Tag Archives: story

The magic sweet shop appeared once every year. It landed with ringing bells as creaking sugar glass doors opened everywhere a Wooloon child  dwelt. Then when all the free candy was expunged, they’d jingle again and the shop would disappear.

Baraza pondered on this, watching Mrs. Shu sing on about primary and secondary colors. Oddly enough, her head bobbing rhymes didn’t have their usual effect on him. Admittedly, there were more important things to consider today.

A train whistle screamed under the blanket of night as Mr. Munene dropped dead on his study floor. His soul was oblivious of the interruption as he stood up to investigate the disturbance.

Beyond the window was a most astonishing sight. A black train crowned in a billowing ghoulish white mane of smoke tore across a winding bridge of milky white bones. Although it was only minutes to the witching hour, the night sky was burnished with ghostly blue light.

“Today’s the day I change.” The grand wizened one quipped with a nauseating grin.

The gathering was confused. Was the grand well? Certainly she had to be ill for never had the malevolent one dared make a jest. Least of all on this their hallowed day.

Her revolting smirk widened, exposing blackened gums and rusty fangs. “Sisters!  Tell me. What shall I transform into first? A rat? A hat? Perhaps a fat cat?” The grand wizened one teased with a hoot.

At her banter, the appalling cackling of a thousand hags ricocheted off the sewer walls. Yet not a peep was heard in the town above. For where witches brood, black magic seals ears good.

As quickly as she had broken character, the grand’s spindly finger returned to her cracked lips, replanting her scowl. A hush smothered the crowing.

“Listen and listen good,l. A wizened must do more than distort her mood if she wishes to hunt for food.” She exclaimed, inflecting the last word with a scream of delight.

“She must croon and frown, pucker brows and howl, as she transforms into horrors on hallowed ground.” The grand screeched. “Sisters! Observe!” The grand ordered.

It was a good thing that the crowd was well below the ground, for the hag, though proud, looked quite silly going round. She hopped and twirled, with a pop from her wand. Then she grimaced and sulked, turned her head all about. When she was done, she sang a horrible chant.

It went a little like this.

We nasty, ghastly, horridly unsightly,

Wizened must always be a terror, unattractive.

Hideous, piteous, terribly tedious,

We must always trap, with a voice so mellifluous.

Terrible, skeletal, positively horrible,

Wizened never gaudy, kitschy or showy.

For a shivering, quivering, shuddering, trembling,

We shall oblige, give the children a frightening.

When she was done with her wailing song, the gathering was surprised to find that she’d morphed into a dirty little rat. A flea bitten parasite that kept scratching, gnawing, turning this way and that. Still her wand and robe were neatly transformed. All that is, apart from her hat. It came flying from above and fell with a plop. Trapping her inside the smelly round top.

All of a sudden, not quite unlike a gathering wave, deafening cackling broke out. The grand was embarrassed of course, very displeased, as she struggled to escape the hat’s smell of cheese. Then finally free her wand gave a spark, turned three witches’ into bats as silence returned to the city of rats.

“Now. Take your positions!” She squealed as the gathering obliged.

Footsteps splashed against raw sewage and thundered over pipes and grimy floors. Before long, they stood as battlements of pointed hats and warts. “Sing you wretched scum of the earth! Sing and let the sewers ring with rats!”

The grand ordered as the hags obeyed, hollering the grand’s enchantment in chorus. As they did, bright green sparks of light zapped around everywhere like bees, shrinking the wizened lot down to their knees. Some yelled while others shrieked, but the grand was altogether quite pleased.

Before long, the sewer rang with a thousand rats, squealing and squeaking in utter delight. It was a most terrible sight to behold with a stench that could wake the dead. Again the grand called for silence with her hand and all the rats stilled, looking ahead.

“Listen sisters!” The grand squeaked. “We shall terrorize them these pests. Those rancid insects. We shall bite their silly little legs. We will flood the streets with the smell of cheese and send them a scattering as we please.”

She pointed to the left flank. “You! To the boiler rooms. Quickly!” The grand ordered as hundreds of mice fled up the pipes.

She then turned to the right. “The kitchens and rooms must feel our wrath too. Spit in their soups and soil their boots. Go!” The grand ordered as more rats ran up the pipes.

She glared at the remaining number. “You my pretties have the best job of all. You shall gnaw at their cupboards and chairs, scamper around and give them a scare. A couple of you should jump in their hair. Bite their toes and ruin their clothes. Let them rue the day they let us rot in these holes.” The grand ordered as the last battalion left up the pipes.

Content with the madness she had spun, the grand made her way up the pipes as well. She scampered over grimy plastic and rotting walls, cackling and chuckling, though not very loud. She knew the sewers well for the wizened had lived off the rotting hell. But she was no longer content with the foul depths below. It was time for the humans to feel her blow.

Outside in the glow of the hallowed moon, rats ran a mock in the town of Wooloon. Some screamed and stomped their feet, while others ran hollering to the trees. The grand snickered, snorted and joked, then she danced around screaming “Bite their toes!”

It was a pity that she did all of those. If she hadn’t, she might, I suppose, have seen the army that gathered close, smacking snouts, waiting to pounce.  For from their den came no less than ten, very skinny little cats from the hearths of men. They purred with delight as men took flight and stalked, joining the dance of the night.

The first to be attacked was the grand. Oblivious of the cats that prowled. She was gobbled up entirely, coat and all, not even a nail was left in the alley. Next the cats rounded up the rats. Picking off the fattest of the bunch. What began in flight and cowering, had soon become a feast of meowing.

Felines gobbled five, sometimes ten, licking  lips and swaying hips. They vacuumed the streets, roads and holes, no stone did they leave unrolled. Until at last the cats were fat, fed on the stinky rats. The town rejoiced, returning home, as the cats fell asleep, back by their hearths and mats.

