They Gave Him Power for 7 Days..Then Returned for Something He Didn’t Expect I African Horror

This is the story of a man called Tundday. A man who was tired. A man who wanted more. A man who for seven days lived the kind of life that people only talk about in hushed voices. But when the seventh day ended, something happened and he wasn't ready for it. Tundi had been awake since 5:00 a.m. Not because he had somewhere to go, but because sleep had left him 2 hours earlier. His ceiling was leaking. His mattress had a hole. The air in his small room was always heavy with heat and dust and the kind of silence that sounded like regret. Another rejection email had come in during the night. Another company wishing him the best in his future endeavors. His stomach was empty, but he didn't mind. He had gotten used to the hunger months ago. That day he stood at the bus stop in the same faded brown shirt, the one he had ironed so often he now looked polished, not pressed. His shoes had lost their shine. His bag, the same one from university, hung from his shoulder like it was tired, too. He was staring into nothing when a car pulled up beside him. It didn't honk, it just stopped. The glass rolled down slow and deliberate and a voice called out his name. Tundday. He turned and for a moment he didn't recognize the man behind the wheel. The man had clean haircuts, expensive glasses, shirts that looked tailored, skin like someone who hadn't waited in the sun for anything in years. Then it hit him. Jedday. It was Jed, his old classmate. Back in school, Jed was always at the back of the class, always hungry, always owing someone money. He once slept through a final year exam and failed that paper. It was Tundday who had helped him write part of his final year project. Now, Jile was behind the wheel of a black bench. "Tday," he said, laughing. "Uh-uh, look at you." Tun smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes. He said, "Bro, I they I manage." Jesus stepped out of the car. The smell of his perfume filled the air like we welt. Even the wind seemed to pass for him. "You looking for work?" he said. Tundday nodded. "Would you like me to hook you up?" "Yeah, bro." Tundai said, "I will do anything, bro. Anything." Jay reached into his pocket and handed Tundi a card. It was black. It had just a number on it, no name. "Call me," he said. "You're better than this. I can show you something." And then he got back into his car. The door closed. The Ben zoomed off. Tuli stood there holding the card. He didn't know it yet, but his life had already changed. He didn't call the number right away, something about Judith's smile had felt sort of unfamiliar, but on the fourth day when his data finished and his landlord started harassing him, he gave in. He called the number. When he called, Jay's voice on the other end was calm and fell. "Come to Leki," Jed said. Today, come clean, come ready. Tund had never been to that part of the island before. But he was excited. When he got there, the building was tall and quiet. There was no signboard, no noise, just a door that opened when he arrived, as if it had been waiting for him. Inside, it was cold. J met him in the hallway. His smile was gone. His eyes looked empty. This is the last time I will call you, he said. Then he opened the door. The room inside was large, bare and dark. At the center there was one round table. Three men were already seated. They didn't greet. They didn't say anything. Jay gestured for Tundai to sit down. So he sat. One of the men leaned forward and asked just one question. How badly do you want it? Tund looked at them. Then he said it quietly. I am tired of the way things are for me. I want it badly. The other man nodded. You will have seven days, he said. See 7 days to taste what most people never have. Wealth, respect, authority. Doors will open. Your voice will carry weight. TW's lips were dry. And after that, the man smiled. On the eighth day, we return. We don't want your life. We don't want your soul. We will only collect what is old. Tulle frowned. And what exactly is old? None of them answered. Instead, none of them just slid a sheet of paper towards him. The paper had just one line. I, Tund Olumid, accept the gift of seven days. On the eighth day, I surrender what is old. A pen was placed beside it. Tundday looked down at the paper. He thought about the years he had lost, the interviews that never called him back, the empty bank accounts, the pitiful stairs from the neighbors, his mother's voice on the phone saying, "God's time is the best even though her fate was small." He picked up the pen and he signed and just then the light flickered. When he looked up, the room was empty. The chairs, the table, the men, they were all gone. Only Jed remained. "Welcome to the other side." Jay smiled at him. When Tund stepped out of the building that day, the air smelled different. His steps felt firmer, like the ground itself was holding him up. People turned to look at him just once, but long enough to