Sugar Cake Lady

by Franka Zeph

Sharlene knocked on the door and was greeted with silence. The loop of house keys rattled in her hand while she searched for the right one. Her palms were cold and sweaty as she pressed and turned the metal in the lock. It didn’t give, so she tried another. She was certain that if her mother-in-law was in there she would have responded by now. This was her house after all, and she had the right to enter if she felt it was justified. That was the response she would give if she came face to face with the old woman.

The door purred open, and a rank odor escaped that reminded her of the dead cockroaches she used to find when cleaning her room in Trinidad. Their desiccated corpses smelled like stinky toes, and she had to cover her nose with a handkerchief as she swept them into the dustpan. She repeated the gesture with the sleeve of her pajama top to block out that awful scent and flipped the light switch on. Elsie’s sweaters were neatly folded and stacked atop a large woven straw hamper. A leather-bound Bible rested on the night table beside a glass of water. Pink bedroom slippers with bunny ears lay in front of the bed that was neatly made up, the duvet pulled tight across the covers.

Everything was in order, except Elsie was gone.

A cool draft of autumn night air caressed her face from the open window. What if her crazy suspicions turned out to be true? In all likelihood, she was wrong—a dotish victim of old wives’ tales. She truly hoped she was mistaken. Lives were at stake, and it was time for the search to begin.

***

“So, what do you think, darling? About Mom coming up to spend some time with us?” Dexter sipped his espresso. It was 6:16 AM and their final moments of early morning intimacy were slipping away.

“Sure, that sounds good.” Sharlene savored her caffeine-free café au lait. “It would give her a chance to get to know her grandchildren.”

“She not doing so well. Last time we had our video chat, she looked so skinny, like she’s not eating properly. I think she’s lonely. She needs to get out of that place for a while.”

“I can imagine it’s hard to live alone at her age.”

“None of my brothers does check for her. Wendy swings by once a week to drop off groceries. Apart from that, she don’t really have company.”

“Oh, that’s so sad! To be abandoned like that by your children.”

“It’s not that we abandoned her,” he replied, defensiveness creeping into his voice. “It’s just that everybody have their own life now, and where she living, all the way behind God’s back in the countryside… there’s not much going on there.”

“Well, I could use the extra help.” As if on cue, Sorel squealed in her crib upstairs.

Dexter patted Sharlene’s lap. “So glad to know you’re on board with this. I’ll get started with the paperwork. If all goes well, she’ll be with us by fourth of July weekend.”

“Mommy!” Yunia screamed. Footsteps pounded the floor above them as her twin brother chased her around their room.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Sharlene drained her cup. “Love my boos, but boy, they are a handful!”

***

“You think you know what’s best for Mammy?” Marlon shouted at his brother. “I telling you she good right where she is!”

Dexter paced the floor of his home office while Sharlene nursed Sorel and listened on speaker phone. “Three months ain’t long. She’ll be back before you know it and besides, she never visited the States before. This trip will be good for her.”

“Mom don’t like trips. The last trip she took was to Tobago twenty-five years ago. What the ass make you think she want to hop on a plane now?”

“When last you pass by and see her, eh?” Dexter responded. “You doh even spend time with your mother and now you criticizing me?”

“Alright, Mr. Bigshot! You in your big house in America feel you better than me!”

“You can’t even answer my question! Mom not doing so well. She get small-small, and none of all yuh doing a damn thing for her except Wendy.”

“You acting like we doh care about Mammy. Trust me she okay, she doh complain about nothing. And you want to bring her out to America at her age? I say leave her be!”

“I want her to meet her grandchildren.”

“Why you don’t bring the grands down here to see her? You ‘fraid dem might have to use ah outhouse? Wipe dey ass with gazette paper when she run out of toilet paper?”

“I don’t see you doing anything to better her situation. She’s my mother, and I have the right to bring her out here if I want to.”

“Fine!” Marlon yelled. “I is Mr. Backward and you is Mr. Bigshot. Do what the hell you like!”

“Bye, brother.” Dexter hung up and looked at his wife. “He’s always been the jealous type, but he’ll get over it.”

“It’ll be alright. Every family has disagreements—it’s normal.”

“I don’t understand what his problem is.” Dexter shook his head with disbelief. “I doing something nice for our mother, and he thinks I’m trying to steal her away or something.”

Sorel began to whimper and fuss. Sharlene disengaged her nipple, placed the baby against her shoulder and rubbed her back. “I think it’s great what you’re doing for her.”

“Good to know you’ve got my back, honey. I love you.”

The baby burped as her stomach settled down. “I love you too,” Sharlene said.

***

Two days before her mother-in-law’s arrival, Sharlene was in the basement removing a queen-sized duvet from storage. Extra bedding had been shifted here to make room in the linen closet prior to Sorel’s birth five months ago. This one was a Black Friday sale special, covered in a pink hibiscus floral print. Dexter said pink was his mother’s favorite color. Sharlene thought the flowers would remind her of Trinidad in case she felt homesick. While hauling the bulky duvet in its protective casing up the stairs, tightness welled in her chest. She paused and waited for the sensation to pass. Maybe it was gas, or it could be something more. She made a mental note to arrange a doctor’s appointment sometime over the next few weeks and mounted the stairs to the upper floor landing. Dexter was on his knees, affixing a new doorknob to the guest room where his mother would be staying. Screws lay scattered on the carpet beside his feet, next to the old knob.

“Something wrong with the door?”

“Mom likes her privacy. She asked me to put a lock on the door.”

“Since when do we have locked doors in this house?”

“I know how you feel, sweetie, but I want her to be comfortable. Just accommodate her request. It’s only for a short while, then I’ll change it back, alright?” He twisted the screws into place.

“As long as you make a copy of the key, I don’t have a problem with that.”

“I’ll make one. Just promise me that you won’t go in there when she’s not around.”

“Of course, I won’t! It just makes sense to have a spare in case of an emergency.”

“One more thing; she will change the bedding and clean the room herself. Leave a hamper in the hallway so she can put the sheets there when they need to be washed.”

“It’s no trouble for me to clean up after her, but if that’s the way she wants it, I respect that.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome. I hope she’ll like the room.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Sharlene sighed. So much for their family’s “open door” policy. She carried the duvet into the den. When he was finished, she would prep the spare room.

***

“Oooh, when is Granny coming?” asked Yunia.

“Tomorrow,” Dexter responded. The family was having an orientation session in the living room. Yunia jumped up and down with excitement while Yuquon played with his tablet. Sharlene was rather annoyed with Dexter for letting him access the device while they were having a conversation. The six-year-old was totally immersed in a world of militant fruit madness that was, thankfully, on mute.

“Is she gonna sleep in my room?”

“Granny’s going to have her own room,” Dexter replied. “I don’t want you guys going in there to play. Yuquon, do you hear me?” The boy’s fingers tapped the tablet’s screen, slicing digital fruit with zigzagging flashes of light. Sharlene gently prised it out of his grip.

“Give it back!” He reached for the device.

“Did you hear what I said? No going into Granny’s room to play, even if the door’s open.”

“Why, Daddy?”

“Because Granny needs her privacy.”

“Will she look the same like she does on the phone?” inquired Yunia.

“Yes, baby,” he replied.

“I can’t wait to show her Nicole!” She held up her tween Black doll with spun-yarn hair and a rock star outfit. Sharlene thought it looked too mature for a girl Yunia’s age. It was a birthday gift from Aunty Gloria who insisted on giving the kids whatever they wanted. She secretly wondered whether she was old-fashioned and envied her younger sister’s ease with the children. At the twins’ fifth birthday party, Yuquon had expressed to a roomful of guests that he wished Gloria was his mother. Kids these days!

“She’ll love Nicole.” Sharlene smiled at her daughter whose long dual braids bounced on her narrow shoulders as she jigged in place. Her teeth were changing, and she was growing so beautifully. She reminded herself that she was like that once.

***

Birds trilled in the pear tree that occupied the center of the Bartons’ backyard. It was a gorgeous afternoon on 5 July 2024, and Sharlene relished the sounds of soca music while stirring lemonade in the pitcher. She had staged a welcome party for Elsie with pink-themed wardrobe and décor. Flamingos adorned the outdoor cushions on the patio chairs, accompanied by matching paper cups and plates set on the fuchsia tablecloth. Sorel fidgeted in her rocker, her little feet twitching in their pastel-colored booties while her siblings gamed in the air-conditioned living room. Dexter was due to arrive with Elsie in five minutes and lunch was being kept warm on the stove. Everything had turned out well, and Sharlene was chuffed at her ability to hold it down. Some of the credit went to her greens, which she drank daily to give herself a healthy boost of energy.

On the other side of the picket fence, Kyle watered his plants, one hand resting on his lower back, gut protruding slightly over his belted waistband. He wore a peaked blue Yankees baseball cap that shielded his pink skin from the sun. A mild hint of lobster red tinted his freckled forearms. She guessed he hadn’t bothered to apply sunblock. Sulfur butterflies flirted with her meticulous flowerbed, sipping nectar at leisure. Sharlene’s heart overflowed with contentment for her happy suburban family life that was a far cry from her wild college days. Back then, she never thought that she would ever settle down. She had entertained fantasies of becoming a globe-trotting entrepreneur and then met Dexter in her final year. From that moment on, they were like two pigeon peas in a pod. Though she hardly had time for herself anymore, she had plenty of love.

Kyle waved at her; she returned the gesture. He was a good neighbor and his wife, Isabel, had a two-month-old baby named Alfred. She had seen the little one in his pram when his mother took him out for walks. He resembled Kyle and had fire red lashes. The two women always exchanged bowls of fruit during harvest season. Isabel had an apple tree, and Sharlene’s luscious pears were so plentiful, she had to give some away to avoid wastage.

Sharlene heard a car door close at the front. Dexter had arrived. Moments later, luggage wheels scraped across the pavement. The front door opened, and the children screamed with delight.

“Granny! Granny!” they chanted as their father deposited the luggage in the foyer.

Sharlene freed Sorel from the rocker and brought her inside. She was serene and contentedly blowing spit bubbles, having been fed an hour ago. Sharlene had not seen Elsie in person since she and Dexter made an engagement trip to Trinidad in 2008. The old lady was delighted to meet her daughter-in-law but was too sick to attend the Miami wedding. Over the years, video calls addressed the long-distance relationship void, especially when it came to the children. Now, her mother-in-law was here in the flesh.

“Hello darling!” the elderly voice quavered.

“Hi Granny!” the twins chorused as they rushed to hug their grandmother. Elsie laughed and placed her arthritic fingers on their heads. She was hunched and frail, appearing to weigh less than a sack of grain. Her thinning hair was pulled back in a chignon from a bony brown face ravaged by aging. Shiny dougla waves accentuated the fine texture of her hair. She wore a candy pink cardigan over a white sleeveless top with matching pants and shoes. Coral pigment coated her thin lips that parted, revealing uneven teeth stained yellow with age. Gold caps glinted from her upper canines—a hint of old school West Indian Style. She looked at Sharlene and smiled.

“Hello, dear. Long time I ain’t see yuh! Aye aye, look the baby!”

Sharlene embraced her mother-in-law. It felt like hugging a baby-powder scented bag of bones. She hoped she wasn’t hurting the old lady. Elsie released her and bent down to examine the infant.

“What’s her name again?”

“Sorel.”

“Ah, Sorel! Like sorrel with one ‘r.’”

“Yes. That’s exactly right!” Sharlene laughed. “I’m amazed you picked up on that.”

“How you expect me not to know? I is Trini!” Elsie caressed Sorel’s chin. The baby squinted her round brown eyes and began to cry.

“Sorry about that,” Sharlene said. “She was sleeping for a while. Must be the heat.”

“Mom, you want something to eat?” Dexter inquired. “You must be hungry by now.”

“Not really,” she said. “I had some food on the plane.”

“That’s not real food. Take a little plate of something and eat with us.”

“Okay, Dex, I will do it just for you.”

“Dexter, can you dish out the food?” said Sharlene. “I need to calm Sorel down.”

“Sure, honey.” He went to the sink and washed his hands.

“Don’t forget the coleslaw in the red bowl on the bottom shelf of the fridge.” She went upstairs with the baby screaming in her arms.

Fifteen minutes later, the Bartons were dining on the patio while Sorel dozed upstairs. There was pelau, stew chicken, coleslaw, chow mein, and garden salad. Yuquon and Yunia were devouring pink frosted donuts and chatting with their mouths full. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted on the summer breeze. Lawn sprinklers whirred, hard at work to keep their living carpet lush and green.

“What a lovely home you have here” Elsie ruminated between a mouthful of food. “You’ve had this place for how long now?”

“Eleven years,” Dexter responded. “We’ve got five bedrooms, three bathrooms, an outdoor whirlpool, swimming pool, and an indoor sauna. I’ll take you on a tour of the house afterwards.”