One evening as the weaver birds sang to send the sun to sleep, Mueni’s grandmother called her and her sisters to the kitchen.

“The firewood is almost done and the men are about to return the cows. Quick, go and fetch some firewood from the big rock before night falls. But remember; do not touch anything in or around the rock. Pick only the wood from the trees that grow at the mouth of the cave.”

The three girls nodded, took some rope to bind the firewood and raced towards the big rock.

Mumbe, one of the three, knew the way well, so she steered them in the right direction. She was the oldest and showed them the wood that had dried up well enough to burn for longer.

Mwende was a little younger and used the panga, sharpened by her father to cut down the dried tree branches. She knew her way around a rope and fastened the firewood nicely into three bundles when she was done.

Mueni, the youngest, was more fascinated by the big rock. She stood staring at it, wondering how a rock could grow to be so big.

“What do rocks eat to get so big Mumbe?” Mueni asked surveying the big rock.

“Rocks do not eat silly. Now help me put this firewood on my back, the sun is about to go to sleep.”

Mueni obeyed and helped lift the firewood up onto Mumbe’s back. Then she returned her attention to the big rock.

“Is it magic that makes them grow so big? Is it the work of a witch Mwende?” Mueni asked getting close enough to touch the rock.

Mwende quickly slapped Mueni’s hand away.

“Wee ii… Do not touch it! Do not even go near it! Remember what susu told us. Now hurry and help me get this firewood on my back.” Mwende ordered her.

Dejectedly, Mueni obeyed and helped lift the firewood onto Mwende’s back.

As she did, a small smooth beautiful pebble fell from Mwende’s bundle of firewood and rested in between Mueni’s legs.

Then surprisingly, the pebble began to sing.

“Take me, Mueni take me. To the warmth of fire take me. Do not leave me in the cold my dear. Pick me up and take me home.”

Mueni looked up at her sisters, perplexed.

“Did you hear that? The rock; it sang.” Mueni said as Mumbe and Mwende laughed.

“Wee ii… stop your silly stories. Hurry up and pick your firewood.” Mumbe ordered and she and Mwende started to walk away.

Hurriedly Mueni picked up the small bunch of firewood as well as the singing pebble and raced after her sisters. Though as they walked on, the pebble started to get heavier and heavier in Mueni’s hand.

There, clasped between her tiny fingers, the pebble began to sing again.

“Carry me, carry me, in your pocket carry me, let me rest there warm and happy my dear, put me in your pocket.”

Again Mueni looked to her sisters to see if they had heard the pebble sing.

“There it goes again. The rock, it sang, it asked me to put it in my pocket and it’s so heavy.” Mueni said as Mumbe and Mwende laughed.

“Wee ii… your stories are funny, but we shall be late. Hurry, the sun is about to go to sleep.” Mwende said as the two older girls hastened their speed.

Mueni followed, dropping the pebble into her pocket.

Small as the pebble was, it seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step Mueni took, so much so that it made her knees buckle as she walked.

There, nestled in the warmth of Mueni’s pocket, the pebble began to sing again.

“Carry me, carry me, on your back carry me, let me lie like a baby warm and happy I’ll be. Come on my dear, carry me on your back.”

This time Mueni did not tell her sisters, for their steps had grown quick and their patience thin. They did not believe her anyway.

Immediately she put the pebble on her back, the weight of it was so much that it made Mueni have to sit down for a while.

“My back, my back, Mumbe my back… the weight is too much, come and carry me.” Mueni cried out trying to massage her back for the pebble’s growing weight pressed hard on her skin.

“Wee ii… stop complaining and hurry up. Can’t you see that the night is coming?” Mumbe shouted not looking back.

“But my back, my back, Mwende my back… the weight is too much, come and carry me.” Mueni persisted.

“Wee ii… yours was the smallest bunch,” said Mwende, “Hurry up before the hyenas come for you.”

Frightened at the mention of hyenas, Mueni struggled to get up, but she could not move. It felt like a mountain rested on her shoulders now, pressing her down into the ground.

The tiny little pebble laughed, then it started to sing again.

“Silly girl, don’t you cry. It’s you who took me from my resting place. You put me in your pocket, yes, but I will not leave my mother land. The other girl tried but failed. She became the big rock instead. Now you shall join her here as well, right here with me and her, oh yes.”

Then the pebble began to grow, enveloping her.

Mueni tried to scream out for her sisters to stop and help, but her mouth was quickly covered in rock. Mumbe and Mwende were too distracted to see, for they were running now, running to avoid the darkness.

“Hurry up Mueni!” Mumbe shouted back.

“There is the village, I can see susu.” Mwende added.

 If they had just stopped for a moment, turned to give Mueni a fraction of attention, they would have seen it. Mueni, the youngest of the three was slowly transforming into a rock and growing steadily bigger by the second.

The pebble had succeeded. It had swallowed its second victim.

Once upon a time, a hunter left his home to go and hunt bush rats in the night, for that is when they left their dens. As he was leaving, he instructed his youngest daughter Cheruiyot, who had a habit of sneaking away without telling anyone where she had gone, not to leave the house, especially at night.

“Beware the Chemosit,” the hunter said, “For it calls with its song and loves to eat children. Stay until I return and we shall have meat for supper. Leave and it shall be the very last thing you do.” The hunter warned Cheruiyot and taking his bow and arrow, left for the dark woods.

Now Cheruiyot was hungry, for it was the time of drought and they were down to one meal a day. So their mother went to the kitchen to prepare calabashes of millet porridge.

However, she warned Cheruiyot before she left, just as her father had.

“Beware the Chemosit,” she said, “For it calls with its song and loves to eat children. So stay until I return and we shall have porridge as we wait. Leave and it shall be the very last thing you do.” The mother said as she returned the door and left for the kitchen.

