The Mother who Fed the Dark

Chapter 2: A house that watched

When Thando passed away, the house went through changes.

These changes were subtle at first, since rot is typically not easy to detect; however, there was a lingering smell from the rot that never seemed to go away, no matter how often Amahle scrubbed the floors. On many occasions, Sipho would hear creaking noises from the floorboards and walls when nothing was happening in the house or no one was inside; he would feel a cool chill on his skin whenever he walked through that area of the home. Also, on several occasions, there had been an unusually long shadow cast against one of the walls, always having a very thick, heavy feel that seemed to be waiting for an instruction.

Sipho understood this before he had any terminology to describe it.

During the night, the house seemed to breathe.

Sipho would lie awake listening to the sounds of the ceiling; there were times when he heard something moving just outside the realm of hearing. For a moment, it seemed as though his fingers were reaching for his ankles; they were very cool and full of curiosity, and at other times, there were words whispered in his dreams. These words were familiar to him but also completely foreign.

Amahle told him that this was a result of his grief.

"The dead long for us when they're no longer with us," she would often tell him as she stroked his hair with such tenderness that it would cause a heavy ache in his heart. "Your brother loved you very much."

Sipho nodded, knowing that it was much safer to simply nod rather than ask a million questions.

Yet, the house did not whisper Thando's name.

It whispered Sipho's name.

Amahle became a symbol of unwavering love. Every morning, she meticulously dressed Sipho and prayed with great fervor at church, crying convincingly whenever anyone spoke of her deceased son. Because of her suffering, the people of her home village sympathized deeply and comforted her with food and kind words about the strength of her character.

While she was alone at home, the locks on every door were kept secured.

The air was filled with the smoke of herbs, which she burned continuously, irritating Sipho's eyes and giving him headaches. When Sipho complained about the smoke, Amahle responded with a smile and said , "This will protect you."

Amahle explained, "When someone dies, some doors will open for them."

"We must keep out what may enter."

But something had already made its entrance.

The first indicator of something amiss was when Sipho turned ten years old.

He awoke one morning with scratch-like markings on his back, soft, bleeding scratches along his spine, as if someone had clawed him. Amahle gazed at these markings longer than necessary, and it was impossible to determine what her facial expression meant.

"You need to stop walking around outside during the night," Amahle firmly scolded him.

"I never did," Sipho said defiantly.

No more was said on this occasion. However, that night, Amahle placed a bowl filled with saltwater underneath his bed, chanting over the bowl until sunrise was achieved.

From that point forward, Sipho experienced a great deal of misfortune.

His feet betrayed him, causing him to constantly trip and fall. Despite studying for and knowing the answers to his tests, he would fail them.

Disappointment was on the teachers' faces when they looked at him; it was as though they felt he did not deserve it. Friends began to drift away from him, and he noticed a change in some of their behaviors towards him. They were troubled by his sudden silence and also by how he would sometimes stare into the distance while listening.

Amahle saw everything.

At night, while Sipho was sleeping, she went back into the kitchen. The symbols in the kitchen had been cleaned off, but she could still see them in her mind. She started talking quietly in the dark, making deals with it and saying she was sorry for what happened, promising to make things better.

She whispered, "I did not mean for this to happen", "I will fix this. "

The darkness responded to her, but not verbally ; rather, it showed its presence to her.

It gathered behind her and pressed against her back. The flames from the candles were bent towards the darkness, and Amahle swallowed hard as her belief in what she was doing shook.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

The answer was a thought that was carefully put into her mind : "Balance. "

She closed her eyes tightly.

"I have only given you one son," she pleaded.

"Not the one that was promised."

"I had to take him back."

"Taking is not giving."

She clenched her jaws together and said, "That boy is innocent."

The darkness seemed to pulse with laughter.

"So was the first one."

That was the turning point for Amahle, who then began to change how she loved Sipho.

"She loved him loudly in public," she said. "Fiercely in the presence of witnesses. But in the presence of witnesses, "fiercely," she said. She praised him, defended him, clung to him with

In private, she dominated him.

She picked the friends she knew to be safe. Which dreams were nonsense. Which doors to shut and keep shut. She planted doubt in him with the gentle waters of a plant until it became warped.

"You are not like your brother," she would say. "He was strong. The world is not kind to boys like you."

Sipho believed her because the house believed so.

The mirrors warped his reflection, with a stretched face that had become thin. Warnings sounded in the creak of the floorboards when he drifted too far from her room. Once, he heard Thando's voice call his name in a soft, pleading tone from the hallway.

When he turned the corner, Amahle was there.

Her eyes gleamed in the dark.

"Don't listen," she said, looking out calmly. "The dead are jealous."

The presence grew around Sipho as he got older.

It looked down on him from the corners, in reflection, from the little unoccupied place just behind his thoughts. When he began to dare to hope, really hope, something always happened : a sickness, an accident. Fear suddenly seized him in his chest, and his hands began to shake.

Amahle used that fear to her advantage.

She kept all the notebooks hidden under the floorboards, but the rituals still lived in her body; they lived in how she touched him and how she spoke his name when she thought no one could hear her.

There were times she felt so much hatred toward him when she looked into his eyes that she could hardly recognize it herself.

In her mind, she would think: "You are not supposed to be here; you are not supposed to live."

The house was very much aware of this.

Darkness had filled the walls with the house since the time of the original owner, and it was very comfortable; it had nothing to rush for; it did not need to be asked to move.

It would wait.

Because the house was very aware that sacrifices take longer to complete than they do to shed blood.

And Sipho…

Sipho was exactly where he was supposed to be.