“Oh, that sounds like a dream! You all living in a castle.”

“Yeah, well it’s a small castle in comparison to a real one.”

“But look at all the space you have,” Elsie marveled, gesturing with her thin hands. “For me, this is a mansion. And I love your backyard. It’s so beautiful!”

Dexter’s face shone with pride. “Thanks, Mom. I worked hard so you could come and enjoy it.”

You mean we worked hard so you could enjoy it, Sharlene chafed silently.

“That’s my boy!” She patted him on the shoulder. “I always knew you would make me proud.”

“Daddy’s a lawyer,” Yuquon blurted. “He helps put bad people in jail.”

“Yuquon!” Sharlene said, aghast. “Nobody’s talking to you!”

“It’s okay, let the boy talk.” Granny shooed dismissively with her hand. Knobby veins bulged from the volcanic surface of her skin. Yuquon took one look at his mother’s face and focused on his meal. “I find he resemble Lennox, your grandfather,” Elsie remarked to Dexter. Crick! The old lady cracked a chicken bone with her teeth and sucked out a dark brown substance from the splintered bone. The twins watched in amazement.

“Granny, what are you doing?” asked Yunia.

“I eating the marrow. That’s the most nutritious part of the chicken. It will make you strong.”

Yuquon picked up a bone from his plate and looked at his father. “Daddy, can I try?”

“Sure, go ahead,” he said. “But be careful not to bite down too hard.” The boy clenched the bone between his teeth and bore down. Soon, he was sucking on marrow. Yunia followed suit.

“Mmm, tastes good!” Yuquon smacked his greasy lips with approval.

“I’m surprised they haven’t tried this before.” Granny eyed Dexter and Sharlene, seeking an explanation.

“The chickens out here not like in Trinidad,” Sharlene said. “They raise them on hormones and antibiotics, so that’s why I don’t encourage the children to eat the marrow.”

“Nothing perfect in this world,” Granny responded. “Better to let them have some marrow than no marrow at all. You should teach the children about our culture. Nothing to be ‘shamed of.” Granny pulverized the bone, her ancient jowls quivering with every crunch.

“True,” Dexter replied. “It’s easy to forget, especially living out here.”

“Don’t worry,” his mother said. “I happy to teach them.” Grey bone fragments lay in a mangled heap to the side of her plate, bits of residual marrow visible between the cracks. Yunia licked her fingers and made appreciative smacking sounds while Yuquon giggled. Feeling slightly queasy, Sharlene helped herself to an extra serving of coleslaw.

***

The silver Lexus glided along McKinnon Avenue; a tree-lined residential street of picturesque multi-story homes and dual garages fronted by glistening lawns. The newspaper delivery boy wheeled by on his bike to deliver subscriptions on front porches.

Sharlene observed this idyllic scenario and considered herself lucky. Sometimes she had to pinch herself at her remarkable good fortune. So many of her girlfriends were either separated or divorced from their spouses. Some complained about the financial struggles they faced having to support a single-parent household on a reduced income. Others were embroiled in bitter parental custody and child support battles. It was as though society had pitted women and men against each other so that they would forever be at each other’s throats. Thankfully, her marriage to Dexter was rock solid. They’d had their ups and downs yet managed to stay focused and committed. The “friendship first” approach was proving to be most effective at helping them navigate the occasional rocky terrain of their sixteen-year marriage.

She reversed into the driveway and parked. Mechanical processes ticked into retirement, and she sat in silence; a rare luxury that would end the moment she set foot in the house. Maternity leave was ending in one month, and it was back to work in September. Having Elsie was a boon; she could babysit Sorel while Sharlene worked and saved them some money.

Sharlene removed her keys from the ignition. A laser-cut palm tree with “Sweet TnT” embossed on a nameplate dangled from the keyring. She exited the car and entered her home. The cloying scent of boiling sugar hung in the air, thick and heavy. The sound of a stirring pot came from the kitchen.

“Next, I going to add the coconut,” Elsie announced. “Yunia darling, pass me the bowl please.”

Sharlene kicked off her shoes and strolled into the kitchen. Her mother-in-law was at the stove while the twins stood beside her, watching as she stirred the shredded coconut into the bubbling mixture.

“Hi Mom! I see you’re making sugar cake.”

Elsie looked up from her stirring. “Yes, love—for the children.”

“How’s Sorel?”

“She upstairs sleeping. I change her diaper half an hour ago.”

“Thanks.”

“How was your outing?”

“Pretty good. Got my hair and nails done.”

“Is good to take some time to yourself every now and then.” On the stovetop, the grated coconut had absorbed most of the syrup. Elsie unscrewed a slim glass bottle of colorless liquid and added a few drops to the mixture.

“Mmm, Granny, that smells good!” exclaimed Yunia.

“It’s almond essence from Trinidad.”

“What’s that for?”

“To give the sugar cake a nice flavor.” Elsie reached for a small dark bottle on the counter. Moments later, scarlet drops splashed the shredded coconut.

“Granny, what’s that?” said Yuquon.

“Food coloring. That will make the sugar cake look pretty.”

“Looks like blood in the snow.”

“Yuquon,” said Sharlene. “Don’t be morbid.”

“But, Mommy, it’s true!”

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” said Elsie while she stirred the mixture. “He’s got quite the imagination!” Yuquon stared, fascinated to watch the striated white mass transform into fragrant pink candy.

“Yes, he does,” his mother replied. “He’s a budding artist too. You should see some of his drawings.”

“Can I show her now?” asked Yuquon.

“Later, once she’s done with this.” Sharlene watched Elsie pour the mixture into a greased dish while Yuquon scraped it out with a spoon. His sister stood by with a spatula and promptly leveled the mixture into a uniform rectangle. Sharlene was amazed that the frail old woman had enough strength to pick up a cast iron pot with both hands. She noted the open package of caster sugar on the counter which Dexter had bought for his mother. Sugar caused hyperactivity in kids and a host of other health issues. Next time, she would ask her to use substitute sweetener.

“Now, we leave this to cool down, and then we can eat it.” Elsie rested the pot in the kitchen sink. Yuquon licked the spoon, and Yunia swiped her fingers inside the pot, picking up stray bits of candied coconut and popping them into her mouth. Sharlene felt grateful they were having this experience, as she had never made sugar cake for them. Her mother had passed away shortly after she wed Dexter, so her children didn’t have a chance to know their maternal grandmother. Elsie picked up a sponge and squeezed detergent onto the lemon-yellow surface.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll put these into the dishwasher,” Sharlene said.

“Thanks, dear.” Elsie dropped the sponge in the sink. “I’m going to take a rest now.” She slowly made her way to the living room, eased herself onto the love seat and popped the footrest out. Dexter had shown her how to work it, and now it was her go-to favorite.

One hour later, they were all munching on sugar cake and watching Jeopardy. Sharlene restricted herself to one piece while Elsie had a half serving. The twins probably had at least seven squares between them. They sat on the floor and chattered like chickadees, paying hardly any attention to the program. Sharlene made a mental note to vacuum the place tomorrow. Everyone had plates to catch the crumbs, yet she knew some would settle between the carpet fibers. She prided herself on maintaining a clean environment, and the last thing she wanted was critters in her space. Mind you, the roaches in America were like plankton compared to the mammoth variety endemic to the tropics. She thought of the notorious hardback cockroach—the winged terror that reminded her of a humongous, smelly black-eyed pea with antennae—and cringed.

“Thanks for making the sugar cake. I haven’t had this in so long! Reminds me of home.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Elsie replied. Pink crumbs clung like tiny sequins to the edges of her thin lips.

“I hope you like your room. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

“The room is perfect. I love the view of the street and those trees with the silvery bark—what are they called?”

“Birch trees.”

“They are very lovely. We don’t have trees like that in Trinidad.”

“Mom, I just want you to know I’m happy to clean your room for you. It’s no problem at all.”

“It’s okay, dear. You mustn’t trouble yourself. You have your hands full minding these children. I can look after myself.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s 8 o’clock now. That’s my bedtime. Good night, everybody!”

“Good night, Granny!” the children chorused.

“Good night, Mom,” said Sharlene. “You need help getting up the stairs?”

“No thanks, I’m alright.” Elsie hobbled out of the room; her body stiffened from sitting down for so long. She ascended the staircase, her hand grasping the railing for support. Thin gold bangles gleamed from the cuff of her cardigan. Sharlene listened for the sound of her mother-in-law’s bedroom door being closed and locked for the night. They would not see her again until the following morning.

Sharlene curled her legs beneath her on the sofa and changed the channel to a nature program. She looked forward to watching her scandalous dating reality show, which was set to record and enjoy after the kids went to bed.

***

At the neighborhood playground, Yuquon climbed the monkey bars while Yunia played pretend with her friends in the jungle gym. It was the first week of back-to-school and back-to-work for Sharlene. She was utterly exhausted and dying for a glass of red wine, which would have to wait until she helped the kids do their homework, shower, and go to bed. Thankfully, Elsie cooked dinner; stew chicken with pelau and salad. Just thinking about wolfing down a plate of Trinidadian soul food after a stressful day lifted her spirits. Going back to her legal secretary role after maternity leave was a discombobulating experience. During lunch break, she had a silent cry in the washroom, feeling the pain of separation from Sorel and the crush of having to practically relearn processes she had previously known by heart. She began to question whether to continue working at the firm or to quit and start her own business. To her relief, she spotted Ann-Marie, a Black mother from the community, wrapped in a knitted poncho at the opposite end of the playground.

“Hey, Annie!”

“Hey, girl!” Ann-Marie beamed her brilliant smile, a flash of lasered pearlies in her glistening mahogany face. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in a minute!”

“Mat leave’s over so it’s back to reality. You know how that is.”

“Don’t I know it! A glass of wine at night always helps.”

Sharlene chuckled. “Girl, you read my mind! I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Talk about delayed gratification! The kids always come first.”

“Yep.”

Sharlene stooped down in the sandbox to look at Jericho. He was holding a red plastic shovel and pouring sand into a dug-out pool.

“Hi, Jericho, how are you?”

The boy didn’t respond. He remained fixated on his building project, scooping the granulated quartz into a funnel shape that he was creating.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Ann-Marie said. “He hasn’t been himself lately.”

“What’s wrong? Is he sick?”

Ann-Marie’s eyes flicked around the playground, checking to ensure that no one was listening. “Normally, he would be on the monkey bars, but his energy levels are so low, he’s sticking to the sandbox.” She leaned closer towards Sharlene and whispered. “The doctor says he has anemia.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Sharlene said. “Do you know what’s causing it?”

“We don’t know; no one in my family has it. The doctor says we need to give him iron supplements and organ meats. I’ve been doing that for the past three weeks, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.”

“Organ meats are good. I used to eat beef and chicken liver when I was a child. Just make sure they’re organic though.”

“Of course.” Ann-Marie cast a worried glance at her son who was busy shaping the sand with his hands. Sharlene thought Jericho didn’t look well at all. He was much thinner than she remembered when she last saw him playing with Yuquon a few weeks ago.

“What are you making, Jericho?” she inquired.

The boy continued to pat the dampened sand into place. She observed the shape that his sculpture was beginning to assume. It resembled a familiar object whose name danced on the tip of her tongue.

“Girrrl, it’s so good to see you!” Ann-Marie hugged Sharlene. “Life gets crazy, but we should go out for a drink sometime when our schedules permit.”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll text you next week. Have a good eve.”

***

Sharlene whipped scrambled eggs in the skillet while the news blared from the flatscreen television in the living room. Dexter sipped espresso at the kitchen counter and checked his email while Sorel slept upstairs in her crib. A dull ache throbbed in Sharlene’s lower back, and she pressed her fingertips against the lumbar region. She needed to book an appointment with the masseuse; it was such a challenge to find the time between the onerous demands of work and motherhood.

“Yunia! Yuquon! Come and have your breakfast now!” Elsie called. The kids sat at the table and wolfed down buttermilk pancakes drenched in maple syrup and organic butter from grass-fed cows, interspersed with sips of orange juice. Sharlene scraped the eggs into a dish layered with sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, bacon, and lettuce. The earthy seductive aroma made her stomach grumble. It was Dexter’s favorite breakfast dish and hers as well. The bottom of the eggs was brown, borderline burned yet okay.

“There you go, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” He dug into the steaming pile of eggs with his fork. Sharlene scrolled through her newsfeed, spatula in one hand, phone in the other. She knew she should focus on eating, but was so addicted to the app that browsing before breakfast had become part of her daily routine. Her thumb paused in mid-scroll on a news item that hit close to home: ‘Anemia Epidemic Sickens Falls Heights Kids, Leaving One Child Dead.’ She clicked on the article.

