“Man makes his own destiny, and destiny makes the man. And so freedom and necessity are intertwined.” – Johann Michael Sailer
As part of my challenge to improve my writing, one of the 10 types of short stories that I will be attempting to experiment with for today is a frame.
Actually, I will be exploring 2 new things today. I’ll be writing a thriller in the form of a frame story.
Let me start by explaining what a frame story is for those who don’t know. A frame story is actually a writing technique that involves creating an entire story into another story and bringing this new story to life in the form of a flashback or a narrative by one of the characters of the main story.
Now, I guess you’re familiar with what a thriller is. If you aren’t, thrillers are a genre of storytelling that is “defined by the moods they elicit, giving their audiences heightened feelings of suspense, excitement, surprise, anticipation and anxiety”.
I grew up reading lots of Tom Clancy and James Hadley Chase novels and I’ve always been fascinated with thriller novels and how the threads of these stories were woven. Being faced with writing a frame story today, of course, it was a no-brainer for me to make the plot a thriller. Did I do a good job at it? I don’t know. That’s for you to let me know.
Anyway, today’s story begins with a seemingly ordinary moment for the main character that turns eerie when she encounters someone who feels familiar… too familiar. The encounter was one of those chance meetings that immediately puts you (the reader) on edge, hinting that something isn’t quite right. As I wrote this story, I could feel the suspense build; the atmosphere practically crept off the page, sending a chill down my spine. The fact that I started writing it at the crack of dawn with the entire house still asleep did not help matters.
This attempt at a thriller took me to a whole new level of creative tension. I had to focus on every little detail, every unnerving feeling, and every hint of dread—a new experience that was both challenging and electrifying. I’ll just stop talking now and let you go on to read the story.
I hope you enjoy my first (thriller) frame story.
Lurking In The Shadows
Adaobi stood on the crowded sidewalk of Victoria Island, Lagos, watching the city pulse with life. The humid air clung to her skin as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone, waiting for her Uber. Lagos was relentless in its pace, but today felt different—there was a strange heaviness in the air, like something unseen was watching her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman. The woman was standing a few feet away, staring at her. Not in the casual way Lagosians tend to glance at strangers, but with an intensity that made Adaobi shudder. She looked away quickly, pretending not to notice.
The Uber pulled up, and Adaobi hurried inside. As the car pulled away from the curb, she glanced back. The woman was still there, her eyes locked on Adaobi as the car moved further into the city’s bustle.
It had been a long day at the office, and Adaobi couldn’t shake the feeling of that stranger’s gaze. She replayed the encounter over and over in her mind, feeling unsettled. Something about the woman seemed…familiar. But why?
That night, she dreamed of her childhood—days spent in a small village in Anambra State. She saw her late mother’s face, heard her soft voice telling stories of their ancestors. One story, in particular, played in her mind: the tale of Ucheoma, a young woman from their lineage who had disappeared many years ago, lost to a tragic accident. In the dream, her mother’s voice echoed: “Sometimes the past finds us when we least expect it, Ada.”
The next day, Adaobi pushed the dream aside as she headed to a coffee shop on the Mainland for a meeting. The city was its usual noisy self—danfo drivers shouting, hawkers pushing their wares—but Adaobi couldn’t focus. The sense of unease from the previous day hadn’t faded. And then, as she entered the café, she froze.
The woman was there.
Sitting in a corner, stirring her coffee, the same intense eyes locked onto her the moment she walked in. Adaobi’s heart raced. She knew those eyes. But how?
She approached cautiously, trying to summon the courage to ask the woman why she was following her. The woman spoke first.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” she said, her voice eerily calm.
Adaobi faltered, her breath catching in her throat. “Should I?”
The woman smiled faintly. “I’ve been watching you for days, waiting for you to realize. We have crossed paths before—many years ago.”
Adaobi frowned, trying to place her. There was something undeniably familiar in the woman’s features. Then it hit her like a cold wave.
The woman looked exactly like Ucheoma, the ancestor from the stories. The resemblance was uncanny—her bone structure, her piercing eyes, even the subtle tilt of her lips.
“You look like…someone from my family’s past,” Adaobi stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
“I am Ucheoma,” the woman replied, her voice filled with certainty. “I never died in that accident. I’ve been waiting all these years…for you.”
Adaobi’s skin prickled as a chill ran through her. This couldn’t be real. She took a step back, her mind racing. “How is that possible? You’re just a story—”
The woman leaned forward, her gaze never leaving Adaobi’s. “Stories are more than you think. The past has a way of finding those connected to it. I’ve been watching you, because you are the key to what I lost.”
Adaobi’s heart pounded as memories of her mother’s tales surged to the surface. She had always dismissed them as mere folklore, but standing in front of her was living proof that there was more to the stories.
“What do you want from me?” Adaobi asked, her voice trembling.
Ucheoma’s eyes softened. “You hold the answer to my freedom. There’s a secret buried deep in your family, one that was hidden when I disappeared. Find it, and I can finally rest.”
Before Adaobi could respond, the café’s lights flickered, and when they steadied, Ucheoma was gone. Vanished, as if she had never been there.
Over the next few weeks, Adaobi found herself spiraling down a dark path. She searched through old family records, dug through her mother’s belongings, and even visited her ancestral home in Anambra. Piece by piece, she uncovered the truth: Ucheoma had been involved in a powerful ritual that went wrong. Her disappearance was no accident, but a consequence of that ritual—one tied to their bloodline.
The ritual was meant to bring fortune to their family, but it came at a cost: Ucheoma’s life had been suspended between the living and the dead. Only someone of her lineage, a descendant, could break the curse.
Adaobi realised she was the only one who could end Ucheoma’s suffering.
One late night, standing in front of her mother’s old shrine in the village, Adaobi performed the final steps of the ritual she had pieced together. The air grew thick with an otherworldly presence. As the candles flickered, a cold breeze swept through the room, and she heard Ucheoma’s voice one last time.
“Thank you.”
Then, silence.
Back in Lagos, the weight had lifted. Adaobi had returned to her life, but nothing felt the same. She often wondered if she had imagined the whole thing, but she knew better. The past had found her, as her mother had warned. She had crossed paths with a woman from another time, and in doing so, had set them both free.
The End.
Writing this thriller was an intense ride, and I’m grateful for the chance to explore this side of storytelling. Will I do it again? I don’t know. But I definitely won’t attempt writing something like this again at the crack of dawn.
Anyway, there’s something uniquely thrilling about immersing myself in suspense and delivering that to the reader. So this might make me want to attempt writing a thriller again. I hope this story pulled you in and kept you on the edge of your seat! That was what I was going for.
P/s: If you have any questions about creating content, writing, or the story above, please leave a comment below or DM me on Instagram!