notice. He wasn't used to that. He had spent years being invisible. It was as if his life had already started to change. That evening, his phone rang. It was a number he didn't know. The voice on the line was polite and professional. Mr. Tundday Olmiday, we reviewed your application. We would like to meet with you tomorrow morning, 9:00 sharp. Tundai didn't remember sending any new applications, but he said yes. The next morning, he wore the best clothes he had. Creased trouser trousers and a shirt that barely fit right. But when he looked in the mirror, something was different. His eyes looked confident, like they knew something that the rest of him didn't know. The interview wasn't really an interview. The moment he walked into the office, they stood up for him. They offered him coffee. They laughed at his jokes. Jokes he didn't even plan to make. By the end of the meeting, he wasn't just hired. He was being offered a salary that made him almost faint and a car and a driver all in one day. That night, when he opened the envelope they gave him, he just sat in the room holding the money, breathing carefully as if the wrong breath might make everything disappear. He called his mother. She was shocked. Chundday, you got the job. He said yes. And for the first time in years, he could hear joy in her voice. The next day, more calls came. Banks asking him if he wanted an account upgrade. Old friends messaging him out of nowhere. People he had once begged to lend him urgent 2,000 naira now calling him the boss. Even the air he breeded felt different. Doors opened, faces smiled. It was like the world had finally remembered he existed. And J didn't call, didn't visit. It was like he was just gone just like that. But Tund didn't allow that to bother him. He was still enjoying his new success. On the third day, a lady he had seen only once in school sent him a message. I heard about your rise. Let's catch up soon. She came to visit him the next weekend. Life was good. Tunday could not believe the sudden change in his life. By the fifth day, he had moved into a service apartment. Everything was white in his new apartment. The fridge was full. The shower had pressure. There was always light. Tundai was happy. But then small things started happening. the kind of things you notice only if you've lived in darkness long enough to remember what shadows are supposed to look like. On the sixth morning, he looked into the mirror and saw himself looking like a skeleton. He stepped back shocked, but when he looked again, his reflection was normal. Afraid, he quickly dialed his mother's phone. She picked up, but the voice on the other end didn't sound like her. When he said, "It's me, Tundday." She paused. Then she said, "Which Tundday?" Eh, he laughed awkwardly. He thought it was a joke, but her voice was serious. I'm sorry, I don't know any Tundi. Then she ended the call and for the first time in 6 days, Tundi felt fear. He sat on his bed for hours, the phone still in his hand, trying to tell himself she was just confused. Maybe she was tired, or maybe she didn't hear him very well, but deep down, he suspected that something wasn't right. The next day, Tund woke up late, not because he wanted to sleep in, but because for the first time in a week, his dreams had been disturbing. He couldn't explain them. He saw faces without mouths, clocks with no hands, doors that opened into the same room over and over again. He had turned all night sweating through clean sheets that no longer felt comforting. The air in the apartment was still cold, but it no longer felt like luxury. It felt unnatural, like the chill of a room no one should sleep in for too long. He got out of bed and noticed something strange. His phone screen was blank. Not off, not broken, just blank. No wallpaper, no apps, no notification. He held the phone button. Nothing happened. He plugged it in. The light didn't come on. He tapped the screen. It flickered once, just for a second, long enough for him to see something written on the screen. He saw day seven. And then something inside him sank. Oh my God. He hadn't even be counting. He had let the days pass like waves washing over him, soaking him in comfort. He didn't know it was the seventh day already. But now the number stood in front of him like a gate. Day seven. He stood there for a long time, the phone still in his hand, staring at the screen until it faded to black again. And then, for reasons he couldn't explain, he opened his closet. It was full shirts he didn't remember buying, suits that looked expensive, shoes lined in perfect symmetry. But in the far corner, something caught his eye. It was a folded brown shirt, his old one, the one he wore the day he met Gay at the bus stop, the one with a small tear near the armpits. He hadn't brought it here. How come it was here? He reached for it slowly and when he touched it, he had a flashback. He saw himself standing outside that tall building in Leki. And then he heard the voice again, that calm, quiet voice from