“An epidemic of anemia is sweeping the Falls Heights community in New Jersey. Pediatricians say forty-five children have abnormally low blood iron counts from unknown causes. One fatality has been reported for the month of September. Six-year-old Jericho Delaware has died from aplastic anemia after a prolonged bout of illness. State health authorities promise a full investigation into this mysterious epidemic that has left many parents mystified.”

Sharlene gasped and dropped the spatula on the floor.

“What’s wrong, baby?” asked Dexter.

She glanced over at the twins who were deeply engrossed in their breakfast and picked up the spatula. Specks of egg had landed on the chair legs, giving them a mottled appearance.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s Jericho, Ann-Marie’s son. You know the little Black boy with the purple frohawk who bikes with Yuquon?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He… he passed away.”

“Snap! I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“He died of aplastic anemia.”

Dexter bit into his sandwich. A strip of bacon dangled from the edge of his toast, tiny pools of grease gleaming from the marcelled crevices. “People rarely die from anemia. It must have been quite severe.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was.” Sharlene texted her condolences to Ann-Marie. A lump of grief swelled in her throat, depriving her of appetite. Crying in front of the family at breakfast time was out of the question. She drank her coffee and focused on the bird-of-paradise floral centerpiece that breathed fresh tropical vibes into their living space.

“She must be taking it hard,” said Dexter.

“How are we going to tell the kids? That’s their friend; I don’t want to upset them.”

“They’re gonna find out sooner or later. We’ll have a family meeting after breakfast and break the news to them.”

Sharlene’s phone pinged. Ann-Marie had texted back to thank her for the well wishes.

“The funeral’s on Sunday. I’ll go and show my support. Can you keep the kids? I think it’s best they stay out of this.”

“Sure, darling, no problem.”

***

Packed to the rafters, St. Mary’s Episcopal Baptist Church swam in a sea of yellow. Sharlene sat among mourners, radiant in a double-breasted dress suit. Yellow was Jericho’s favorite color, and Ann-Marie chose to honor her son’s love of life and the sun, evinced by the sunflowers and yellow lilies that elevated the church’s somber ambience. Mourners queued to view the body, and Sharlene stepped forward, moving closer to say farewell. Ann-Marie sat in the front pew with her immediate family and offered a nod of appreciation. Her face looked drawn but otherwise, she seemed to be holding up fine. Jericho’s grandmother sobbed uncontrollably, her large body heaving while a relative comforted her.

As Sharlene drew closer, she caught a glimpse of Jericho’s purple frohawk which contrasted sharply with the casket’s white satin lining. Beneath his hairline, there was a surprising hint of beige. Jericho’s complexion was the color of dark chocolate; it must be the reflection from the lining that made his skin seem off. She tried to convince herself that he was now in a land of sunshine and rainbows where suffering had been replaced by eternal joy. There was no way to know for sure; that was the thing about death. No one ever came back to tell you how nice it was on the other side.

The corpulent mourner ahead of her stepped aside to reveal Jericho’s body swathed in canary yellow. Sharlene’s feet wobbled in her golden high heels, and she put a hand on the casket’s edge to steady herself. Jericho’s rich dark complexion was now the color of rice paper; a depleted husk of his formerly round face, now sunken and hollowed beyond recognition. The mortician’s brush could neither disguise the dark under-eye hollows closed in perpetual sleep, nor conceal the gaunt cheekbones of his wasted frame. The boy’s yellow silk tie lay flush against his white dress shirt, encased in a tailored sunshine print jacket. Across the stomach, his blanched hands clutched an action figurine. Blue veins threaded the translucent skin that reminded her of onion paper. He was pale—so pale!

Sharlene sobbed and pressed a tissue to her eyes. He had suffered and slipped away despite intensive efforts from his parents and doctors. Never again would he swing from the monkey bars, play with the twins, or grow up and go to college. Ann-Marie sat with a resolute expression on her mocha face. The woman seemed calm, almost peaceful about the loss of her only child. Sharlene doubted whether she would have had the strength to bear it like she did.

She touched the little boy’s hand. It was shockingly cold. “Bye, Jericho,” Sharlene said. “Rest in peace, little darling. Yuquon and Yunia will miss you. We will always love you.”

***

Sharlene opened the door to her home, smelling sugar cake intermingled with the savory smell of pizza and wings. Dexter had taken the family to church, and they were all in high spirits. ‘Cook Curry Ochroe’ by Shadow played in the background. The calypsonian’s reference to a vegetarian dish proved an ironic counterpoint to the greasy food her family was consuming. A plate of buttermilk biscuits sat beside the bowl of sugar cake squares. Although she was stuffed to the gills from the funeral’s reception dinner, Sharlene could not pass on the biscuits.

“Hey, guys! How was church?”

“Boring!” Yuquon replied, a chicken wing grasped between his fingers.

“I liked the singing,” Yunia said through a mouthful of pizza. “That was the best part.”

“Well, at least somebody got something out of it.” Sharlene washed her hands at the sink and helped herself to a biscuit.

“I prayed for Jericho. Hope the angels will take care of him,” Yuquon said.

“It was a very nice service,” said Elsie. “Reverend Jones gave such a good sermon! The Holy Spirit was strong in him! You could tell he was preaching from the heart.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Sharlene.

“Did you see Jericho?” Yuquon inquired.

Sharlene swallowed a piece of biscuit that felt like a boulder going down. “Yes, I did, honey.”

“What did he look like?”

“Like he was sleeping.”

“I’m going to miss him.”

“We all will, baby.”

“Is Jericho going to heaven?” asked Yunia, her eyes bright with guileless curiosity.

“Yes, I’m sure he’s in heaven,” Sharlene replied, washing the biscuit down with iced tea. “He was a good boy and he’s in a better place now.”

Later, after the children and their grandmother were asleep, Sharlene and Dexter relaxed in bed. She was engrossed in Housewives of Atlanta with a glass of wine, while he perused a sports magazine. After several minutes, he looked at his wife’s fixed gaze and set the magazine aside.

“Talk to me, baby—what’s on your mind? Something troubling you?”

“Dex, you should have seen the body. He was so pale that he was almost beige.”

“Seriously? How come?”

“I don’t know. He died from aplastic anemia; that’s when your bone marrow gets so damaged it can’t make enough blood cells. Ann-Marie said no one in her family has a history of anemia. I wanted to speak with her privately after the funeral but didn’t get the chance.”

“Man, oh man! That’s so sad. I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m glad the kids didn’t go; it wouldn’t have been good for them to see him that way. Because honestly, he looked as if he had the life sucked right out of him.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.

Dexter put his arm around her shoulders. “I know this is hard, honey. Grief takes time to process. Just remember I’m here for you.”

“It’s not just grief.” She wiped a tear with the heel of her hand and rested her glass on the side table. “All these kids in our community have anemia, all of a sudden. Forty-five cases between August and September. Something’s wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to our kids.”

“The kids will be fine.” Dexter smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “You shouldn’t worry too much.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t see the body!” She tensed up within his embrace. “Maybe you should call and express your condolences. Let them know you care.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow. I just wanted to give them some space.” He kissed her neck. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

“No, that’s it for now.”

“I’m going to get some shut eye. The firm’s got a big case coming up bright and early tomorrow morning. Ah, Mondays suck!” He kissed her on the lips. “Good night, baby.”

“Night, Dex.”

He rolled over on his side. Sharlene resumed watching her show. Images moved. Folks argued; she did not hear them. Her mind harkened back to the first time they had lunch with Elsie in July. How the old lady had crunched that chicken bone with her teeth, sucked out the marrow and said, “That’s the most nutritious part of the chicken. It will make you strong.” She thought of how repulsive it was to watch her eat that day, and how she got the kids involved.

Two months into her stay, Elsie gained weight. Dexter was elated that his mother had adjusted so well. Even Marlon commented that she was looking rosy during their last group chat, and indeed she was. Her face had plumped out as though she had gotten fillers. A newly expanded waistline meant she had to go shopping for new clothes. Sharlene dozed off and saw Jericho’s emaciated corpse lying in his casket. Startled awake, she reached for her wine glass. Nightmares were the last thing she needed. Dexter snored beside her, and she envied his easy rest.

“Dex?” He didn’t respond. She got out of bed and went down the hallway to Elsie’s room. Sharlene pressed her ear against the door and listened. All she heard were the familiar sounds of the house settling down for the night and the low drone of the television from her room. It was after ten-thirty and her mother-in-law always went to bed at eight. She rapped on the door and was greeted with silence. Perhaps the old lady slept soundly just like her son. She turned the knob.

“Mommy?”

Sharlene whirled around and saw Yuquon standing behind her.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I can’t sleep.”

Sharlene stooped down and gently took her son by the shoulders. “What’s wrong baby?”

“I dreamed about Jericho.”

“What did you dream?”

“We were at the playground on the swing. He tried to tell me something.”

Sharlene could tell her son was scared. “What did he say?”

“He couldn’t say anything. Blood came out of his mouth. There was blood everywhere.” Yuquon began to cry. Sharlene took him into her arms.

“Sssh, it’s okay.” She led him into the den and sat him on her lap. Yuquon thought himself a sophisticated gentleman and announced that he was too big for ‘baby stuff.’ Sharlene cradled him, feeling the fuzzy texture of his pajamas and sang. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry, cause Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns to brass, Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.”

His sobs subsided and he curled up in his mother’s arms. As Sharlene continued the lullaby, he dozed off. She carried him to the kids’ room, where Yunia was sound asleep in her bed, and deposited Yuquon into his. She pulled the covers over him and crept out, closing the door behind her. She checked on Sorel who slept peacefully in her crib and went back to her bedroom. She turned off the TV, climbed in beside Dexter and prayed silently, asking the Lord to bless her family and protect them while they rested.

On Tuesday night, the couple dined at LobStars, their favorite seafood restaurant, at a table with a lakeside view. This was their date night, which had been postponed after Sorel’s birth, and Sharlene was elated to stoke their romantic connection while her body continued to recover. After weaning Sorel over a month ago, her breasts finally felt like they belonged to her again. She wasn’t quite ready for sex yet, but she understood the importance of keeping Dexter engaged so he didn’t think she was neglecting him.

“So, how’s work coming along?” he asked while tackling the snow crab.

“I can’t lie; it’s stressful at times. I’m getting back into the flow but it’s not exactly like riding a bicycle.” She sampled her lobster bisque and decided to let it cool further. “I’m thinking of quitting so I can start an online business and spend more time watching my kids grow.”

“If that’s what you really want to do, go for it.”

“My body’s different now—it’s not like when I had the twins. Back then I bounced back quick. This time it’s taking longer. Plus, I feel like upper management are way more critical of my performance than my White colleagues. The executive assistant asks me to do work she should be doing, as if I don’t already have enough on my plate!”

“Honey, if you’re really not happy, then you shouldn’t continue with the job.” Dexter sipped his wine. “We’ll be fine for money. At the end of the day, the important thing is you’re happy.”

Sharlene sampled the crab. “Mmm… oh gosh! I forgot how good this is.”

“Mom makes a wicked crab and callaloo. You should do it with her some time.”

“Speaking of which,” she put her fork down. “I meant to ask you about her. Dex, she’s so quiet! A really nice lady, but she doesn’t talk much.”

“She’s never been the talkative type.”

“Can you tell me more about her? What was she like when you were growing up?”

“Mom was a hardworking woman. We weren’t rich, but she always made sure we had enough to eat and clothes on our backs. She used to work in a factory in Sangre Grande to support us while Dad worked in construction. It’s not easy when you have five mouths to feed, but she did it. She was real strict at times, but that helped to keep us out of trouble. My parents made sure we got a good education so we could have an easier time than they did.”

“That’s good to know.” Sharlene tried the bisque which had cooled to a reasonable temperature. “I don’t want you to get defensive, but when you were growing up, did she always keep her bedroom door locked?”

“That only start happening when she was in her fifties, after Dad died from cancer. I think she was depressed. Life can be hard especially when you lose someone you love, like your husband. I was a hardhead teenage boy, but me, my brothers, and sister loved my mother, so we didn’t bother her at night.”

“Okay.” Sharlene mulled over this tidbit of information. “Did you ever ask her why?”

“No. Mom always kept to herself and stayed out of people’s business. Sometimes, I wish she remarried, but I guess she wasn’t interested.”

The waiter brought the peach cobbler to their table. “Thanks!” Dexter said. “Oooh, that looks good.” He helped himself to the dessert. “You sure you don’t want some?”

“That’s not going to help me slim down anytime soon.”

“I always like meh women thick you know!” he joked. “Life too short.” He dropped a slice of cobbler into Sharlene’s empty dessert plate. “Go on—I know you want some!”

“You know me too well,” she laughed. “I’ll have it later.”

They dined in silence for several minutes. Sharlene pondered how to raise the topic that was foremost on her mind as she didn’t want to spoil the romantic mood. Dexter was relaxed and not preoccupied with clients; his phone was silenced.

“I saw Yuquon standing outside Elsie’s room on Sunday night.”