It was not long after both her parents had left that Cheruiyot heard music playing in the distance. It began with the beating of drums; very soothing and soft.

“Do you hear it Chemesunde? Do you hear the music?” Cheruiyot asked as her legs started to jerk around to the beat.

“There’s no music.” Chemesunde her sister said leaning against the wall to get comfortable.

“There is, I can hear it. Where is it coming from?” Cheruiyot asked angling herself up on a stool to look outside the window.

Then she saw it.

It was a sparkling effervescent red glow past the cover of trees. The embers gave out such a beautiful light that flicked orange, then red, then purple, then all three at once.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

 “Look, what’s that?” Cheruiyot asked her sister.

Chemesunde hurriedly snatched her away from the window.

“Wee ii… didn’t you hear what you were told? Sit down and wait!” Chemesunde said as Cheruyot’s body was now swaying to the sound of a stringed instrument.

“Why are you dancing?” Chemesunde asked her.

“I’m not dancing!” Cheruiyot shot back swaying from side to side.

“Yes you are!” Chemesunde said. “Stop that!”

“Chemesunde, are the neighbors having a party?” Cheruiyot asked returning to the window, her head swaying to the beat of the drums.

To her amazement, more lights had appeared where the first had been, flashing and shooting about like stars. There was also the sound of laughter beyond the trees.

In the midst of the laughter, Cheruiyot heard her mother and father laughing.

“I can’t believe it!” She spat. “They left us to go dance at the party. They lied to us!” Cheruiyot said as she raced to the door.

Chemesunde stopped her, trying hard to restrain her younger sister from bobbing her head to the beat of nonexistent drums.

“Wee ii… stop lying. They wouldn’t do that. I know you’re hungry but sit down and wait as you were told.” Chemesunde insisted.

Cheruiyot’s stomach growled defiantly. “But you can clearly hear them laughing.”

“Wee ii… stop lying! I can’t hear anything but the sound of crickets. Sit down!” Chemesunde said.

“You’re the one who’s lying, just like them. The music is so loud you can hear it from across the ridge and look, look at the lights.” Cheruiyot spat.

“Music…? Lights…?” Chemesunde asked, humoring her.

“Yes music and light, there are drums and stringed instruments… It’s so beautiful. Don’t pretend you can’t you hear it. I know you can you see them.” Cheruiyot said exasperated as she forced the door open and ran outside.

Chemesunde followed after her and grabbed her hand.

“Wee ii… stop being silly and come back inside!” Chemesunde ordered her.

Cheruiyot shook her head and pulled her hand free defiantly. “If you’re not going to go, then you can stay. Where there is a party, there must be food.”

Cheruiyot said as she ran in the direction of the music.

For a while, she could hear Chemesunde’s voice calling after her. Then the music got loud, too loud in fact.

The drums seemed to explode around her as Cheruyot’s body involuntarily danced to the hypnotic beat.

“Mama! Baba! Where are you? What is so funny? Where is the food?” She shouted but her voice was drowned out by the music as her body seemed to move of its own accord.

Then she saw it in the distance, a horror she had heard of but scarcely believed.

It was half man and half bird and stood tall as a tree on one leg. Its beaked mouth was open, glowing red like a lamp. The creature used a spear-like stick to beckon her to come closer and that is when she noticed the other children dancing around her.

They were all relatively her age, short, and looking as confused and frightened. The music seemed to have taken over their bodies, making them dance helplessly towards the creature.

Cheruiyot screamed, suddenly aware that her father and mother were nowhere to be found. However, the music that was coming from the creature’s open mouth drowned out all the children’s cries.

Why couldn’t no one hear them? Why couldn’t they resist the call of the Chemosit?

In the noise, the creature’s mouth widened and began to suck air inside as the children were pulled into its mouth by an invisible force one by one.

Then it turned to Cheruiyot and swallowed her as the drums stilled, the strings hushed and nothing but the sound of crickets was heard in the empty clearing.

The End

Denyeko froze where she stood, watching the shadow move beyond the threshold. The locked door had hardly fazed her before now. Like the manor, Lord Lanka’s study rested in pious vintage glory. The room hid at the end of the corridor, forbidden and perpetually locked.

In spite of her rank and title, Lady Lanka was the only one who cleaned and dusted her husband’s study. Since Denyeko’s arrival, the lord of the manor had never left that room. That is of course until last night when she heard his car engine revving somewhere on the grounds.

The Lord of the manor was a deathly shy and reserved man, resigned to his writing craft for hours on end. At least that is what Lady Lanka had divulged. Denyeko confirmed this with Mr Lanka’s permanent absence at each and every meal. She wondered how or if her master even got out to relieve himself.

All Denyeko knew of the lord was what she’d seen as she dusted the enormous framed canvas renditions of him that hung from the walls. Those striking blue eyes like crystal waters seemed otherworldly. They were by far his best feature.

Denyeko’s thoughts returned to the present and to the light peeking through the spaces around the study door. She watched the shadow move from one end to the other, rooted to the spot. Whoever it was did not make so much as a creak, their footsteps muffled over what she assumed was carpeting.

An intruder no doubt, probably pacing this way and that, searching for something valuable to steal. But how had they gotten inside without anyone noticing? The study was four floors up and there was hardly any way to scale the wall from the outside. Had they been let in by one of the servants? If so, it could be an inside job. She nibbled at her fingernail, pondering her options.

Mrs. Lanka had warned Denyeko- the fifth replacement from the house maid’s bureau within the week- never to come up to the third floor of the manor house unless by her word. She did not say why and Denyeko felt it unwise to inquire. It was the only house on the street that had considered hiring a farm girl without references. She preferred to keep it that way.

Besides, the Lord and Lady were newly weds, as she had found out from the cook and parlor maid. The latter was of the opinion that the study was where the couple went to explore the more open minded realms of their intimacy. The cook however dismissed the talk and warned the two maids not to meddle in things they didn’t understand.

