The Whispers in the Fan


James had always been a light sleeper. Every night, he relied on the quiet hum of his ceiling fan to lull him into sleep. The fan, a sturdy old thing left by the previous tenant, had a slight wobble and gave off a gentle creak with each rotation. But the sound was soothing, like a heartbeat in the silence.

One night, as James lay in bed, he heard a faint whisper. He sat up, heart pounding, but no one was there. He glanced around, dismissing it as his imagination. He lay back down, and then he heard it again—a soft murmur, as if someone was trying to speak over the hum of the fan. This time, the words were clearer.

"Turn...me...off."

James bolted upright, staring at the fan. He told himself he was just hearing things, just the whirr and wobble playing tricks on him. But then the whisper came again, louder and clearer.

"Turn...me...off...before...it's...too...late."

Shaking, James reached for the switch, and as soon as he flipped it, silence fell. He lay back down, but a chill crept over him as he realized the silence was unsettlingly loud. But just as he was drifting off, the fan turned itself back on.

A cold draft washed over him, and the whispers began again, faster this time, the voices more urgent.

"You...have...to...listen...you...can't...stay."

In terror, James watched the fan blades begin spinning faster, faster than they ever had before. Dust flew off in spirals, and the shadows cast on the walls twisted into shapes that seemed alive.

The fan’s hum grew to a scream, and with a sudden jolt, one of the blades flew off, narrowly missing James’s head, slicing into the wall beside him. The whispers filled the room in a maddening chorus, but there was one voice, clearer and sharper than the others:

"This fan isn’t haunted...it’s hungry."

The next morning, the landlord found the room empty, with only the fan spinning slowly, creaking in a rhythm that sounded almost like laughter.

Nigerian singer, Destiny Boy and his partner welcome their first child, sparking an outpouring of congratulatory messages.

Famous Nigerian singer, Kizz Daniel reacts as a fan dare him to diss his colleague, Wizkid.

The Collector

Martha had just moved into her new apartment, a small, dim place with creaky floors and peeling wallpaper. The landlord had left a dusty, ancient standing fan in the corner of the living room, warning her that the building’s air conditioning barely worked.

On her first night, Martha decided to turn on the fan. It rattled to life with a shaky hum, and as she sat on the couch, she felt an odd chill. She leaned forward to examine it, only to notice something strange on the fan blades. They weren’t just covered in dust—there were dark stains, like faint brown fingerprints. She shivered, brushing it off as rust.

The next night, she noticed something even stranger. As the fan turned, she could have sworn she saw something in the reflection of its metal blades. A face, distorted by the spinning, staring back at her. She turned the fan off and rubbed her eyes. When she looked again, it was just her own reflection, wide-eyed and tired.

But that night, Martha was awakened by a soft murmur, the sound of whispering, as if from the fan itself. Half asleep, she got out of bed and wandered into the living room. The fan was off, yet the blades were spinning slowly, as if powered by something unseen.

She stared, horrified, as faint, ghostly figures began to form in the blades’ reflection—faces filled with terror, eyes wide, mouths open as if screaming in silence. Each turn of the fan seemed to capture a new face, each one more twisted and desperate than the last.

A faint whisper floated out, chilling her to the core:

"One more…join us."

Frozen with terror, Martha backed away, but it was too late. The fan suddenly spun at a violent speed, a cold wind pulling her forward, closer and closer. Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw was her own terrified face, merging into the fan’s endless cycle of trapped souls.

The next morning, the landlord found the apartment empty. And the fan? It stood in the corner, silent and still—except for one more faint, ghostly face reflecting off the dusty blades.

"Some of our parents started with nothing.

Some of our fathers weren’t millionaires, they did not even have thousands of naira before marrying our mothers, yet they built sustainable marriages.

You will find out that it is not the most glamorous wedding that lasts well and it is also not the most wretched wedding that makes the best of marriage. It is..." - Bob-Manuel Udokwu gives dating advice for people in today's world

15 promax

Controversy surrounding Nigerian music duo, Psquare escalates as Peter Okoye reveals twin brother Paul's contact through a lawyer amid ongoing music rights dispute.

Na me jamphoto