Dexter raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? What was he doing there?”

“He couldn’t sleep. He dreamed that he saw Jericho at the playground and blood came out of his mouth when he tried to talk.”

“Do you have to bring this up while we’re eating?”

“Look, I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I’m really concerned for our kids. They haven’t been sleeping well this past week. Even Sorel’s waking up in the middle of the night when normally she sleeps right through.”

“They’ll get over it.” Dexter chewed his cobbler and avoided eye contact with his wife. Sharlene knew he was upset. “I know a good child psychologist. If you want, I can give you her number.”

“Sure, honey, I appreciate that.” She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “I’m sorry if I upset you but I just want what’s best for our children.”

He looked at her with a grave expression usually reserved for the courtroom. “I know it’s hard for you to understand my mother but believe me, she loves her grandchildren. I just want her to enjoy the time she has left here before she goes back home.” He squeezed Sharlene’s hand affectionately. “Please help her enjoy her stay. It means the world to me.”

“I’ll do my best,” she replied. A tiny patch of gray was beginning to sprout from his goatee. Though the passage of time was beginning to wear on him, at thirty-eight he was still holding it down in the looks department. Elsie would be leaving for Trinidad at the end of September, three weeks from now. Everything would return to normal; Sharlene just had to be patient.

***

Greta lay in her crib, marble blue eyes observing the galaxy night light on the ceiling. She gurgled happily, her plump arms reaching out to touch green laser stars that swirled beyond her reach. No one was available to play with her, so she grabbed her feet, the tiny toes curling beneath her fingers. Soon she would fall asleep and wake up three hours later screaming for sustenance. Her protest would prompt the exhausted yet adoring creature to pick her up and push a swollen protuberance into her mouth. She would suck the warm nourishing liquid out while squeezing the fleshy pump with one hand. These sensations bestowed such comfort that she often fell asleep while she drank to her heart’s content.

From the corner of her eye, she detected movement. Through the wooden slats of her crib, she saw a tiny flame slip through the keyhole of the bedroom door and swell to the size of a tennis ball. She felt the urge to scream and get the milk dispenser’s attention, yet she was compelled to remain silent. The flame drew closer until it hovered beside her. She tried to touch it. A shriveled thing that resembled her mother appeared, except this creature had wrinkled dispensers that drooped down to its waist. It grinned hideously, its eyes glowing like coals in a firepit. Something sharp sank into her wrist. She tried to cry, but the sound died in her throat before it even began. The creature was enjoying from her arm the same comfort she got while feeding from her mother’s breast. She made a feeble attempt to pull away; it held fast, the withered mouth battened greedily onto its tender target. Drunk on this fresh new taste, it sank its teeth into her upper arm between a fatty fold of flesh. Gradually, Greta became very sleepy as the needle-like pain ebbed to a dull throb. She fixed her eyes on the galaxy lights, her consciousness mingling with them until she could no longer stay awake.

***

At work, Sharlene sipped her latte near the staff lounge window and scrolled through Anne-Marie’s feed. Her page was clogged with condolence messages, yet she hadn’t posted anything since the funeral. Sharlene couldn’t imagine anything more devastating than having to bury one of her children. Anne-Marie looked fine at the funeral; who knew how she was holding up now? Sharlene pictured her at home, vegging out before the TV in a soiled bathrobe and hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks.

Suddenly, a riveting post made her stop in mid-scroll. ‘Has your child suddenly developed anemia? Concerned about the Judas tick explosion in New Jersey State and what this means for our children’s safety? Falls Heights Mother Hens are holding a meeting at Ari Golde Hall on Tuesday September 19 at 7 PM. Come to a safe space for mothers to freely discuss what’s on our minds. Time is tick-ing (pun intended) and we must take action! Light refreshments will be served. Click on link to register.’

Sharlene went to the sign-up page and input her details. She avoided joining the Mother Hens committee because it mainly comprised upper middle class White women with zero common ground with her Black, West Indian self. She also couldn’t stop thinking about Sorel who remained in Elsie’s care while she worked. Dexter would give her hell if she suggested they employ a babysitter. ‘Why you doing that for? You don’t trust my mother or what?’ Heated questions would erupt, and the resultant stress wasn’t worth it.

Later that evening at Ari Golde Hall, she took a seat in the auditorium. A gang of loquacious mothers mobbed the snack table stacked with cupcakes, donuts, and tea. Sharlene sipped on orange juice while waiting for the meeting to begin. There were close to sixty women there, with more checking in at the front door. On the stage was a podium with a laptop and projection screen. She searched for a familiar face; there was none she recognized. She texted Dexter who confirmed he was at home helping the kids with their homework. Coming back to clean and showered lambkins ready for bedtime would be a bonus, but because Dex was spent after a long day, she knew it was impossible to escape bathtime duty altogether.

A manicured White woman sporting a sleek dark ponytail and dressed in a yoga suit took to the podium. She stood before the laptop and smiled, her gleaming teeth and green eyes sparkling beneath the spotlight.

“Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming! I’m Chelsea Greenridge, coordinator for Falls Heights Mother Hens. I’m acutely aware that mothers are extremely busy, so I aim to wrap this meeting in one hour so we can all get back to doing what we do best; looking after everyone else before we look after ourselves.”

Laughter erupted across the room, with Sharlene adding her chuckles to the chorus.

“So, without much further ado, let’s dive right into the reason why we’re here tonight. I’m sure most of you have heard about the pediatrician-in-chief at Falls Heights Hospital, Dr. Jonathan Gainesburg’s statement on the Judas tick invasion.” She presented a news article slide featuring the doctor speaking to news media. “Earlier this week, he held a press conference and revealed that due to extended periods of warm weather fueled by climate change, the tick’s population has exploded, and doctors are reporting an increase in bites, especially among small children. Apparently, these ticks are voracious feeders that leave telltale blue marks.” Chelsea selected a photo of a White child’s arm, bearing bite marks on the wrist, and another of an Asian toddler who had been bitten on the lower back.

“On darker skinned complexions, the bites look dark brown or purplish.” She projected an image of bite marks on an Indian child’s foot near the ankle. “There’s itching and swelling at the site, but that’s not the worst of it. The Judas tick can transmit a disease known as babesiosis, which causes hemolytic anemia. That’s a condition where red blood cells are destroyed so quickly that the body can’t make enough cells to replace them. Symptoms include dizziness, fatigue, yellowing skin and whites of the eyes. As you know, over the past two months, there has been a sharp increase in hemolytic anemia among children ages 2 to 10 in our community. Personally, my kids have not been affected, but as a community of concerned parents, we all want to know what the heck is really going on, especially since four-month-old Greta Harwicke died of hemolytic anemia just three days ago.”

Sympathetic murmurs rolled through the audience. Sharlene jolted upright in shock. My God, a four-month-old baby killed by a tick?

“That’s the second fatality in two months. Our community recently lost 6-year-old Jericho Delaware to aplastic anemia one month ago. The good news is we finally have answers. Dr. Gainesburg advised to exercise caution when going into wooded areas with kids and pets. Use tick repellent and thoroughly check clothing and belongings before you enter your home. As of this week, New Jersey Department of Health will spray the area, but this is not a magic bullet as Judas ticks are tough sonsabitches and have been known to resist spraying. Awareness and taking proactive measures to keep our kids safe is crucial in these times of unprecedented change. I open the floor for questions. Please raise your hand so the facilitator can pass the mic to you and introduce yourself.”

A White woman’s hand shot up in the audience. The facilitator, a portly White man in a checkered shirt and jeans waddled over to the woman and gave her the mic. She stood up, a forty-something, large blonde woman with a blotchy complexion, dressed in a mint green velour tracksuit and thick wedding bands on her finger.

“Hi, I’m Sally. My child got bitten two weeks ago, and now he has the anemia Chelsea just talked about. The doctor prescribed medication, but he doesn’t really seem to be getting better. I don’t know if there’s anyone else here whose child got bitten, but I’m really scared for him.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “The doctor said he’ll recover but he’s so weak and pale. I had to take him out of school because he doesn’t have enough strength to even hold a pen to write. I just want to know, does anyone else here have a kid who has hemolytic anemia, and how are you coping with it?”

Another hand went up. The mic was passed to an immaculately groomed White lady who looked like she’d had one Botox too many, a permanent expression of surprise etched across her babydoll smooth brow.

“Hey, Sally! I’m Rebecca. Both of my kids were bitten and developed fever and extreme loss of appetite, in addition to the lack of energy you just talked about. So, I’ve been giving them liquid iron supplements, fresh vegetable juices and soups plus the meds our doctor recommended. They had it rough at first, but now they’re settling down and the bite marks are healing.”

“My son’s bites aren’t healing,” Sally replied. “It’s like they’re infected or something. They scabbed over at first, but the scabs broke a few days ago, and now they’ve swelled up again.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard about that,” Chelsea interjected. “Other parents I’ve spoken to say the bites heal after a few days, but some say their child gets bitten again in a different spot. Those ticks are a real terror, I’ll tell ya!”

“What’s wrong with you people?” a woman shouted in an African accent. Sharlene cranked her head to see where she was seated. At the far-right corner of the room stood a rotund ebony lady with close cropped hair. “Does anyone here know what’s really going on?”

“There’s no need to yell,” said Chelsea. “Harris, please pass her the mic.”

“I don’t need a mic! I know everybody can hear me,” said the woman. “My name is Hanna, and I have four kids. My 3-year-old boy was bitten. What I can tell all of you tonight is that no tick is responsible for any of this, okay? The truth is the authorities have no idea what they’re dealing with, so they blame it on something else and none of you have any sense to recognize that.”

The Mother Hens clucked with disapproval at the interloper’s remarks. A White woman stood up and countered. “If New Jersey Health said it was the Judas tick, then they know what they’re talking about. You’re not a doctor! Who do you think you are?”

“Everyone, please calm down,” Chelsea admonished. “And please don’t speak out of turn. This is a safe space, and everyone’s opinions have value.” She gestured towards the Black woman whose chest heaved with anger. “Please continue with what you’re saying.” Harris handed her the mic.

“My son has puncture wounds on his leg that couldn’t have possibly been made by a tick, because they are three times larger than an insect bite.” She paused for effect, allowing this revelation to sink into the gathering. “And I’m sure if you all were to measure the marks on your children you would find this is the case, plus ticks leave one mark where they bite, not two. The photos show the bites come in pairs.”

“Okay,” replied Chelsea. “So, if the Judas tick isn’t responsible, then what do you think it is?”

Hanna’s dark eyes swept across the audience like searchlights, beads of sweat forming on her ebony brow. “I know what I’m going to say sounds crazy, and none of you will believe me but I’ll say it anyway. I’m from West Africa, and in my culture, we say these bites are the work of the obayifo—people who turn into blood sucking creatures at night.”

Gasps of astonishment swept through the audience. Hanna continued, “Did you know that baby girl who died was completely drained of blood when they found her? I know a nurse who saw the body and said it was white like paper. Stop believing the bullshit propaganda on the news and use your heads, people! A monster walks among us!”

Indignation erupted in the auditorium with various exclamations of “Nonsense!” and “She’s out of her mind!” while Chelsea called for order to be restored. Sharlene felt like she’d been struck by a lightning bolt.

In Trinidadian folklore, there was such a creature: the soucouyant.

“Everyone, please settle down!” Chelsea pleaded, her face flushed with agitation.

“That’s right, I don’t expect you all to believe me,” Hanna laughed bitterly. “To you, I’m just a crazy Black woman. I’ll tell you what though; doctor’s medicine won’t help. As long as the obayifo lives among you, your children aren’t safe! They’re not like the vampires in your silly Hollywood movies. They walk around in daytime just like us. At night, they shed their skin and turn into a ball of fire and suck human blood. I never thought I would come to America and meet one of those things.”

“Why you don’t take your superstitious nonsense and go back to Africa?” an Asian woman shouted, her face twisted with rage. “You scaring everybody for no reason!”

Hanna looked at the woman as though she had broken the heel of her patent leather pump. “I hope the obayifo doesn’t come for your children,” she replied with chilling finality. “Because if it does, you’ll wish you stayed in China.”

“Korea!” the woman screamed. “I’m Korean, you dumb bitch!”

Chelsea chastised the Korean woman. “That was completely uncalled for!”

Hanna grabbed her purse and headed for the exit. Sharlene got up and ran after her as she barged out the side door, her three-quarter length cardigan billowing in the breeze.

“Hey wait!” said Sharlene. “Wait please! I want to talk to you!”

Hanna whipped around, ready to combat an army of skeptics. Fight mode blazed in her eyes as she assessed the threat level of this potential adversary.

“I just want to say that I believe you,” Sharlene continued. “I believe everything you said out there tonight, and I’m sorry they treated you that way.”