that room with no lights. On the eighth day, we returned. He dropped the shirt like it was hot. His hands were trembling now. Quickly, he stepped out of the apartment. He had no destination in mind. He just needed to move to fill the road under his feet again. But the world had changed. The street outside was busy. But no one seemed to notice him. Not like before. When heads turned and greetings followed him everywhere. Now people just walked past him like he wasn't there. He greeted the security man at the gate. There was no reply, not even a nod. He walked into the supermarket. two streets down, picked up a drink, then he went to pay. The cashier stared through him, literally through him, and the moment he turned to walk away, she scanned the next customer's items without a pause. He looked at his hands. They were still there. He touched the glass door. It opened, but when he looked into the mirror at the corner of the store, he wasn't in it. There was no reflection in the mirror. He stood there, his heart pounding, cold sweat running down his back. And then he did the only thing that made sense. He ran to the church. Not because he had suddenly found God, but because the church was open and quiet, and he had nowhere else to go. He sat in the back pit, staring at the altar, listening to the people saying their prayers. A small boy walked past him holding his mother's hand. He stopped, looked at Tundi, and he said, "Mommy, who is that man sitting there alone?" His mother looked over. "There's no one there. Let's go," the mom said, dragging him. When Tund, he stood up slowly, and then he slowly walked out of the church without looking back. That night, he didn't sleep. He sat on the edge of his bed. The lights were off. His phone was still blank. He just sat down waiting. TW fell asleep when he was waiting. Outside the city life continued. Cars drove past. Generators rumbled. Somewhere someone was laughing too loudly. But in his apartment, there was silence. And then he heard it. A knock. not at the door, but at the window. He stood up slowly. The room wasn't cold anymore. It wasn't warm either. It just felt hollow, like all the air had been replaced by something that wasn't air. He walked to the window, then pulled back the cotton. There was no one there, just the dark balcony, the railings, and the city lights in the distance. Then another knock came. This time the knock came from inside his wardrobe. He turned, his heart now beating loudly against his chest like it was trying to escape. He stepped towards the wardrobe and opened it. It was empty except for one thing. That brown shirt. The shirt was folded neatly right on top of a box that hadn't been there before. It was a small black box. Tundai picked it up and the moment his fingers touched the lid, the light went out. Not just in the room, not in the apartment. The entire building went dark. And then came the voice. Not from the walls, not from the box, but from everywhere. You heard seven days. Tunday turned, but there was no one behind him. He stepped back, bumping into the wall. his heart racing. Then he heard the voice again. You were not tricked. You signed the contract. You said yes. And suddenly he saw flashes in the front of his eyes. His life in the last seven days flashed across his eyes. Him laughing in his new office. Him holding money. Him eating, dancing, and shaking hands. Him signing papers. Him posing for pictures. Then he saw the image of his mother and he remembered her confused voice on the voice asking which to then the final flash he saw was him signing the agreement in that building. Then the voice came again. We have not come for your life. We do not want your soul. That is not the cost. The black box in his hands began to vibrate. He opened it and inside there was nothing, just a hole. He stared into it and he felt something pulling him in. He could feel it like someone reaching into him, gently pulling something off his body layer by layer. They pulled off his identity. They pulled off his memories. They pulled off his spirits. And then he felt his entire body being pulled into the box and then everything just went blank. He woke up the next morning on a bench outside the same building in Mecki, the one where everything had started. He didn't even know how he got there. He was just there. The world around him was already wide awake. People were rushing to work. Buses were carrying passengers. Roadside vendors were shouting prices. Everything looked normal. But Tundan knew that nothing was normal anymore. He stood up slowly like someone whose body still worked but whose mind had fallen asleep. He looked around. Nobody noticed him. Not a single person stopped to look at him. Not one. He realized that no one was even seeing him. people's eyes would pass over him and then move on like he was never there to begin with. He was confused, so he decided to test it. He walked up to a man standing beside the road checking his watch. "Good morning, sir," Kundai said. The man didn't