By the Bed
Lub dub lub dub lub dub dub, her heart wildly drummed, as she crouched under the bed. It was a dark, cold night in November, but she was drenched in her sweat, effusing like an angry geyser. Her palms were slippery. Those hands would soon fail to support her deadening weight. Jemima was shivering with fear as the shadow appeared in the gap under the door. The man she had seen at the playground had finally come to finish his job; to take her life in cold blood. But she was only six years old!
She did not deserve to die young, she reasoned helplessly. That would happen only to bad people, or unlucky people, or mad people. How could she die when she did no wrong? She had been hurt quite all right, but not that hurt! And the wound was not even her fault. It was Joshua’s.
The doorknob shrilled her back to the insane present. It was turning slowly, clockwise then anticlockwise. The door was then pulled but it was locked. Jemima bored into the icy wall which sent spikes into her bare skin. Her teeth began to chatter and her pupils pulled wider. Her bones began to freeze.
The man from the playground had nailed his eyes on her from across the road that evening. He was dressed in a black caftan with a cap that matched only in colour. His skin was red and his eyes pitch black. She heard him call her name from within, ‘Jemima, it’s time to pay!’
Now he was at her door, and Joshua was nowhere near, as she had always ominously envisaged. Something had always told her that when it mattered most, he would not be there for her. But he was her maternal uncle and the only friend she had.
They were a family of four, her loving parents and him. Uncle Joshua had promised her the finest clothes, the latest shoes, skirts and toys, if she agreed to play with him. She had always played with him, only him – football, hide and seek, scrabble and ‘notice me’. Now he said she was a big girl and the play must change to reflect her maturity and intelligence. He said, if she allowed him to play with her in a certain way, then she would become a matured girl; and if she kept it between them, it would make her intelligent. Jemima could not wait to prove herself to her uncle. She was matured all right. So, with sparkling eyes of innocence, she agreed to play the game, whatever it was, anytime he was ready.
As the door began to move inwards and the hinges creaked, the last few days flashed past her eyes. Uncle Joshua was not here to save her as he promised. Now she was going to die because she played with him. The murderer had said that much. She heard him in her head while his eyes blazed. He was cursing her and the day she was born. He said the world could not contain her sin. She had to die tonight!
She did not understand why it was a sin? What made it a sin anyway? Besides, Uncle J said it was a fun game of life between men and women, mothers and fathers, big brothers and big sisters. And he was her uncle. How could it be wrong? Just that the game was painful and disappointing. And she had to remove her clothes. Games should be fun, like hide-and-seek. But this game was too painful. It made her bleed. And now she was to die. How could that be fair?
‘It’s not fair,’ Jemima’s mouth uttered, ‘I don’t want to die.’ But the door was wide open now and the man-in-black was clutching a serrated dagger in his left hand. It gleamed in the dark sending torrents of fear into her heart. Jemima bored further into the wall.
‘Liar!’ The voice screamed inside her. ‘Your pathetic desire for sin and shoes and skirts made you refuse to tell your parents what your uncle did to you. Alas, you are not going to live to wear them.’
‘I aaam sorry…’ She began to stammer.
‘Quiet!’ The voice shrieked in her as the black figure advanced towards the bed. ‘Your body was sacred, and you desecrated it. You were suffering from pains and the bleeding but you refused to tell your parents what he did to you. You cunning little witch! Now you are going to die. I am going to kill you and waste your blood. Your body must pay for the carnal sin it committed. And then I will kill Joshua and drink his blood. But first I have to cut him into pieces alive.’
Jemima’s bones began to shake off her flesh in sheer terror as the man’s right hand snaked down to the floor and inched towards her under the bed. Oblivious of her shouts and cries of help which were neither heard by her parents nor responded to by Uncle J, the five fingers extended and grabbed her firmly. And Jemima found herself murderously gripped. The hand retracted to bring her face to face with the killer.
She closed her eyes to avoid the sight of the black pools of wrath as her bones mournfully screamed under pressure. She felt her soul quiver, scampering for the safest way out. Black rays emanated from his face and inched towards her eyes. Her eyelids were forced open by a centripetal force as the dark bars plunged into her eyes, shattering them.
As she convulsed under brutal pain, her soul sensed the descent of the knife that would fierce Jemima’s flesh and the ribcage on its way to cut and drain life out of her heart. Her soul bolted like a flash to escape the fatal commotions that would ensue.
‘She’s awake!’ Her mother said running to the bedside, peering into her daughter’s eyes. ‘Papa Jemima, we thank God. Doctor, thank you. Nurse, thank you. Papa Jemima, Papa Jemima, my daughter is alive!’ She was hysterical as they all surged to the patient’s bed.
Jemima’s vision began to identify the faces that hovered above her as she lay on the hospital bed – her mother, her father, a doctor, a nurse, and Uncle Joshua. Her mother was singing, thanking God for saving her daughter. Her father had pregnant relief written all over him. STDs, HIV, AIDS…
His wife had gone to the market leaving only Jemima in the house. He was the one who found his daughter in a pool of blood when he came back from work. She had been raped and rendered unconscious. He rushed her to the hospital and called his wife and her brother. Jemima was admitted in the Accident and Emergency ward and the doctors and nurses got busy, cleaning her lower parts, setting saline lines and attempting to resuscitate her.
Now Jemima was conscious and her eyes wandered from one face to another. Her family members were talking all at once like a raccoon congress. They were all happy to see life restored back to her; except Uncle Joshua. His eyes had latched onto hers. They were talking to her, reminding her of those promises, shoes, bags, and skirts; telling her again about maturity and intelligence; maturity and intelligence. His eyes were now pleading with her to be mute. Please don’t say a word about it. I promise you I’ll give…
Suddenly, everything came back to her.
After a barrage of blows to her joints because his earlier attempts failed, Joshua had succeeded in forcing himself on her. She remembered the incomprehensible pain that accompanied it. She remembered hearing the sound of her father’s motorcycle approaching, and Joshua’s high jump over the fence as she slipped into merciful unconsciousness. She looked at her attacker’s face again. He was smiling at her mother and talking excitedly with her father. He was very happy to see her alive…
Jemima’s eyes blinked and that was when the serrated knife blinded her again. Her heart skipped beats, but she knew what she had to do to escape the wrath of the wraith inside her.
‘Papa…’ She began, albeit thinly.
‘Yes, my daughter.’ Her father bent closer, his ears at her mouth, solicitously.
‘Uncle Joshua forced me.’
Soy is estrogen based..anyone woman that had breast cancer should never eat soy…
So sad. It so sad that these things happen. Thanks for writing about this bad potential of human beings.