Hanna uttered a sigh of resignation. Her war mask dissolved to reveal the sad expression of a spent warrior. “What a bunch of idiots! Waste of time trying to tell them anything.”

“I’m Sharlene.” She stuck her hand out and Hanna shook it. “I’m from Trinidad and Tobago. Where are you from?”

“Ghana,” Hanna replied. “I work with a Trini girl. You like rum and roti, no?”

“Roti for sure, but I’m not a big fan of rum.”

“Me, I prefer beer.” Hanna chuckled. “It gets very hot in Ghana. Hotter than Trinidad!”

The ladies shared a good belly laugh. Hanna’s eyes twinkled with good-natured mischief. She was at ease with a melanated sister who knew she was not off the rocker.

“So, tell me more about the obayifo. Can you protect yourself from it?”

“Salt is best. I sprinkle it by my front door and in the corners of the children’s rooms. It hasn’t come back since. I can’t tell that to those fools in there. They’ll probably tell the cops I’m a mad lady and send social services to take the kids from me!” She exploded with laughter and Sharlene joined, relieved to know that she could retain a sense of humor in a terrifying situation.

“How do you destroy it?”

“One must find where it put its skin and rub it with salt,” said Hanna. “If you can find it at all. Obayifo are very crafty. The bloodsucking ones are good at hiding their skins, so care must be taken not to even let them know that you are looking for it, else they can kill you right away.” Hanna mopped her sweaty face with a wad of tissue. “I thought I left those things behind in Africa, but it seems like they’re everywhere.” She shrugged noncommittally. “What is one to do? We live in a strange world filled with many strange things. No one really knows how the obayifo came to be or why they exist. They just do, and we have to deal with them.” She glanced at Sharlene sideways. “Has it attacked any of your kids?”

“No, it hasn’t, thank God. But I believe it killed my friend’s little boy.”

“Ahh yes, I heard about him.” Hanna shook her head with despair. “What a shame! It’s probably a female obayifo.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You know that saying, ‘opposites attract?’ Well, it’s something like that when it starts a new feeding cycle. Lately though, it seems to have developed a taste for White babies.” Hanna dropped a conspiratorial wink. “I think it came into America from another country. All these different nationalities here—it’s like ice cream flavors to this thing! Anyways, I’m going to get going. God bless you and your kids. Bye!”

Hanna unlocked her car and got in. Sharlene watched her drive out of the parking lot, her black SUV shining like a jaguar in the night.

***

Sharlene tweaked the final sentences that the AI chatbot helped her write: ‘Thank you for your understanding during this difficult time. I appreciate having the opportunity to serve your organization and look forward to continuing my service upon my return.’

She hit ‘Send’ and leaned back in her chair. She had just taken one week’s personal leave from work, starting from the twenty-third of September to the first of October, which covered the final week of Elsie’s stay. Management was not thrilled with her decision, coming on the heels of her return from maternity leave.

Family comes first before everything. My children’s safety is my number one priority. To hell with work!

She told Dexter that she was taking a trial leave of absence to consider alternative career options, which conveniently solved any friction that might arise if she brought up the subject of hiring a babysitter. From now on, she would be keeping a close eye on Sorel and her mother-in-law until she boarded her plane and departed from their lives. Elsie had gained more weight in the past two weeks; a double chin had formed beneath her previously lean jawline. Day by day, the old lady looked jollier and rosier, and expressed to Dexter how much she would miss America when she returned to Trinidad.

I’m sure bone marrow and French fries aren’t the only things fattening you up. Who the hell are you, Elsie Barton? Did you kill Jericho? What in God’s name have we invited into our home?

After Sharlene arrived home from the Mother Hens meeting, she checked her children’s extremities for bite marks and found none. She thought about sprinkling salt in their bedroom and the nursery, but nixed the idea. What if her suspicions—outlandish as they seemed—proved correct? Must avoid mashing anyone’s corns in this precarious situation.

Spirited banter floated upstairs from the TV in the living room where Elsie was watching a popular courtroom reality show. A visit to the mall for ice cream was scheduled before Sharlene picked the kids up from school and took them to the psychologist. She would leave Sorel until the session was over. The baby crawled on the floor and gurgled happily. She had entered her chatting phase and was already attempting to form sentences. Sharlene was relieved that she had recovered from the latest round of teething, which involved a fever and fitful crying that had made life difficult for her and Dexter these past two weeks. Gloria would have cussed her out if she dared to dump a cranky baby deep in the throes of teething hell on her doorstep.

Sharlene closed her laptop, picked Sorel up and went downstairs, passing a family portrait that hung on the wall in a gilded frame. Yunia and Yuquon stood on either side of her in matching sailor outfits while she sat in a black ruffled chiffon dress, holding Sorel in her lap. A suited-up Dexter rested his hands on the rear of the high-backed chair. Elsie stood beside him dressed in a mauve pink blazer-skirt combo, grinning wide with those gold teeth of hers catching the light flare from the studio flash. A sapling of anger wormed its way through Sharlene’s ribcage, watered by growing resentment. She only went along with the portrait session to please her husband, secretly wishing that he would consign the photos to an album as opposed to a wall portrait. Elsie was a stranger in their midst except to the man she loved dearly—her son.

***

At the food court, both women enjoyed bowls of ice cream, their large shopping bags resting on the floor beside them while Sorel relaxed in her stroller. Elsie scored bargains on socks, pants and shirts for her grandchildren back home. Dexter was organizing a barrel for shipment stocked with eagerly anticipated commodities to fulfill the wish lists of various relatives. The return flight would be here before they knew it, and Sharlene thought it wise to get a jumpstart on the shopping.

“So how many people we have to shop for now?” she inquired.

“We don’t have much again, you know.” Elsie consulted her list, a creased slip of ledger paper with names scribbled in blue ink. “Lystra and her five children, Marlon’s daughter, Wendy and she nieces and nephews and…I have some more things to get.”

Sharlene already saved the checklist on her phone for convenience. She savored her guilt-laden strawberry-vanilla swirl ice cream topped with berries and whipped cream. Yes, there was that pouch of stretch-mark-riddled mommy flap sitting beneath her waistline that she must address before it got out of hand, but dammn—not today! She watched Elsie eat her raspberry-white-chocolate ice cream with delicate dips of her faux-silver spoon, laughing shyly, truly delighted with her decadent dessert. After all, ice cream was a centuries-old favorite, loved by everyone from Roman emperors to grandmothers; Elsie was no exception.

‘They’re not like the vampires in your silly Hollywood movies; they walk around in daytime just like us,’ Hanna had said. Was her mother-in-law the sweet old lady she appeared to be, or did she change into a bloodsucking baby killer at night?

“Eeeeeiiiii-aaaah!” Sorel shrieked and shifted in her stroller. A subtle yet discernible cloud of stink drifted over to Sharlene’s nostrils and sent a jarring left hook to the upper floor of sweetness, destroying flavors that, up until now, had been heavenly. The baby scrunched up her face to cry mode, her black eyes shining with tears of indignation. Sharlene steeled herself for oncoming siren wails that gradually increased in volume, interspersed with angry bursts of baby babble buildup.

Dammit Sorel! Why you have to do that now when I’m enjoying my ice cream? Sharlene’s hand drifted to the bootied foot that twitched in annoyance as the baby screamed. She rubbed the dimpled skin of Sorel’s leg, knowing the touch would soothe her while she finished her race with sublime indulgence, willing herself not to rush her treat because of the baby. She recognized in that moment of self-awareness that she needed to put herself first because ice cream was her guilty pleasure.

“Poor baby! I think her diaper needs changing,” Elsie said.

“I’ll change it when I’m done eating.”

“I’ll do it. You enjoy your ice cream.”

“No, Mom, it’s okay. I’ll handle it.”

Sharlene finished her treat and pushed the stroller to the washroom, past the noise and bustle of the food court. Sorel calmed yet visibly perturbed. Ahead stood a familiar figure in a pinstriped shirt dress, waiting for her order.

“Oh my god—Ann-Marie! How are you?” Her friend turned around, and in delighted shock, they embraced each other. Ann-Marie laughed heartily, as though they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Good some days, not so good the next. I’m hanging in there with the gracious help of my husband.”

“I need to ask you something if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

“Did you ever find marks on Jericho’s body?”

Anne-Marie stared at her as if she’d been shot. “What kind of marks are you talking about?”

“Blue marks, like insect bites”

“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?”

“Mother Hens had a meeting to discuss the spike in anemia cases the other night. Some people believe the Judas tick is making kids sick; others don’t buy it.”

“That damn tick bit my boy and gave him a disease. He’s gone, and there’s nothing I or anyone can do about it, except pack our shit up and leave.” A tear glimmered from the corner of Ann-Marie’s eye. “We’re selling the house and gonna move out west and try for another baby while there’s still time. Life gotta go on living, and that’s what Jerry would want me to do if he were here right now.”

“Order 689!” a server yelled from the counter.

“That’s mine.” Anne-Marie opened her strong brown arms and enfolded Sharlene like a sausage roll. “Bye, girlfriend! We’ll stay in touch.”

“Bye, hun!” Sharlene knew this might well be the last time they would speak to each other unless their paths serendipitously crossed. “You take care, and best of luck with the move.”

***

“How’s school coming along, Yunia?” asked Dr. Browne.

“Fine.” The girl held her doll and sat in a neon green beanbag chair beside her brother who was busy coloring a sketch with crayons. Sharlene monitored her children’s reactions as they received counseling from the psychologist Dexter had recommended. Dr. Browne’s office was spacious and cheerfully decorated with paintings, plush toys and a child-friendly palette, including the tangerine-colored walls. She was a forty-something Black woman with neatly groomed locs and an adorable gap-toothed smile. Sharlene thought Dexter made the right choice. This was the children’s third session. They were finally warming up to Dr. Browne. Building trust was essential to making headway, so she could work more effectively.

“Your mother told me your teacher says that you haven’t really been paying attention to your lessons lately. Can you tell me why?”

Yunia trained her soft brown eyes on the doctor, who reclined in an ergonomic chair beside them with a notepad on her lap. Framed photos of her smiling children were artfully arranged on her desk. “I don’t like school.”

“That’s not true,” Sharlene interjected. “She’s an excellent student with good grades, and she’s popular with the students. The teacher said for the past month, she’s been disengaged from her studies. Honey, you like school, don’t you?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why is that?” inquired Dr. Browne. “Is someone bothering you?”

A hint of fear clouded Yunia’s eyes as her fingers yanked the curly strands of Nicole’s hair. Sharlene tensed in her seat, hands clasped together so tightly that they felt stapled together. Yunia opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes flicked over to her mother as if seeking permission to speak.

“It’s okay, Yunia,” Dr. Browne assured in a gentle tone of voice. “You don’t have to be afraid. You can tell me anything you want.”

“I saw Jericho.”

Dr. Browne’s eyebrows arched in surprise, her pen poised above the notepad. Sharlene’s blood turned to ice water in her veins.

“Where did you see him?” asked the doctor.

“Outside the window, in the playground at school.”

My child seeing jumbie now? Lord, what trouble is this?

“What was he doing?”

“Standing there, looking at me. Now he’s so skinny! I don’t think he has anybody to play with.” Yunia regarded her mother sharply. “You said that he went to heaven. I don’t think he’s in heaven, Mommy.” The girl twisted Nicole’s hair with such force that Sharlene thought she might pull it out. “I think he’s still here.”

Her mother was at a loss for words. She looked at Dr. Browne with a pleading expression: I’m up to my eyeballs with this one. Help me out!

“Did he say anything to you?” said the doctor.

“No. I think he wants something.”

“Do you know what he wants?”

“I don’t know.” Yunia looked agitated. “Maybe he misses when we took computer lessons together at school.” She eased her grip on Nicole. “I wish I could help him.”

“It’s okay Yunia,” Dr. Browne said. “When you lose a friend, it’s normal to feel sad for a while. But one day, you’ll feel much better, and you won’t feel so sad anymore. You can help Jericho by remembering all the good times you had together.”

“Do you know why he didn’t go to heaven?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you.” The doctor’s forehead creased with genuine sympathy. “When people we love die, we hope they go to heaven, because we’re told it’s a good place. The truth is no one knows exactly where they go. When you get older, you’ll understand this a little better. Are you feeling okay?”

Yunia hesitated before answering. “Yes, I mean… not really. But I’ll feel better soon.” She smiled bravely, her changing teeth on full display.

“That’s good to know.” Dr. Browne scribbled in her notepad.

“Dr. Browne?”

“Yes, Yunia?”

“What should I do if I see Jericho again?”

The doctor gazed at Yunia with compassion. “Just close your eyes and count to ten. When you open them, he’ll be gone. Remember Jericho is no longer here with us. Whenever you see him, he’s not really there at all—it’s like seeing a picture that you’re going to put back into an album when you count to ten. There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of, Yunia. You’ll be fine.”

