PLEASE DON'T HIT ME

the mission

I didn’t move from the window. My fingers were gripping the curtain so tight, my knuckles turned white. That smile… it wasn’t normal. It was the kind of smile that followed you into your dreams and turned them into nightmares.

She turned away slowly, like she had all the time in the world, and walked down our short compound path to the gate. No hurry. No fear. Just this slow, deliberate step, like she was telling me, I be the one in control here.

I stayed frozen until I heard the gate creak shut. Then I ran to Mama’s room and banged on the door.

“Mama! Mama! She came here!”

Mama shot up from the bed, wrapper falling off one shoulder. “Who?”

“That woman!” My voice was shaking. “She dropped something by the door. A clay pot.”

Mama’s eyes widened, then she jumped out of bed and went for the brown packet Aunty Rose had given her. She didn’t even stop to ask more questions.

We both hurried to the sitting room. The pot was still there, sitting like it owned the space beside our door. Mama didn’t touch it — she tore open Rose’s packet, which was full of some powder that smelled like dried leaves and smoke.

She sprinkled it around the pot, her hands trembling but fast. “Go and bring broom,” she ordered.

I fetched it, and she used the broom to push the pot far from the door, until it rolled into the gutter outside. The moment it hit the dirty water, there was a sound — not loud, but sharp — like a small c***k of glass.

I stepped back. “Mama… did you hear that?”

She nodded, her lips pressed tight. “It’s good we acted quick. If we had slept till morning…” She didn’t finish.

We stayed inside the rest of that day, but my mind kept going back to the plan with Aunty Rose. If the woman had already come to our house, then maybe she did suspect something.

The next evening, Mama called me into her room. She laid out a small bag with a bottle of Fanta, a packet of cabin biscuits, and some money.

“You’ll take these to her shop tomorrow,” she said quietly. “Pretend you’re buying something. Look for a chance to take the item Rose needs. You must not let her see fear in you.”

I stared at the bag like it was a bag of snakes. “Mama… what if she knows?”

“She does know,” Mama replied calmly. “But that’s why you have to be careful. If she sees you as a small girl just running errands, she may not guard herself too much.”

I didn’t sleep much that night. Every sound outside felt like footsteps. Every shadow looked like that smile.

The next morning, I set out for the shop, my legs feeling heavier with each step. The street was busy with okadas zooming past, women calling out their wares, and the smell of suya drifting from a stand nearby.

When I reached her street, my chest tightened. There it was the shop with the bright red curtains.

She was sitting outside, fanning herself lazily. When her eyes met mine, her lips curved into that same smile.

“Christy,” she said smoothly, like we’d known each other forever. “Come inside.”

My heart jumped, but I stepped in.

The shop smelled faintly sweet, but there was another smell underneath — like something burnt, something old. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with everything from milk tins to soap.

“What do you want to buy?” she asked, her eyes never leaving my face.

I forced a small smile and handed her the money. “Fanta and cabin biscuits, please.”

She reached for them, her bracelets jingling softly. That was when I saw it — a small, patterned scarf lying on the counter beside her stool. Bright green with yellow flowers.

I remembered Rose’s words: a cup, a scarf, anything she uses every day.

As she bent to grab the biscuits, I let my hand drift casually towards the scarf. My fingers brushed the soft fabric

And then, her hand closed over mine.

Cold. Firm.

Her smile was wider now, but her eyes… her eyes were sharp.

“Is that what you came for, Christy?” she asked softly. “Or is there something your mother sent you to take?”

My stomach dropped.

I tried to pull my hand back, but her grip tightened.

“Tell your mother,” she whispered, leaning close enough that I could smell the faint scent of palm oil and something metallic, “that if she wants to fight me, she should come herself. Not send her little girl.”

Then she let go, picked up the scarf, and tied it around her neck.

I left the shop with the Fanta and biscuits, but no scarf. My legs didn’t stop shaking until I reached our street.

Mama was waiting at the door. One look at my face and she knew.

“She knew,” I whispered. “Mama… she knew.”

Mama closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with a new kind of fire. “Then we don’t wait anymore. Tonight, we strike first.”