“Know your place and keep your manners or you will never find husbands of your own when the time comes.” The old bat crooned as she ladled the soup.

As inexperienced as she was, it made sense to Denyeko that her mistress would be over protective concerning her overly shy, handsome, perhaps secretly voracious husband being seduced by a couple of virgins. He was a writer after all and mystery was an obligation of the trade, at least from what Denyeko had heard. The young girls who had tasted of the forbidden fruit divulged that it was the shy ones that gleamed with hidden talents. Denyeko blushed at the thought whenever she saw the lord’s portraits.

Dutifully, she obliged her mistress’ order, never requiring an instruction to be repeated twice. That she had so far lasted a week proved her work ethic as well as her mistress’ tolerance of her subpar cleaning services. Denyeko was not willing to tempt fate, not until Lady Lanka and her obvious inexperience with running a manor were too dependent on her to overlook her flaws.

That was of course until Mrs. Lanka suddenly fired Peninah, her most trusted companion, for using her diamond encrusted tail comb and infecting her with ringworm. Now the distressed newlywed lay drugged into blissful sleep by food and expensive over-the-counter antidepressants to still her anxiety. Denyeko had replaced her as her lady in waiting and the fourth floor became her domain to manage. Yet still, the room remained forbidden. Why?

Denyeko stood conflicted outside her mistress’ door, an empty tray in hand, still warm from the oxtail soup she had brought up. She pondered rebellion. It is for a good cause, she convinced herself. If there is an intruder in the locked room, as it seemed, then surely she had to do something about it, right?

What if he harmed the lady? The fourth floor was her domain to manage. It would fall on her conscience. She would never forgive herself and neither, she feared, would God.

Lord Lanka would expect her to do something, she assumed as well, what with him being suddenly off on business and his poor young beautiful wife nursing a terrible bout of loneliness. These things hardly needed voicing. It was common sense. They both needed her to do the right thing even though that right thing meant doing something she shouldn’t.

Content with the ruminations of her mind, Denyeko decided that harm would not come upon her mistress, or her handsome master’s forbidden study for that matter, while she was on duty. She had worked too hard to land this job, and incriminate Peninah, to have it pulled from right under her feet by a burglar. Whoever was in there would have to deal with her one way or another.

With one final look back at Lady Lanka’s closed door and her resolve to leave things well enough alone, Denyeko crept towards the locked door at the end of the hall.

It might have been the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her own predisposition to superstition and nosiness or the fact that every step she made was announced by the hard wood floor’s accusatory creaking and the grandfather clock’s incessant ticking. Whatever the case, goose-pimples ravaged the skin beneath her uniform and erected the hairs at the back of her neck.

Still, curiosity was stronger and it beckoned her to move forward, to snoop, just like Lady Lanka’s tail comb had appealed to her affinity to social climbing. She could not resist.

At several instances she stopped, listening for Lady Lanka’s faint snoring and only continued on when she was certain that all was well, inch by inch until she was right outside the locked door. Then she leaned on the cold polished wood, almost afraid that it would scream bloody murder at her intrusive touch. Thankfully it did not.

A cold wind wafted in from the landing’s bay window, ruffling the curtains and straddling her skirt. Denyeko shivered as the wind intensified. Mingled with the earthy scent of woods beyond the manor was the pungent acidic smell of wood polish that clung to the door in front of her.

She stood and listened, but her stillness did not betray the activity beyond. Dissatisfied, Denyeko decided to kneel down and peer through the keyhole. To her surprise, a familiar blue eye watched her from the other end.

She squealed and fell back, the hardwood floor betraying Denyeko’s insistence on sneaking bagels from the Lankas’ breakfast remains. Disgruntled, she massaged her buttocks and stilled to try and catch Lady Lanks’s soft snoring. Thankfully, it persisted.

Had Lord Lanka remained behind after all? Then who had left with the car in the middle of the night?

Denyeko shook the confusion away. “Apologies my Lord. I did not know you were there. I’ll be on my way.” She blurted out.

There was no response.

Denyeko had half a heart to barge in and apologize on her knees but she thought better of it. What would she even tell him? I saw light, a shadow and decided to come peek into the room I was forbidden from coming near to investigate? Denyeko laughed at her own cockamamie deduction as she brought herself up to her knees.

Perhaps I should investigate a little further, Denyeko thought. It could be that  Lord Lanka is locked in here doing something he does not wish to be common knowledge. It would explain him peeping at her from the keyhole. He was alert and wanted no one to sneak up on him, yes, that was it.

In fact, he may have snuck back in with a lover after sending his driver away. Perhaps he was in there with Peninah right now. Denyeko gasped elated as she brooded over her suspicions concerning the rat faced woman and how she had lasted so long on the premises.

It made sense now. Lady Lanka was not threatened by Peninah and would never suspect her of seducing her husband. As if he needed seducing, Denyeko thought drooling over the portrait outside his study. It was obvious; looking at him in canvased glory, that the Lord of the Manor was the kind of handsome that could nonchalantly conduct an affair right under the nose of his pretty wife.

Denyeko allowed her mind to explore all the reasons that a chisel jawed, hot blooded man would have to sneak back into his own house while his wife slept alone in the other room until curiosity finally beckoned her to find out for herself. If nothing else, It would leave her indebted to Lady Lanka forever. Therefore she acted, in the best interests of her employer as well as her benign intrusive nature.

Carefully, Denyeko leaned forward, her head resting against the polished wood and came face to face with the familiar striking blue eye of her master. Startled, she gasped, but did not move. Surprised as she was, the eye did not seem menacing. If anything it was searching. Was that the glare of a man caught in his sins?

After a moment’s silence, Denyeko pondered whether Lady Lanka was in fact right. The man did seem rather shy and dare say peculiar. Denyeko did not know much about men and especially married men in charge of manors, but peeping at their help seemed like the kind of thing normal hot blooded men did not do.