I hope you’re right about that. My daughter doesn’t need to know that poor boy’s stuck in limbo because his soul’s not at rest!

“Finished!” Yuquon rested the crayons on the table before him.

“Great! Do you want to show me what you drew?” asked Dr. Browne.

The boy held up his sketch with artistic pride. What the doctor saw caused her to recoil in her chair.

“Yuquon, who is that?”

“The sugar cake lady.”

Sharlene’s heart somersaulted in her chest as she observed the doctor’s horrified expression. “Yuquon, honey, show me what you drew.”

Reluctance riddled the boy’s face like a noontime shadow. “Okay, but you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

“I promise you I won’t get mad.”

He paused to consider the veracity of her oath, then passed the sketchpad to her. Despite her vow to remain equipoised, her mouth fell open in shock. Though she had become somewhat inured to Yuquon’s interest in graphical material—sword wielding samurais, battle crazed Vikings—this drawing threw her for a loop. It was an artfully rendered composition of Elsie making sugar cake in the kitchen, except this was a bald ogre-sized monstrosity that loomed over the stove, its naked body horribly wrinkled like a paper bag that had been reused too many times. Blood-stained canines bulged beneath the ruby red lips that looked like lipstick had been carelessly applied, a frantic coloring outside the lines. Ever the detail-oriented artist, Yuquon was mindful to portray the gold teeth with lurid splotches of yellow. A cooking pot bubbled on the stove, filled with white grainy material drenched in a gooey red substance that was not food coloring, judging from its sordid viscosity. Blood was also splashed on the floor and the walls, as if an unhinged style advisor decided to update the color scheme of the Bartons’ kitchen for Halloween.

Father in heaven, look what this boy gone and draw!

“Can I see, Mommy?” Yunia craned her head in their direction.

“No!” Sharlene tore the sheet from the sketch pad, folded it and shoved it in her purse. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. The twins exchanged telepathic glances that acknowledged Mommy had just broken her promise.

“That will be all for today.” Sharlene stood up. “Thanks, Dr. Browne.”

“I think we made significant progress. Would you like to schedule the next session now?”

“No, thanks, I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Yuquon and Yunia, time to go.”

“I knew you’d get mad,” her son exclaimed with righteous indignation. “You lied to me!”

“I’m not mad at you, Yuquon.”

“Yes, you are. You took my drawing! Give it back!”

“Your drawing stays with me for now. And I don’t want you drawing any more pictures like that again—you hear me?”

“It’s not fair!” He stood up, fists clenched at his sides. “I want my drawing back!”

“Yuquon, listen to your mother,” said Dr. Browne. “She’s not angry with you; she just needs to hold onto the drawing for a while.” The psychologist looked at Sharlene with unfiltered concern. Yuquon frowned angrily, looking from the doctor to his mother, as if he didn’t know who to believe. It was tough to pull a fast one on kids who were astonishingly smart for their age. Even Yunia gave her an accusatory stare. Yuquon’s shoulders slumped with defeat as though he was certain he wouldn’t see his sketch again.

“Let’s go.” Sharlene opened the door, and the children filed out.

“Bye, Dr. Browne!” Yunia waved at the psychologist with Nicole clutched securely in the other hand. “See you next time!”

The doctor smiled. “Bye, Yunia!”

That night, Sharlene lay awake in bed beside Dexter, her mind racing. After three glasses of wine, she was not even close to drowsy. The disastrous session kept replaying in her head. That hideous sketch… there was no way she could show that to Dexter! It confirmed everything she had begun to suspect over the last few days.

I must be out of my mind! How this thing possible? A soucouyant living in meh house? Lord, why me? Though familiar with the legends, she researched the creature on the internet and discovered some nonsensical tales, yet much of what she found corroborated with what Hanna had revealed about the obayifo.

Elsie’s flight home was only four days away and the sweet scent of the toolum candy she had made earlier lingered in Sharlene’s nostrils. In four days, the old lady would be gone and that would be the end. Would that really be the case? Would she return home emboldened by her experience in America to embark on another feeding frenzy? Or could it be that her mother-in-law was no monster, but a lonely old woman longing for love?

She thought about Jericho’s wasted corpse, photographs of bluish puncture wounds on the children’s bodies, Yuquon’s grotesque drawing, Elsie’s locked guest bedroom door. The arrows seemed to point in one direction. She would be a fool to ignore the signs.

Maybe I shouldn’t bother. It hasn’t harmed my children. But what if it does?

Sharlene heard a muffled scream come from next door. She went to the window and peeked through a gap in the curtain. The light was on in the upper floor nursery of Kyle and Isabel’s home. It sounded like they were having an argument while the baby wailed at the top of his lungs. Had he been bitten by the soucouyant? She hoped not, yet the fact that he was alive gave her some reassurance. At least there was no dead baby drained of blood next door, just a couple whose quarrelling apparently woke the infant. Sharlene returned to bed and lay down, feeling immense relief as her mind settled and the wine worked its magic on her senses.

***

Lowered voices deep in conversation stirred Sharlene from sleep. Reluctantly, she opened eyes that felt grainy, and glanced at the alarm clock. It was 6:03 AM. Normally, she would be downstairs having coffee with Dexter, but last night’s wine had her in its clutches. She moaned and rolled over in bed, her head spinning like a top. Sorel was probably lying awake in her crib, soon to start crowing for attention, and the twins would be up shortly. She felt like going back to sleep and knew that was impossible. Dexter and his mother were downstairs talking. She crept to the bedroom door which was ajar and listened.

“Anything else we need to get before you go back?”

“Just the sneakers in a size twelve for Andy, and a bookbag—that’s it.”

“I’ll ask Sharlene to pick it up for you since she’s home now.”

“Son, I feel like I don’t have long again on this Earth.”

“Don’t say that, Mom.”

“Is true. I old. My body feels tired.”

“You’ve been saying that for years now, and you still here.”

“When the time comes, no matter how it happens, know that I will be at peace with God.”

“You really shouldn’t talk like that.”

A long pause. “I’m eighty-two. Anytime the Maker calls me home… I glad I had the chance to spend time with meh grandchildren. They’re so nice.”

“I glad you enjoyed your time with them. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Dexi.”

Another long pause. Sharlene knew mother and son were sharing a hug. She went into the nursery and checked Sorel’s body for bite marks. Negative. Next, she entered the twins’ room where they were fast asleep, rolled up their pajama sleeves and cuffs, examined their arms and legs. Everything looked fine so far. She would scrutinize them in more detail when it was time for their shower. This practice had become part of her daily routine since the Mother Hens Meeting. She hadn’t thought about what she would do if she found puncture wounds on her children.

If anyone ever hurts my kids, I’ll go apeshit on their ass!

Her head throbbed with the onset of a mild hangover headache. She went to the master bathroom, grabbed a bottle of painkillers and went downstairs. Dexter and Elsie were seated at the kitchen counter with steaming mugs of coffee and black tea.

“Morning!” said Sharlene.

“Morning!” they responded cheerily.

Sharlene took a bottle of baby formula out of the fridge and warmed it on the stove while she made herself an espresso.

“Taking the strong stuff I see,” Dexter observed. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“I got carried away with the wine. Now, I pay the price.”

“Thou hast shewed thy people hard things: thou hast made us to drink the wine of astonishment,” Elsie uttered. “Sixtieth Psalm, verse three.”

“Mom giving Bible lessons now!” Dexter joked. “She going and give Reverend Pringle plenty competition.”

You bloodsucking bitch! I go show you wine of astonishment. Watch me.

“A little indulgence is good every now and then—right, Elsie?” said Sharlene with a smile.

“Yes, of course, dear! I don’t drink anymore, but I enjoy a good glass of wine on special occasions.” Elsie sipped her tea and munched on a slice of toast with butter and jam. Sharlene took the veggie dip with hummus out of the fridge. Eggs were definitely off the menu this morning.

“Sharlo, can you pick up the shoes and the backpack for Andy?” asked Dexter.

“Sure. I’ll swing by the mall later, and I’ll text you about the shoes. That style sells out fast, so if they don’t have his size, you might have to try the store near your office.”

“Okay.” Dexter looked put off, as if he shouldn’t have to be the one to run that particular errand. “I just thought since you’re home now—”

“—That I should be the one to do everything? I have to look after my kids and your mother too while you go to work. Last time I checked on this marriage, we were a team.”

Elsie looked uncomfortable, as though she had walked in on them having sex.

“I’m not asking you to do everything. Just to pick up a pair of shoes and a backpack. Is that so difficult?”

“You’re supposed to be helping your mother get stuff for her relatives. Why is it that I’m the one taking her shopping most of the time? I don’t have a problem helping, but you can do your part every now and then, Dexter.” Sharlene took her espresso from the machine and turned her attention to the veggie dip. Tension hung thick in the air like smoke from burned toast. Head pounding, she sat at the island counter and munched on carrots and celery.

Elsie stared into her cup, as if searching for a remedy to the unpleasant turn of the couple’s conversation, while Dexter looked at his wife as though she had morphed into a Venusian.

“I’m sorry, that was harsh. I’ve got a bit of a hangover this morning.” Sharlene sipped her espresso. It was important to maintain an air of civility—especially now.

“You want me to help get the kids ready for school?” Elsie offered.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll take some aspirin, and I’ll be fine.” She popped the pills and chased them down with coffee. Silence reigned supreme while the trio ate, interrupted only by the drone of the television. Sorel screamed upstairs, demanding her breakfast. Sharlene rescued the baby bottle from the boiling water on the stove and left.

***

After dropping the kids off to school, Sharlene came home, showered and spent a few hours researching how to start an online business while Elsie rested. She cleaned Sorel and prepared to take her out for a walk, knocking on the guest room door on her way out.

“Mom, I’m stepping out with Sorel for a while. I’ll be back in an hour.”

No response. Usually, her mother-in-law would reply. Sharlene guessed she was either tired or upset over what had transpired this morning. She went downstairs, took the stroller, and went for a leisurely walk with Sorel. It was a beautiful morning, and the trees were aflame with rustic red, burgundy, and earthy orange fall colors. She noticed a large white van parked outside Kyle and Isabel’s house, but no sign of activity in the residence.

I hope everything’s alright with them.

She circled the block, past rows of orderly homes and lawns that retained their lushness, thanks to a wetter than usual summer. Climate change really was a thing, and the Judas ticks were apparently having a field day in New Jersey state, though she had yet to spot a single one. She made a mental note to check Sorel’s stroller and her clothing before they re-entered the house, though they never ventured near wooded areas.

Her daughter chatted happily in the stroller, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. The headache had subsided to a dull throb that would soon cease altogether. Sharlene zipped her windbreaker open to cool down as she was beginning to perspire. She hadn’t seen a gym now in almost a year and felt allergic to weightlifting of any kind except for laundry hampers. She rested at the playground and gazed at the empty sandbox where she had last seen Jericho. It made her wonder if the twins reminisced about their friend when she brought them here to play. If so, they never mentioned it.

One hour later, she returned to her block and saw men loading household items into the van outside Kyle’s home. She drew closer and saw Isabel standing on the front lawn, holding the baby in her arms with a pinched expression on her face. Sharlene waved. Their eyes met, and Isabel said nothing; just held little Alfie close to her sizeable bosom.

“Hey, Isabel, everything okay?”

The woman offered a wan smile that vanished almost as quickly as it materialized. Sharlene pushed the stroller onto the lawn, away from the busy driveway, and approached her. Bags of sleep deprivation pooled beneath her reddened blue eyes. She looked paler than usual.

“Isabel, what’s wrong? Where’s Kyle?”

“He’ll be back soon. Just left to drop off some stuff.”

“Are you moving?”

“We’re leaving, alright. For the time being until we decide exactly what we’re gonna do.” She seemed squirrelly, as though she had seen something that had kept her up all night.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?”

Isabel wavered, as if that question was too much to ask, and said, “Kyle and I, we picked this area because we thought it was a safe place to start a family. New homes with lots of space, good roads and nature trails. You and I have been neighbors for eight years and you were always good to me, so I think I can tell you the truth.” Isabel licked her lips nervously before continuing. “Last night, I woke up around quarter past twelve, feeling that I should go check on Alfie. That’s never happened before so I got up and went into the nursery. And that’s when I saw it.” She clammed up as though regretting what she had just said.

“Saw what? It’s okay Isabel, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I… I saw a fireball floating next to his crib,” she stammered. “I swear to God I’ve never seen anything like that my entire life! I screamed, and the thing just vanished—poof! It was gone. Just like that. The noise woke Kyle right up, and he asked what went on, and I told him. He didn’t want to believe me, but he knows I’ve always been a straight shooter; never smoked or did drugs or nothing like that. Alfie was scared too but he was okay. I told Kyle I wanna leave right away because whatever that thing was, it wasn’t natural! I don’t feel safe here anymore, and I don’t want anything to happen to Alfie. He’s my firstborn son.” She kissed the baby on the top of his red curly head and looked at Sharlene. “Have you seen anything like that around here?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Lock all your doors and windows at night. You’ve got young kids to think about. First, we get a tick invasion and now this? Whatever this is, I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“Thanks for sharing that with me, Isabel. I’ll take your advice and be extra vigilant with my kids.” Sharlene offered her hand. “Take care.”

