One Dark Night

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 1

Bridget woke up in the middle of a scarily dark night. Her room was witchingly dark. Her mind was confusingly racing all over the world of her own. Outside, a cool breeze was whizzing through the roof and gum trees planted behind the house. A couple of insect noise was penetrating through the ventilators into her bedroom. From a distance tunes of chirruping birds were heard chorusing. From the other rooms in the house only sounds of groaning sleepers reached her ears. Within her room she could only hear her own heavy breathe coming squeezing from her nostrils.

She sprang from bed and stood majestically like an Antelope caught up in a trap. She peered in the dark as if searching for something, but she could not see a thing. She yawned, took a few steps towards the door and stopped. At the far end of the room her ears told her that something was moving on the floor. She looked back at the window only to see shadows of the curtains making magic with her sight.

Her throat felt dry and chocked but she was too terrified to clear it. She stalked back to her bed and sat on its edge facing the door entrance and rested her hands on her lap. She realized she had no clothes on, “My God!” She muttered to herself. “Am I dreaming?” she asked herself. Shivering she crawled to the end of the bed where stood the bedside table and looked around for something. A bottle scrawled and fell to the floor with a deathly squeaking noise. She knelt and put her hands across her bare chest. She felt her heart thumping hard against the inner limbs of the chest. She stretched her right hand and continued moving it round the table. A sound of a match’s box squeaked. She picked it, removed the match stick and struck it against the box, but only a flicker of light sparked and died out immediately.

She tried the second time but the flame went on for a few seconds and went off. When she tried the third time, the room was live with light. She threw her eyes all round the table and saw a candle lying on the table half covered by a text book. She reached for it and lit it. She then stealthily walked back to her bed and looked at it searchingly.

Standing there irresolutely, she was sure something was amiss. She was not mistaken at all that the previous night she went to bed with clothes on. But how come she woke up stake naked? She pulled a chitenge wrapper from the clothes line and wrapped herself. She removed the blankets to spread them properly and discovered that her pants were placed under the pillow. “But where are the clothes?” she brooded thoughtfully. She looked under the bed and found the clothes lying on the floor haggardly. She was more confused and irritated than before. Out of confusion and irritation came fear and worry. “What the hell is this?” she said and sat on the edge of the bed again trying to refresh her memories deeper.

Last night, that’s just a few hours ago, she went to bed earlier than the rest of the family members because she wasn’t feeling well. She had put on, her favorite night dress, recited a few lines of prayer and read two paragraphs of a recently published novel Behind the Stranger, before she finally started feeling dozy and decided to sleep. She remembered very well that she first blew off the candle and slept on her back wondering about in thoughts and without realizing went into amorphous’ hands. Somewhere in her celestial journey she presumably saw someone coming to her in sleep. Yes someone walked to where she was. “Who could it be? Was it a man?” she thought. She couldn’t be sure at this point. But what she knew was that she had a visitor.

She kept calm, as if putting her memories to a halt. But the more she tried to un wrap the dream-like puzzle, the more confused she was becoming. She entered in her blankets and slept on her back gazing thoughtlessly at the roof. Then a seed of some memory dropped into her brain. “Six?” she muttered to herself. Yes the visitor in the dream had come to her ear and whispered something like “six”. She turned and looked the other side putting her hands between her legs in the process. Her fingers felt something creamy. Shocked, she sprang out of bed and went near the candle light to check herself closely. “What is this?!” she exclaimed puzzlingly. On the sides of her legs near the private part were smeared a creamy colorless fluid. She examined herself intricately and discovered that the stuff was actually coming from inside. She placed her right-hand two fingers inside and she found out that she very wet.

Bridget was half dead in motionless thoughts. What she thought was just a mere dream turned out to be something mysterious. Was it a wet dream or what? Small droplets of tears rippled down her cheeks as she went back to her bed helpless and terribly out of the real world. She tried to beg for sleep but it seemed as if the omens of night-rest were sick. As she lonely embraced herself in the blankets, tortured to death, another line of clear thought hammered her medulla. “No it was not six”, she talked to herself in silence. “He said sex. Yes it was a man. He said may I have sex with you. But – but what did I say to him?.......Oh God!” she wept silently, more convinced that this was not a mere dream but that something strange took place in her room a few hours ago.

She buried herself into the blankets as if one attacked by cerebral malaria and boarded into the analytical journey of the nightmare again, begging and begging the spirits not to turn it into reality. She only stopped pleading when a voice called out just above her head and she screamed with owe, “not again please!!”

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