Perhaps this was why Mrs. Lanka did not want his maids interacting with him. Poor man. Could it be that he was uglier than his portraits showed? It would explain his unwillingness to be seen.

“I apologize that we should meet in such a manner my Lord, but my name is Denyeko. I’m your new house maid.” Denyeko whispered.

The eye blinked but said nothing. She took this as permission to continue.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but I was bringing soup for the mistress and I saw a light in your study. I wanted to make sure that there wasn’t a burglar, seeing as how I heard your car leaving last night.” Denyeko persisted.

The eye blinked again, but the holder of it said nothing.

Perhaps he was too shy or offended to respond, Denyeko thought as she lay flat against the floor now. She was intrigued by him for some reason. Perhaps it was the mystery behind his craft, how he locked himself behind this door and the fact that he was forbidden.

“I hope this doesn’t reflect badly on my work. I was just doing what I thought was right.” Denyeko went as the Lord’s face rested across from hers.

She got a glimpse of pale skin, golden locks and rosy pink lips. It was barely enough to make out, but there was nothing stark or ugly about the features that she beheld. Then something unexpected happened. He smiled.

Sure that she had gone far beyond the point of return now, she blushed, withdrew, straightened up again and made to exit with what little dignity she had left. Hopefully he would not speak of this encroachment upon his hallowed room to his wife. Though as she was about to leave, he called out to her.

“It is alright Denyeko. Consider it a mere accident on your part. If I may though, might you have a serviette with you? I would so kindly ask for one to wipe my face. It seems the floor isn’t a very convenient place for a first meeting,” Mr. Lanka spoke from beyond the door.

Even his voice was charming, and very soft, like bird song. Denyeko felt she had to at least look upon his face just one last time, even if it came at the cost of her job. It wasn’t just the mere fact that he was taboo that made her want to do so. He had smiled at her and because of that she wanted to quell her own curiosity, as an employee and a hot blooded woman. Just one look, she thought, one look and I’ll be off.

“Oh but of course.” Denyeko said enthusiastically.

She surveyed the landing, laying eyes on a vintage porcelain swan sprouting winged serviettes from her gaping back. She got up, grabbed a couple of the serviettes and raced back to the door, eager to behold the man.

She turned the knob, ready to indulge in his delicious visage, but alas, it was locked.

“Sorry about that. I’m afraid I’m in seclusion. It comes with the pressure of handling a first draft. But perhaps you could slide them underneath the door. I’ll be forever indebted to you ma’am.” Mr Lanka went on charmingly.

Ma’am. He called me ma’am, Denyeko thought crestfallen. Do I seem that old to him?

Disappointed, she passed them under the door. “Here. Again, I am so sorry for barging in on you…” She said as she pushed the last serviette under the door, holding it down to try and graze the skin of his finger. It was her first and last mistake.

Immediately her skin came in contact with his, she knew she shouldn’t have. The hold of him was like one of the cook’s gummy rat traps. Denyeko felt sharp tendrils like needles dig into her fingers and pull at them, forcefully and painfully tagging at her through the underside of the door.

She made to scream, but more tendrils, like seaweed, shot out from beneath the door, snapping and winding about her head and sealing her mouth shut. Denyeko screamed but no sound could be heard. She was entirely at his mercy now as the door began to open upwards, inching her inside the room.

Beyond the threshold, the beauty of Lord Lanka had disappeared. In its place stood saliva stringed teeth like arrow heads, embellished around a massive monstrous mouth that gaped, reeking of acid. It was dark, it was unexpected, it was painful and excruciatingly agonizing. Then as soon as it had began it was over.

The light beyond the room went off as the empty tray rolled and slapped hard against the floor. The door resumed it’s position and the hardwood floor sipped the remnants of Denyeko’s blood clean. Everything was as it was before, almost as if nothing had happened at all.

Across the hall, Lady Lanka peeped through her bedroom door, opened just enough to catch the last drop of blood sink in. Summoning courage, she slid the door open wider and breached the threshold, her silk camisole and shoulder length black hair rippling in the dalliance of the wind.  Across from her, the study door opened and a tall distinguished figure emerged from the study.

Lord Lanka tossed his golden locks back with a swish of his arm as genuine surprise flooded his face. “My love, are you well now? Shall I read my latest chapter for you?” Lord Lanka questioned through his ingratiatingly ravishing pink lipped smile.

Lady Lanka answered with a nod and a weak excuse for a smile, wrapping her arms around herself. She stifled a shiver.

Mr. Lanka’s brows furrowed. “What is it my love? You seem troubled.”

 “You said you would stop. You told me I was enough for you.” Lady Lanka went on. Her voice was soft, yet it pierced with indignation.

Lord Lanka sighed as he strolled towards her, his long leather boots clicking against the polished hardwood. The lady did not so much as flinch when he approached her, his long arms resting gently at her sides. He permitted himself a devilish grin. The same grin that he had given her every time it had happened. It showed satisfaction and not an ounce of remorse.

“You are enough for me.” He said as he leaned forward and stole a kiss, mild yet ferociously sensual. The lady was appalled at the taste of her maid in his mouth.

Slowly, he withdrew with a smile, parting her long ebony locs to reveal her long, thin gaunt face. Fatigue and disgust was written all over it. “That is after all why you’re still here.” Lord Lanka said as he took her in his arms and held her there. “And besides, because of your social climbing frump, I was denied Peninah. I believe this is a very fair settlement.”

The lady did not answer, attentive to the smell her maid’s perfume on his brown breaches and black coat. Denyeko’s scent clung to his white shirt and drifted down from his large hands and long dainty fingers, nauseating her. The lady despised herself for tolerating this monster and his habit of having his way with every woman that so much as breathed in his vicinity.