“Oh, don’t be so formal! Gimme a hug.” Isabel wrapped a free arm around her neighbor’s shoulders. “You’re a good woman, Sharlene. Kyle and I will come back, but we’re not sure when. We’re gonna pray with our pastor and ask for guidance.”

“Bye, Isabel, take care of yourself. Give my regards to Kyle.”

“Will do. Enjoy the rest of your day!”

Sharlene walked back to her house on stiff cardboard legs, pushing the stroller with hands made of sawdust, background noise reduced to a muted volume; wind, birdsong, traffic, dump trucks collecting garbage two streets away.

No way this is happening here in my backyard. But it is.

Her ears popped from the sudden release of pressure and her hearing returned to normal. What Isabel just revealed changed everything. There was no more time to waste.

***

“Did you remember to take your science project?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Yunia replied dutifully. She and Yuquon were going to spend the night with Aunty Gloria. Cool! She is so much fun. The last time they slept over, Yunia came back with nail polish, which her mother forced her to take off. Sometimes, she wished she didn’t have to leave Aunty Gloria at all.

“Yuquon, please check and make sure you have your tablet. I don’t want you calling me later to say you forgot it.”

“Yes, Mom.” Her brother had been pretty quiet around Mommy since the visit to Dr. Browne. He was still mad that his drawing had been taken away. They both knew that he wasn’t going to get it back. Her mother’s phone pinged with a message from Aunty Gloria: ‘I’m here!’ She opened the front door, and Yunia saw Aunty Gloria emerge from her shiny red jeep. A boxing glove accessory in Trinidad and Tobago colors dangled from the rearview mirror. Encased in a neon pink pantsuit and platform kicks, Aunty Gloria came up the walkway covered in bling, her blue-streaked perm swept to one side, heliconia versus avians tattoo sleeve on display.

“Aunty Gloria!” Yuquon shouted and ran out to embrace her.

“Hey, Yu-key, how’s it going?” She rubbed his hair affectionately. “Hey, sis!” She beamed at Sharlene. “Everything cool?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. Thanks for taking them last minute.”

“No problem. It’s practice for me until I have mine.”

“If I were you, I would enjoy my freedom while I have it!”

“Single life does get lonely sometimes, you know,” Aunty Gloria replied wistfully. “Kids are fun, especially when they go back to their parents at the end of the night.”

“Alright, don’t rub it in!” her mother chuckled. “I’ll bring out their bags.”

“I’ll come and help you.” Aunty Gloria stepped inside and gathered some belongings while their mother led the way to the car.

“Hi, Aunty Gloria, I missed you!” Yunia hugged her aunt’s chunky waist. “Can we play Twister tonight?”

“Sure, sweetie. As long as I don’t get twisted out of shape!”

Yunia giggled with delight. “I’m gonna beat you again!”

“Wait ‘til you’re my age! You’ll find Twister ain’t so easy.”

“Are you sure you’ve got everything, Yunia?” Sharlene inquired. Yunia frowned in concentration as she reviewed a mental checklist. Her mouth dropped open.

“Nicole! I left her upstairs!” She dashed up the staircase, ran to the kids’ bedroom and grabbed the doll from her bed. On her way out, she noticed her grandmother’s door stood partially open. She paused on tiptoe, knowing she wasn’t supposed to peek into Granny’s room. Curiosity got the better of her and she peered through the gap. Granny was lying on her side, back towards the door. Yunia wrinkled her nose at the funny odor emanating from the room. If someone asked her to describe it, she would say it smelled like Yuquon’s dirty socks.

“Yunia, darling, is that you?” Granny croaked in a raspy voice.

The little girl was astonished. How did Granny know it was her? The old woman had not moved from her position. Yunia froze on the spot, her heart now finding a new home inside the roof of her mouth. Maybe if she said nothing, Granny would go back to sleep.

“Come inside, darling. Don’t be scared.”

Yunia looked over her shoulder to ensure no one was coming upstairs and slowly pushed the door open. Overwhelmed by the room’s funky odor, she sneezed. Granny lay there in a pink and black houndstooth dress, her thin feet clad in white frilly cotton socks. Yunia tottered forward, her legs seeming to move of their own volition. She wished she hadn’t peeked in Granny’s room. She tried to scream. All that came out was a tiny squeak, similar to that of a plastic toy being mashed by a giant.

She stopped in front of the bed. Slowly, her grandmother pushed herself up and turned around to face her. She smiled, and Yunia gasped in terror. Granny’s upper and lower front teeth were missing. Her gold capped canines glinted in the shadows of her ruined mouth. Yunia thought the gold teeth looked cool. She wished she could have some too when she grew up.

“You scared, baby? Granny wears dentures. I take them out before I go to bed.”

“Huh… how did you lose your teeth, Granny?” Yunia stammered.

“Through my pregnancies. Sometimes women does lose their teeth when they have plenty children. You must take good care of yours, so you don’t end up like Granny, you hear?”

“Okay.”

“Yunia!” Sharlene yelled from downstairs. “Aunty Gloria’s ready to go!”

“I have to go, Granny. Bye bye!”

“Bye, sweetheart! Come give Granny a hug.”

Yunia wanted to bolt out of the room. Again, she tried to make her legs obey her silent command, but they remained glued to the ground. Her grandmother leaned forward and embraced her. Saggy breasts pressed against her head like soft balloons. The old woman’s heart beat steadily beneath her gown, lightly perfumed with fabric softener, as her thin arms gently wrapped around her granddaughter’s shoulders. To Yunia, her aged body felt warm and comforting. The little girl returned the gesture, feeling her grandmother’s love envelop her like a cozy blanket.

“I love you, Granny.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Will you make sugar cake again before you go back to Trinidad?”

“Yes, I will. I’ll make you some vanilla fudge too.”

Yunia kissed her on the cheek. “Sounds yummy! Ok, Granny, see you when I get back!” She dashed out the room.

“Close the door behind you please!”

Yunia did as told and dashed down the stairs. Outside, Aunty Gloria waited behind the wheel of her jeep that was pumping loud soca music. Yuquon sat in the passenger seat, which she had hoped to score. She climbed in the back beside Sorel who was strapped in the car seat.

“Take care and drive safely!” said their mother.

“I will. Everything okay, sis?”

“Yes. Dex and I just need some time alone together.”

Aunty Gloria gave her sister a skeptical eye. “No, it’s not. Anyways, lemme mind my own business, you hear? I go text you when we get in.”

She put the jeep in reverse and backed out of the driveway. The twins waved goodbye as their aunt drove off. Their mother waved until they were out of sight, then went back inside and closed the door.

***

Inside Elsie’s room, Sharlene snapped a photo for visual reference so she could rearrange everything exactly as she found it. Then, the search began. She pulled back the covers, looked under the mattress and the bed. Searched between layers of clothing on the woven hamper. Every nook and cranny must be thoroughly explored for the precious cargo that she sought. Perversely, she thought of treasure hunting, like searching for chocolate eggs at Easter time.

She listened for any sound of activity from her bedroom. Dexter had been effectively dispatched to Dreamland after she slipped a sleeping pill into his drink before bedtime. According to her research, soucouyants usually returned from their nightly excursions before sunrise, which gave her plenty of time as it was now 12:23 AM. These notorious creatures of habit were sometimes unpredictable, so the sooner she completed this operation, the better. She yanked open the wardrobe, removed Elsie’s belongings and examined every fold of fabric. Shook out sweater sleeves, searched shoes and sneakers, peeked inside the dress hats her mother-in-law wore to church. Stood on a step ladder and felt along the back of the top shelf. History might very well prove her wrong if nothing of consequence turned up tonight.

Ten minutes later, the wardrobe had been emptied of its contents, articles piled high on the bed. She searched every corner of the guest room without success. Was there a spot she might have overlooked? Two suitcases stood like silent sentinels beside the bed. It didn’t make sense to search them because the soucouyant would most likely keep her skin not only carefully hidden, but within easy reach. Besides, Elsie would know that someone had disturbed their contents as she was still in the process of packing. Sharlene racked her brains, trying to determine if there was anywhere she might have missed. She’d already been through the dresser drawers and looked behind the unit. There were no loose boards to pry open.

Frustrated with her fruitless search, she returned Elsie’s items to the wardrobe and compared the tidied room to her reference photo to ensure she had put everything back into its proper place. It was obvious that the search failed to produce results, because her mother-in-law was not a soucouyant, which meant it was either someone else within the community, or she had been completely fooled by a cock and bull story. Her teeth chattered from the chilly draft blowing through the open window near the dresser. She caught a strong whiff of the offensive odor she had initially encountered upon entering the bedroom. Elsie’s gold jewelry rested on top of the unit next to a large porcelain vase that held artificial flowers. A jolt of realization hit her with unexpected force. Jericho had been sculpting an object from sand that closely resembled a mortar, the traditional vessel where soucouyants hid their skin. What if the creature had chosen a suitable facsimile? Her own skin crawled with the sensation of thousands of ants moving beneath its nerve-wracked surface.

Do you really want to look inside that vase, Sharlo? Afraid of what you might find?

“Yes, I’m scared. Oh Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me.” Her cold hands trembled as they removed the flowers and set them on the dresser. She could turn around and go back to her bed right now. In two days, Elsie would fly back to Trinidad and probably die before she could ever make another trip overseas. But her treacherous fingers couldn’t abandon their mission. No, not now.

She gagged, feeling her stomach revolt at the sickening stench emanating from within the vase. At last, all the flowers were gone. She put her hand inside and felt something moist, papery, somewhat sticky, and began to pull at this mystery material. Clamped between her right thumb and index finger was a dark brown wrinkled substance creased upon itself like folds of ancient parchment. As she eased it out, she realized, though extremely fragile, it weighed a few ounces. Her mind desperately tried to make sense of what she was seeing… something with one, two, three tiny club shaped formations with little nails that resembled—

A foot!

Sharlene screamed and dropped the vase. It hit the dresser with a loud thunk and rolled on the wooden surface. The crinkled foot skin dangled from the rim as though looking to play football with Elsie’s gold earrings.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, ohhhh!

She clapped a hand to her mouth and slid to the floor. Her heart beat with such force she thought it would explode from her chest as the tight elastic band of tension returned, constricting the area with excruciating pressure. She struggled to breathe, silently cursing herself for neglecting to book the checkup with her physician she had promised herself months ago.

Dear God, please don’t let me have a heart attack now! Don’t let me die in this room please! Nausea overtook her and she began to retch, exerting all the self-control she could muster. She put her head between her legs and breathed deeply. No, it wouldn’t do to pass out. There was no telling what might happen if the soucouyant returned and found her lying unconscious on the floor.

Several minutes passed before the nausea dissipated and her chest pain eased. A burning sensation lingered there, and her left arm throbbed with a prickling sensation. Not a good sign, yet she couldn’t stop now. She got up and gently grasped the skin, suppressing the gag reflex that even now, threatened to usurp her mission. Here was a crinkled thigh, just below the vulva peppered with grey pubic hairs. The arms were folded beside the chest whose empty breasts resembled shriveled raisins. And finally, the head emerged—a grotesque eyeless mask that seemed to mock her. Yes, it was a fine joke; a monster had been living right under her nose all along! A monster that loved to watch courtroom dramas, admire silvery birch trees outside its window, and eat raspberry white chocolate ice cream. A monster that had changed Sorel’s diaper and made sugar cake for her children.

She cleared a space on the dresser and carefully unrolled the skin, then reached into the pocket of her robe and produced a container of salt. She sprinkled it onto the skin, feeling completely disconnected from her body as though someone else was salting the soucouyant’s shell. The Elsie skinsuit didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, it appeared to be in on the scheme, its empty eye sockets winking with good humor. Sharlene thought the salt crystals resembled granulated sugar. A wild giggle escaped her lips. Would the soucouyant know its skin had been tampered with? Apparently not, according to the old folk tales. Tonight, she would surely find out. She had concealed a baseball bat in her bedroom closet just in case things went sideways. It was always best to prepare for the unexpected.

After returning the skin to the vase, she swept the remaining salt crystals off the dresser and rearranged Elsie’s items. Washed her hands with soap and steaming hot water. A slight trace of the cockroach stench remained. She sank to her knees, spat saliva into the toilet, and waited for the nausea to pass. When she stopped trembling, she returned to her bedroom. Dexter dozed like a little boy worn out from too much playtime. Another giggle erupted. What she just pulled off was almost too easy, like a child stealing candy from the kitchen late at night while their parents were asleep.

