the rustling of dry palm trees and the stares of silent villagers. Nneka, slender with chocolate-brown skin and shoulder-length kinky hair, wore an oversized hoodie and jeans that clashed with the traditional aura of the place. Her mother, wrapped in a faded Ankara wrapper, was visibly tense.

The interior of the house smelled of old wood, kerosene, and something faintly sour. Nneka’s room had a high ceiling with cobwebs dancing above. What stood out most was a large wood-framed mirror, almost too large for the small bedroom. It leaned slightly against the wall, its glass untouched by dust.

That night, as she unpacked, Nneka noticed the mirror’s reflection didn’t quite match her movements. A half-second delay, then an odd flicker. She blamed it on exhaustion. She shut the curtain, clicked off the bulb, and lay down on the raffia mat — the only bedding she had for now.

By midnight, the air turned cold. Very cold. A faint knock echoed through the house. Nneka sat up, heart pounding. She turned to the mirror — and saw herself still lying down, asleep. Yet she was fully awake, upright.

She screamed.

Her mother rushed in with a kerosene lamp. “What is it?”

“The mirror—Mama, look!” she cried.

But the mirror only showed one image now — a frightened girl and her mother, holding each other.

The next day, Mama covered the mirror with a white cloth. “Your grandfather warned me about that mirror. It belonged to a dibia. I should’ve burned it.”

Nneka was shocked. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid,” her mother whispered. “Your father’s spirit told me it must stay, for now.”

That evening, Nneka heard whispers coming from beneath the cloth — hushed voices in an old dialect she didn’t understand. She recorded the sound on her phone and sent it to her cousin in the city who studied linguistics. Hours later, she got a one-word reply:

\"Run.\"

Instead, Nneka stayed. She wanted answers. That night, she removed the cloth.

The mirror shimmered like water. Her reflection smiled — but Nneka hadn’t. The reflection then turned and walked away… into the mirror.

In its place, another figure emerged. A pale-faced child with hollow eyes and no legs, floating, mouthing words silently.

Nneka slammed the cloth back on and ran out of the room.

Mama met her in the hallway, holding an old book. “It’s time you knew what we’re dealing with,” she said.

“We are mirror-bearers, Nneka. The curse is in our blood.”