“The driver, why did you send him away so late?” The lady asked somewhat afraid of the answer.

“Don’t worry darling, Peninah will not be harmed. I simply sent him on an errand quite sensitive to me. I’m glad it worked to my favor.” The lord said licking his lips.

At that moment the lady especially despised herself for loving him, giving him her body, mind and soul and being unable to part from him. Still, she found herself wrapping her arms around his waist and breathing in the scent of him.

She found unusual calm in his woody fragrance, as well as the thought that Peninah was far away from his reach now. She was one less victim to endure his violence. Though whatever errand the lord had sent his driver on worried the lady. In the end, she was always the one left to clean up the mess.

Which is why she held her judgement of her insatiable husband’s appetites. If he was a monster as she claimed he was, then she knew that she was the bigger one for enabling him.

Mrs. Makaka boasted in being the cleanest head cook House Lanka had ever seen. Deep down in the dressed stone walls and spotless floors of the kitchen, she brooded over the greasy pots.

Pascal, the second footman, was off nursing a terrible case of athlete’s foot and Miss Ng’ang’a was a no show as always.

Probably frolicking around the gardens… Mrs. Makaka thought sneering as she brought the steel wool to the bottom of the pot and started to scrub off the crusted ugali.

However, something caught her ear… something unusual.

Mrs. Makaka stopped and listened.

Her ears had never lied to her before. As the head cook, it mattered that she be on top of things in the kitchen. That is why no food had ever gone missing ever since she took over from Lydia.

She knew the sound of the pantry door opening, even of a steel lid sliding across a boiling pot of goat’s head soup. Perpetrators were in turn dealt with accordingly.

However, this particular sound was unfamiliar to her. For one, it was not coming from anywhere in the kitchen. It was coming from upstairs.

Shaking off the excess soap from her hands, Mrs. Makaka withdrew her hands from the pot and wiped them against her apron. Then she stilled and allowed her ears to take in her environment.

She heard the muffled simmering of the stew, the fading crackle of the dying firewood in the oven and then unmistakably so, a scream.

A scream at this hour of the night from the upper chambers…? It did not bode well with her.

Against her better judgment never to venture past the servant’s quarters, Mrs. Makaka raced to the door, her moist hand struggling with the latch and eventually managed to open it.

Her first thought was the children. Perhaps one of them had slipped and fallen down the stairs in the dark while coming for a night snack.

On the other hand, what if it was an intruder? Whatever the case, she had to know, if for nothing else, her piece of mind. So she took a candle and walked out.

The scream had stilled, but there were footsteps now, heavy boots and clumsy steps, though not from where Mrs. Makaka would have guessed. It sounded to her as if someone was running down the steps that led to the cellar.

“Who’s there? Susan? Susan is that you?” Mrs. Makaka called to the darkness below but there was no answer.

That was odd.

She peeked down over the stairwell, noting the fading hurried footsteps below as above her, raised voices drew her attention. Mrs. Makaka jumped, feeling her heart trot to a speedy beat. The door that led to the lower quarters stood ajar.

Were the Lankas probably having an argument?

Mrs. Makaka moved hesitantly upwards towards the door as something glinted over the burnished bronze knocker. She hoped against her better judgment that it wasn’t what she thought it was.

Please let it be goat’s blood, she thought as she eyed the scarlet strewn marks on the handle, watching not to touch the liquid.

Pushing the door open further open with her foot, her eyes immediately landed on a dark mass on the grand foyer marble floor right ahead. Her hand stretched out towards the switch on the wall and the dark patch lit up scarlet under the fluorescent glow.

Her fears were confirmed.

It was definitely blood and some of it had been smeared around the floor clumsily. Whose blood it was though, she did not know. There were however two distinct tracks, one leading towards the main door and the other towards the lower quarters.

Panic stricken, she screamed, dropping the candle as she saw blood on her finger tips. It seemed to have been strewn over the switch as well.

Mrs. Makaka hurriedly wiped the blood off her finger against her apron as her eyes darted around the room. There was no one in the hallway, so where had the raised voices come from and more importantly, who had screamed and why?

She brought her hands to her mouth as she approached the liquid and stopped, gagging. Had someone been stabbed? If so, where were they now and who was it that ran down to the cellar?

Mrs. Makaka’s first instinct was to lock the door to the lower quarters, which she did. She then hurriedly stuffed the key in her apron and wiped the remnants of blood from the key on her fingers against her apron.

She then raced towards the telephone meaning to alert Denyeko,  the foreman. Unfortunately for Mrs. Makaka, the line was dead. This hardly seemed coincidental and more of deliberate.

Upstairs the lights came on as rushed footsteps were heard. Another scream erupted outside the house and fear lurched at Mrs. Makaka’s throat.

What was happening?

The telephone receiver slipped out of her hand, hanging helplessly against the burgundy wallpaper. Lord Lanka came rushing in from the direction of the study, gun in hand, barefoot with a vest and trousers.

He zipped his pants quickly.

Down the steps came Lady Lanka, hair in a bonnet, her movements rippling her silk nightdress.

“What is it Makaka, what’s the?” Lord Lanka started and stopped when his eyes landed on the pool of blood.

Lady Lanka’s hand went to her mouth as she ran and grabbed her husband’s hand.

“My God Peter, is that blood?” Lady Lanka exclaimed.

“Go make sure the children are safe! I’ll handle…” Lord Lanka ordered as the scream reignited outside.

“My God…!” Lady Lanka whispered. “We should phone the authorities!”

“No need… I have a gun and this is my property. Nobody breaks in and causes havoc in my home.” Lord Lanka added sternly.

Hearing the scream now, Mrs. Makaka shivered in fear. It sounded a lot like Miss Ng’ang’a.

Lady Lanka stood rooted to the spot. “What if they’re armed as well?”