respond, didn't even flinch. He just turned around slowly and walked away like nobody had spoken to him. That was when it finally hit him. The voice from that night, the one that had spoken from the box, had said that they wouldn't take his life, that they didn't want his soul. What they wanted was what he owed. And now, standing there on the busy Lagos road, it became painfully clear what they had taken. They had taken his existence, his place in the world, his memories, his identity. He had been completely wiped out. People no longer saw him because he had already been erased. He had been removed like a chapter from a book, like a photograph where one person had carefully scratched someone out. His name still existed. His face still existed, but the world no longer connected them. He had become a living memory with no one left to remember. Tundi walked through the city for hours, moving from one street to the next, hoping for anything. A familiar glance, a greeting, someone bumping into him and saying sorry, something to prove that he still existed. But nothing happened. He tried calling his mother, but the number didn't go through. Later that day, he even found his way back to his mother's house. He stood outside her door, his heart pounding like it used to when he was younger and he came home late. He knocked and she opened the door. She looked him in the face and said, "Yes, can I help you?" Tunday swallowed hard and said, "It's me, Tundi, your son." She stared at him for a moment. Then she gave a confused, gentle smile. I don't know any Tundi. My son's name is not Tundi. My son went to work in the city years ago. We haven't seen him since. Tundday opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He backed away slowly, and this time he didn't even know where to go. Later that evening, he found himself sitting on a bench not far from where Jay had once pulled up in that black bench and handed him that card. It was the same kind of day. It was a warm day. People were moving up and down going about their daily activities and that was when Tundday noticed somebody. It was a young man maybe in his mid20ies. His shirt was clean but old. His shoes were old and worn. He was holding a file tightly the way people do when their whole life is inside one envelope and they are desperate for a job. The boy looked tired not just from walking but from hoping. Tundai watched him. The young man checked his phone. The phone screen was cracked. Then he sighed like someone whose strength had just left him. And he sat down at the edge of the sidewalk tired. And Tundai just watched him. He watched the way he sat with his shoulders hunched. The way he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that had seen better days. The way his eyes searched the road, waiting for something that wasn't coming. It was too familiar. He was It was just like he used to be only 10 days ago. So Tundai stood up and walked over to the young man and sat by him. The young man glanced at him, but didn't say anything. Slowly, Tundai reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. It was a black card. It had no name, just a number. He offered it to the young man. "What is this?" the young man asked. Tundday looked straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the road. "It's the help you need. If you want to change your life, call that number," Tundai said. The young one turned the card over in his hand, confused. "Why me?" Tundai smiled softly but there was no joy in his smile. He just looked at the young man and said, "You look like someone who is ready to sign." As he walked away from the young man, Tund thought to himself, they never lied to him. They told him he had seven days and they told him they would return. They didn't take his soul. They didn't take his body. They just erased him. Now he just walks around the city. He's not a ghost. He's a messenger. A reminder that every gift has a cost. Because when they give you power for 7 days, they always always come back and they never go back empty-handed. Sometimes the world will text you with delay. It will stretch your patience. It will push you so close to the edge that shortcuts start to look like blessings. But not every door that opens is a door you were meant to walk through. Sometimes when you force your way into wealth too fast, you forget that wealth can also cast shadows. Tindle didn't choose wrong because he was evil. He chose wrong because he was desperate, because he was human. And that's why stories like this exist. Not just to scare us, but to remind us that power without timing is dangerous. And shortcuts don't always save time. Sometimes they cost everything. If you enjoyed this story and you want more like it, stories that make you think, stories that stay with you long after the video ends, then make sure to like this video, share it, and subscribe to this channel, where stories remember what people forget. Until next time, be careful what you wish for, and even more, be careful who gives it to you.