Tonight, I salted a soucouyant’s skin! Aye-ya-yie! Who would ever believe?

She got in beside her husband. The time was now 1:18 AM. She should try to get some sleep if that was even possible in this bent scenario. At least her kids would be shielded from the worst of it. Life was complicated and oftentimes messy. Protecting them from the unsavory bits so they could enjoy their short-lived innocence was her mission as a parent. After tonight though, that might change. How could she explain the truth about their grandmother to them? They didn’t need to know about such a hideous family secret that, as it turned out, was an abomination. Yuquon’s sketch had been secreted in a lockbox where she stashed her valuables. Though she had considered burning it in the fireplace, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it. Maybe one day, when enough time had passed, she would take it out of hiding, light a match, and reduce it to ashes. Let the flakes quietly settle in the fireplace like a bad dream consigned to forgotten memory…

“Aiiiiiiiieeeee! Ohhhhh, Gawd, help meh! Aiiiiiiieeeeeeee!”

Sharlene immediately shot out of sleep. There was no mistaking where those bloodcurdling screams were coming from. Thwump! A loud noise that sounded like an object hitting the floor emanated from down the hall. She could smell something burning, like roast beef left too long in the oven. The moment had arrived, yet she was pinioned to her sheets, unable to move. Terrible and tremulous, the screams continued to ring like the cries of a tortured animal unable to comprehend its ghastly fate.

“Skiiiinn! Yuh nah know mehhhh! Nah know mehhhhh!”

Sharlene clutched the bedsheets to her bosom like a frightened child and feared the worst. What if the monster escaped the confines of its death trap to exact revenge on its destroyer?

“Sharlo?” Dexter rasped. “Where that noise coming from? What’s that smell?” Confused, he looked at her, still groggy from his drug induced slumber. She returned his gaze, eyes wide and scared, mouth glued shut from the shock of knowing the horror that was unfolding just down the hall. He sat up, threw back the duvet and stumbled out of bed, falling onto the floor.

“Maaa!” he screamed. “MAMMMYYYYY!” He staggered out the bedroom door towards the guest room.

“You nah know mehhh! Skiiiinnn! Aaaaa oooooohhhh, GAWD!”

BOOM! Sharlene heard him kicking the locked door open. BOOM! The screams sounded syrupy, as though the monster was gargling through a mouthful of molasses. BOOM! Stubborn and sturdy, the teak wood refused to budge. Sharlene crawled out from beneath the covers and went down the hall just in time to see the door give way to Dexter’s relentless onslaught.

“Mammyyy! Oh God, MAMMYY, NOOOO!” Dexter wailed. “MAMMY, NOOOO!”

Sharlene approached the guest room. Her husband’s heart wrenching sobs shredded her ears, a grown baby boy crying for his mama, the love of his life, light of his soul, being devoured by hellfire. A sooty black figure that had once been a woman was being consumed by blue flames that licked its shriveled form, causing it to curl into itself like a dry leaf in a pile of garden refuse. The soucouyant’s hair was on fire, melting to a tarry substance on its scalp, teeth gleaming white in the blackened face. Pools of grease congealed on the wooden floor, and the air was thick with the aroma of cooked flesh—a sickly sweetish smell that Sharlene would remember for the rest of her days.

The soucouyant’s eyes were darts of burning fury submerged in sorrow that pierced the heart of the traitor who, even now, bore witness to the fruit of her betrayal. They clouded over and turned milky before they popped from the heat, ending the soucouyant’s sight forever. Nothing else in the room caught fire. Dexter snatched the duvet off the bed, cocooned his mother and rolled her on the ground in an attempt to extinguish the flames while smoke curled from the quilted fabric.

“Mammy, you alright? Mammy, can you hear me? Talk to me, Maammy!” The monster was incapable of speech, its tongue dissolved to mush as it smoldered within the duvet. Dexter sobbed and cradled his mother to his bosom, rocking her slowly.

“Ssshhh, Mammy, it’s alright! I here with you now. Ssshh… ssshhh…” He kissed the charred forehead. Burned flesh flaked off the skull, peeling back to reveal raw red tissue beneath. Outside, the smoke alarm shrieked, and sprinklers deployed. Sharlene stood there, speechless, arms wrapped around her body in a desperate bid to hold herself together. Blue flames sprouted from the duvet, rapidly growing in size until Dexter was forced to leave the body on the floor where it continued to burn. He stood up and faced his wife, fists clenched at his side, eyes dark with murderous hate.

“I told you to stay out of her room! Why you didn’t listen?”

He’s probably going to kill me. She braced herself for whatever was coming next.

“I didn’t ask for much—just one simple request! All I wanted was for Mom to enjoy herself. And you…” He choked on his words. “You with your fas’ self had to go and spoil it! She just needed to feed for a little while.”

“Fuh-feed? What you talking ‘bout? You mean to say you knew—”

“—You stupid bitch! She would have never hurt her grandchildren! I told you they would be fine, but you didn’t listen! How I will explain this to Marlon?” he shouted. “You killed my mother! You killed my heart!”

“But she was a soucouyant!”

“She was my MOTHER! Damn you, selfish cow! How I go tell my children? What we go tell the police?” Tears streamed down his face. “Get out!”

“Dex, please!”

“OUT!” he bellowed. Sharlene fled down the hall and into the bedroom. She grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and began to pack. The neighbors must have called the cops after hearing the commotion. She would wait until they arrived to give her statement and then go to Gloria. Using his courtroom savvy, Dex would come up with an explanation. Today, the firmament had shattered, raining brimstone on her marriage, searing it beyond recognition.

All this time he knew! He knew we had a monster living right under our roof with our children!

Something inside her chest jackknifed like a sixteen-wheeler careening off the interstate. She screamed and collapsed on the bed, clawing at her breast, unable to rise or call for help. Black specks swirled before her eyes.

He knew! Even when children in the neighborhood were sick and dying… he knew.

The room faded to black, and Sharlene knew no more.

***

Dexter closed the door to his office and walked to the elevator. He was relieved to go home after yet another harrowing day of back-to-back meetings and a never-ending sea of paperwork. The official investigation had concluded; Elsie’s cause of death was ruled as spontaneous human combustion. No evidence of foul play had been discovered at the scene, though detectives had initially suspected that either himself or Sharlene may have had a motive. Despite being grilled relentlessly, they stuck to the story that he had cooked up to keep them both out of jail. As much as he hated his wife for what she had done, she was still the mother of his children, and they had already suffered tremendously from the loss of their grandmother. Unable to return home immediately following “Granny’s accident,” they had been shuttled between Gloria’s house and their aunt in upstate New York while Sharlene recovered from a panic attack at the hospital.

Forensics confirmed that the cause of Elsie’s ‘combustion’ was not an external source as no trace of flammable liquid had been found in her room. It was simply an unfortunate tragedy caused by a rare yet mysterious phenomenon that had yet to be fully understood by science. As far as his immediate family was concerned, he was an excommunicated villain responsible for the death of their beloved matriarch. A pompous pariah who had failed them miserably, unworthy of even their disdain. Banished from group chats, his number blocked, they were dead to him now except for his compassionate Uncle Kelvin, and would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

When Sharlene returned home from the hospital, he filed for a separation and moved out. After the guest room had been renovated, they agreed to sell the home and split the proceeds. He felt like a dead man walking, merely going through the motions of being a good father and a productive employee. Life had lost its flavorful zest, and he was unsure whether he would recover his mojo. Since his mother’s death, he avoided after-work mixers with colleagues and his weekly meetup with ‘the boys,’ friends he had known since university. Such activities seemed perfunctory considering what had recently unfolded.

The kids. I have to think about them, but I need to put myself first.

The elevator bell chimed, and he got into the empty lift and pressed ‘G.’ Dexter rarely dreamed, and when he did, he always found himself transported to that fateful night, hearing his mother scream and scrambling out of bed only to find the bedsheets wrapped around his feet that refused to let him go. A thick barbecue scent hung in the air when he finally lumbered down the hall towards the guest room on feet weighted with lead. Sharlene was always absent, and when he arrived, his mother had been reduced to a smoking pile of ash. There was nothing left of her to hold. He had missed her final moments. He was an incompetent fool, incapable of protecting the woman he loved. He would fall to his knees, and Marlon would be there, cussing him out for his shortcomings before putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

His psychiatrist said recurring dreams were normal after traumatic events and would resolve in time. It was easy for him to say because he never had to wake up thrashing under the covers, unable to escape a nightmare so convincing that his brain could not differentiate between illusion and reality. The barbecue smell actually made his mouth water while dreaming which he found highly disturbing. He didn’t share that one with Dr. Henry who believed that every Black man in America needed therapy, just by the sheer dint of living in a society inimical to their very existence. A course of antidepressants and weekly sessions had been prescribed. So far, he was able to function, although he often felt like he was trudging underwater. Daily conversations assumed the consistency of thought bubbles; light, fluffy, of little consequence really, compared to the night terrors that made him weep like a little boy.

Dr. Henry noted Sharlene’s absence in the dream. He believed that indicated Dexter held repressed anger towards her. If there was something he could tell his wife right now, what would it be?

It would have been perfect if you had just played along and stayed out of her room! Mom would have eaten enough to keep her healthy for a while until it was time to meet her Maker and be freed from this terrible curse. So a few kids fell sick, and two had died… a rather insignificant death toll, all things considered. He wished she hadn’t picked on poor Jericho, but he had no say in the matter. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Everyone died eventually because that was the way of the world. Life was not fair and little children certainly weren’t exempt from that cardinal rule.

How could he tell the doctor—or anyone—the truth? No one outside the family or even the Caribbean would understand that these so-called ‘folklore characters’ had their basis in a reality that defied explanation. In Dr. Henry’s mind, reality was a delineated construct to be tidily assigned to neatly labelled drawers called logic and rationality. Instead, he told the psychiatrist that he would tell his wife she could have done more to make his mother happy by listening to his advice more often. She was stubborn as a goat, and in the end, it cost them their marriage.

Dexter emerged from the elevator into the carpeted lobby and out the building’s double glass doors. Bleak mid-December weather greeted him as he descended the ice-encrusted steps. Dirty piles of snow dotted a lonely parking lot below a uniform slate grey sky that made him pine for the tropical blue heaven of Trinidad. He considered booking an all-inclusive carnival vacay with his boys to dance off the aggravation from these past two months, when a figure wrapped in a knee-length navy winter coat swiftly approached him from the left. He spun around and confronted the intruder.

“What are you doing here?!” he snapped.

“You haven’t been returning my texts.”

“I told you not to contact me about anything else besides the kids.”

“I need to talk to you!”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Sharlene. Please leave and don’t come back to my workplace again, or I will file a restraining order against you.”

She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “Before I go, I want to give you this.”

“I’m not interested.”

“It’s from your son. And if you think I’m lying, ask him yourself. I did my best, Dexter. I really wish things could have been different, but it’s too late to turn back now.”

“You’re damn right about that!”

“I did what I had to do to protect our kids. You never took them to a therapy session—not even once! Just remember—I was the one who was always there with them, early in the morning and at night, cleaning and putting them to bed. Your kids need to see more of their father. Don’t punish them because of something I did.” She pushed the paper into his coat pocket, walked back to her car, and drove away.

Dexter stared at the vacant spot where his wife’s vehicle had been. He had not seen her in over a month, and quite frankly, never wished to see her again. Christmas was around the corner, so he would have to find a way to tolerate her presence for the children’s sake. He entered his Mercedes, which had been remote warmed to a toasty temperature, and put his briefcase in the back. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and sat in silence.

I hope she’s not having some sort of breakdown, or I might have to file for sole parental custody.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the paper. Maybe this wasn’t a ruse to win him back, but a letter from his son, telling his father how much he missed him. Yuquon loved composing short stories and poems that he often presented to his parents. Dexter even had some of his creations on display in his office. He unfolded the paper and noticed it had been dated prior to Elsie’s passing. Saw a large splotch of red on the upper left corner of the page that reminded him of crudely rendered ketchup; opened the sheet to its full dimensions and sat there speechless at what his talented son had drawn.

Copyright © 2024 Franka Zeph. All rights reserved.

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Prize-winning fiction writer Franka Zeph hails from Trinidad and Tobago and is now based in Toronto, Canada. Raised on a steady diet of horror and sci-fi since childhood, she has developed a fertile imagination. An SFWA member and winner of the “Clash of the Query Letters” 2022 competition, her upcoming 2024 publications include the Caribbean horror tale The Banyan Tree (in African Ghost Short Stories) and “One Eye Weeps Alone” for the clean water project Yemoja’s Tears. Her military sci-fi story “Door Crashers” was published by Tor in the award-winning anthology Africa Risen. Other works have been published under the pseudonym Frankie Diamond in Augur Magazine Issue 3.2 and on a dance music blog. Find her on Twitter and Instagram @frankazeph."