“Then they better know how to use the damn thing.” Lord Lanka said as Mrs. Makaka’s eyes met his. “Go to the kitchen and wait there!”

“But there’s someone down in the cellar!” Mrs. Makaka said as she fumbled in her pocket and removed the stained key. “I heard them and locked them in.”

Lord Lanka managed a curt nod. “Good thinking. Give it to me.” He said yanking it from her hand as he cocked his gun. “Go upstairs with Priscilla and help with the girls.”

He turned to his wife. “Take them to our room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone but me inside!”

Dear God, please let Susan be okay! Mrs. Makaka prayed as she raced up after Lady Lanka.

Grabbing the first thing she could find; Miss Jackie’s umbrella, Lady Lanka made for the girl’s bedroom first, rousing them from their sleep.

Mrs. Makaka helped, as outside a loud bang like a small explosion erupted.

Gun fire! Mrs. Makaka thought. Has someone been shot?

Miss Nina screamed as Lady Lanka gathered her and Miss Jackie to her side. “Lock the door!” Lady Lanka ordered.

“But Lord Lanka said…” Mrs. Makaka interrupted.

“I said lock the door now!” Lady Lanka snapped.

Mrs. Makaka obeyed and locked it, stuffing the key in her pocket. She then turned in Lady Lanka’s direction, her eyes on Mrs. Makaka’s apron.

She focused on the blood stains. “Mrs. Makaka, you’re hurt?”

“No…” Mrs. Makaka answered.

“Girls, into the bathroom… now…” Lady Lanka ordered as they obeyed.

Hurriedly, Lady Lanka followed them, locking themselves inside.

Mrs. Makaka raced after them, banging at the door. “Please let me in! Please… I’m scared.”

“Sorry Makaka. We still don’t know what is going on and you have blood on you. I have to think of the girls.” Lady Lanka went on.

Stupid woman! What about me? I risked my life to alert you all. Serves me right for working for the Lankas…

“Of course ma’am… I’ll go see about the others.”

Way to remind me my place in the hierarchy.

Mrs. Makaka unlocked the door and raced out of the room, thinking of getting as far away from the sound of the gunshot as possible.

She could no longer hear Miss Ng’ang’a screaming outside and for the moment, the only sound was her bare feet stomping against the carpeted hallway.

It was her first time up here and she had no idea where to go.

Think woman, what do you do? The telephone is dead, and there seems to be a dangerous man in your midst. Also, by the sound of things, Lord Lanka either shot at them or vise versa.

Ugh… Why did I have to volunteer to stay in late today? Serves me right for working on a Sunday… It’s the Lord’s punishment.

She was just about to cross the upper lobby overlooking the grand foyer when the door barged open downstairs. Mrs. Makaka tripped and fell but decided to stay there, afraid to move.

Lord Lanka’s growled downstairs. “Makaka! Makaka!”

Mrs. Makaka breathed a sigh of relief as she straightened herself up. Then she froze, staring down into a familiar set of caramel eyes in Lord Lanka’s grasp.

“I believe this is yours.” Lord Lanka barked.

Mr. Asap Makaka stood hands tied behind his back, his overalls stained in blood.

“Asap… what, my Lord…” The words were hard to form, and her feet suddenly heavy as she struggled to get down the steps.

When she finally got down, Lord Lanka released the man who fell hard on his knees. Mrs. Makaka embraced him, analyzing his bruised face and busted lip. He had obviously been beaten severely.

Behind them stood Susan, petrified.

“What happened? Why do you look like this?” Mrs. Makaka implored her husband.

He began to speak but Lord Lanka interrupted him. “I found him trying to have his way with Miss Ng’ang’a” Lord Lanka barked.

“I did no such thing! I was delivering the pig’s blood for the dogs when…” Asaph shot back as Lord Lanka kicked him in the stomach.

Mrs. Makaka raced to Asaph’s side. “My Lord, please, have mercy. He’s a good man.”

“A good man indeed… that he would even lie to my face shows how impudent he is…” Lord Lanka growled.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Lanka screamed from the top of the stairs.

“My love, it appears we have been housing the devil in our house this entire time.” Lord Lanka barked.

“This man tried to force himself on Susan in the cover of delivering Pig’s blood. God knows what ritualistic depravation he wanted to perform on the poor girl. But I stopped him right on time. Had I not fired that gun, who knows what would have happened.”

Asaph shook his head in disapproval, eyes on Mrs. Makaka as she failed to stop the tears now streaming down her face. She looked back up at Lord Lanka, then at Susan. “My husband is not that kind of man.”

“He did it, he tried to force his way on me and when I refused he…” Susan started as Mrs. Makaka jolted up to her feet.

“I said my husband is not that kind of man Susan, he is not. Tell the truth. There was someone who ran down to the cellar. Tell the lord who it was!” Mrs. Makaka asked as Susan’s eyes went from Mrs. Makaka to Lord Lanka.

She was lying, Mrs. Makaka could tell. She saw it every time Miss Ng’ang’a came in after having supposedly been tending to the children. She never met her eyes, fidgeted with her hands and smelled strangely of wild flowers.

Her hair was frazzled and her face blushed. It was as she had guessed it. She had been frolicking with whoever had raced down to the cellar.

“I checked the cellar Makaka. There’s no one there!” Lord Lanka added.

How quickly though? He had only recently come from outside and fired a shot assumedly at Asaph. What time did he have to check the cellar?

Lord Lanka was clearly covering for her. Why?

Lady Lanka finally made her way to her husband, eyeing Asaph coldly. “What did you do to him?”

“Justice of course and the epitome of it shall be concluded here within the hour.” Lord Lanka added. “We shall hang this rapist for all to see.”

Mrs. Makaka felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs.

“My Lord, she lies! My husband is a good man. He wouldn’t harm a fly.”

Why are you protecting her? She’s a maid.

“Well it’s not a fly he was harming was it? It was a woman and one of my maids, which is a lot worse.”

Then it dawned on Mrs. Makaka; the pig’s blood, the separate footsteps, the Lord emerging from the study instead of their bed chambers not fully clothed and barefoot.

She had heard rumor of the hidden passageways in the Lanka House, as well as the Lord’s appetites, but she had not proven their existence…

…until now. The man in the cellar had to have been Lord Lanka.

Of course, it makes perfect sense. The two of them must have been together, Asaph found them, was startled and in the confusion, they tried to flee or something, hence the blood on the floor. Now the lord is trying to pin it on my Asap to protect this wench! His mistress!

“I swear upon all that is good, Asaph did not do this.” Mrs. Makaka pleaded.

You did my Lord; you and your disregard for the sanctity of marriage and vows. Why did I ever agree to come here? This family is cursed by the devil himself, we all know it. It serves you right… this is all your fault.

“Are you per chance calling my husband a liar Makaka?” Lady Lanka snapped.

Yes… a liar and an adulterer. May he burn in hell for harming an innocent man to cover his infidelity.

“No ma’am. I know my husband and I know he could never do this. There was someone in the cellar. You have to believe me.” Mrs. Makaka pleaded on.

It was your husband. He has taken your nanny up as his mistress, can’t you see. Or are you too blinded by your silks and diamonds to notice when he leaves your bed?

“Did you let him into the cellar? Is that how this pig farmer managed to enter my house? That would explain the blood on your apron.” Lady Lanka screeched insanely. “You wanted to punish her, right?”

Again Mrs. Makaka was lost for words.

She went down on her knees. “Ma’am, why… why would I conspire to do such a thing to my own friend?”

“Because you’re jealous, that’s why, you’re upset that she’s prettier than you and she gets to take care of the children while you scrub pots and pans…” Then she turned to Asaph. “I’ve seen how your kind looks at my girls when they pass by. You sick bastards!”

Craven old woman! It is your husband who eyes them with lust in his eyes. You cannot even see the fear in them because you’re too busy spending his slave gold.He is the devil in your house, not my Asaph.

“Ma’am, please, he’s innocent.” Mrs. Makaka said as Lady Lanka slapped her.

“Lord Lanka is never mistaken. If he says that he found your husband trying to force himself on Miss. Ng’ang’a, then that is what he saw.” Lady Lanka said and that is when Mrs. Makaka saw it.

There, spattered on Lord Lanka’s trouser cuff was unmistakably a red tint of blood, the same blood that lingered on the trim of Susan’s frock and feet.

Their feet were red, soiled in pig’s blood and sin, yet somehow it was Mrs. Makaka and Asaph who were in the wrong.

“You will take your belongings and leave my house. We’ll see who will be mad enough to take in the wife of a rapist!” Lady Lanka hissed.

There were words that were exchanged. Somewhere in there was talk of a noose, a crowd and judgment. Judgment…? What did a man who harmed his own know of judgment?

Oddly enough, at that very moment, Mrs. Makaka remembered the simmering pot of stew down below in the kitchen. It must have reduced by now, even started to burn. If it was not turned off soon, it would devastate the kitchen with smoke… perhaps even start a fire?

“Let them come and dispose of you and your wretched filth of a husband!” Lady Lanka spat.

Yes, thought Mrs. Makaka, let the flames of judgement come, let them come and dispose of your wretched filth of a husband.

Once upon a time, when men conversed with animals, a rainbow appeared in the sky. God used it to descend to earth in the company of the lizard, his most trusted companion.

So pleased was he with the lizard that he made him a coat of many colors from the rainbow. The chameleon, who was watching in the distance however; jealous of the lizard’s coat, asked God to consider another option.

“The lizard is only your most trusted companion because he is ever at your side. Perhaps if you were to give us both a task and reward the one who finishes first, then it shall be fair.”

God agreed and sent them both to tell men that they shall live forever. Then he went back up to heaven to await their return.

Now the chameleon was cunning and knew that if they raced, the lizard would get there first. Therefore he devised a way to slow the lizard down enough to steal his coat.

“Brother Lizard, look and see, the earth is hot and hungry today and she wants to feed.” The chameleon began.

The lizard jumped back onto the rainbow in fright, staring warily down at the ground. Pleased at the reaction, the chameleon continued.

“See the cracks on the ground made by the heat from her boiling pot beneath the ground? If you do not walk carefully, you will fall inside it before you reach the men.”

“What are we to do then?” The lizard asked.

“The earth is my friend and will not harm me, but she may not be so kind to you. Let me go before you. Here, take my tail and follow me, but shut your eyes lest she be offended by your gaze.” The chameleon added.

The lizard obeyed, shut his eyes and stretched out his hand to take the chameleon’s tail. When he did however, the chameleon pulled away and the lizard stumbled.

While the lizard fumbled on the ground, the chameleon stole a strip of his colored coat.

“Brother chameleon where are you?” The lizard called, groping the air like a blind man.

“Here I am, here I am, take my tail.” The chameleon said giving the lizard his tail.

“Shall I step here?” The lizard asked taking it.

“Yes.” The chameleon said leading him towards a tree stump.

When the lizard slipped, the chameleon stole another colored strip from the lizard’s coat.

This went on for a while, the chameleon stealing a strip of the coat each time the lizard fell.

When they finally arrived at the men’s homestead, the chameleon told the lizard to open his eyes and deliver the message.

However, the men, sure that he was a snake now, for he had just the drab color of his scaly skin left, tried to stone him, so the lizard ran up a tree.

Satisfied that he had attained the coat of many colors, the chameleon camouflaged himself with the ground and sneaked away.

From that day, the lizard has always been on the lookout for the chameleon to get his coat back. Men have thus died of old age for they did not receive the lizard’s message from God and the lizard, ashamed, has never returned to heaven at the right hand of God.