Ayoma gave a light smile as she kissed me on the forehead. "Thank you, dear."
Her voice was sweet, almost too sweet, like honey covering something rotten. But I didn't notice. Or maybe I didn't want to. If I had a tail right now, it'd be wagging nonstop. I grinned and pointed towards the tray. "It's already time for Grandma's breakfast. I'll tell her now."
Ayoma didn't say anything. She just kept smiling and handed me the tray.
The tray was heavy for my small, weak hands. The cup of tea trembled as I walked, threatening to spill, but I tightened my grip and moved carefully. Our house wasn't big. In fact, it was so small that you could hear someone whispering in the next room if you tried. In just a few seconds, I was standing in front of Grandma's door.
I hesitated.
The wooden door, painted white once upon a time, was chipped and stained with yellowing marks. A long, narrow crack ran down the middle of the frame like an old scar.
I inhaled deeply, gathering courage I wasn't sure I had, and pushed the door open.
The room was dark, far too dark for the time of day. The curtains were drawn, thick and heavy, choking the morning light. A musty, damp smell coiled in the air like smoke. I wrinkled my nose. It was as if something was decaying quietly in a corner.
"Grandma?" I called, my voice barely above a whisper. It trembled despite my effort to sound confident. I wasn't actually scared. Not really. But past me would have been. I didn't want to break character.
"Child," came a hoarse voice from the far end of the room.
I jumped slightly, startled by how sudden and close it sounded. My eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness. The silhouette of my grandmother came into focus. She was sitting in her rocking chair by the corner, half-shrouded in shadow.
I stepped inside, forcing myself to walk normally. There was a feeling in the room. Not fear exactly. More like unease. The kind that itches beneath your skin. Like the air itself knew something I didn't.
"Good morning, Grandma," I said, smiling.
She looked up, and I could finally see her eyes, sharp and narrow, glinting with something unreadable. Her face was wrinkled but not soft. There was a hardness there, carved in by years of bitterness.
I never liked my grandma, but I also never hated her too the bone like I do with my Parents.
"Well, aren't you just a little bird," she said, the corner of her lips twitching in something like a smile. "Coming to feed your poor old grandmother."
I chuckled politely, walking over and placing the tray carefully on the side table.
"Yep, the little bird reporting for duty," I said playfully from the outside, but I really wanted to puke.
Her eyes didn't leave me. They lingered too long, watching my hands, my movements, the tray.
"You've got your mother's obedience," she said with a low laugh. "Always doing as you're told."
Right, she thinks my mom 'Loves' me. Sad. I rolled my eyes, maybe due to the darkness or her poor vision she didn't notice.
"She takes care of us," I replied quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "She's kind."
"Kind," Grandma repeated, as if the word itself amused her. "That's what you think she is?"
I looked at her, puzzled. "Well… yeah." No, not exactly, If I tell how I really feel about that woman I'm afraid I'll say something I shouldn't.
She chuckled again but didn't say anything more. Her hand reached out slowly, a bony thing with blue veins threading through paper-thin skin. She patted the side of the bed. "Come sit, child."
I sat beside her, and the mattress sank under our combined weight with a creak.
The silence returned. Grandma's eyes drifted toward the window, and for a moment, she looked peaceful. Almost normal. But then her nose twitched, and she sniffed the air.
"You smell something?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked. "Huh?"
"It's the stench of fear," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "Or maybe it's Ayoma's perfume. Always too strong. Like she's trying to cover up something that won't stay buried."
I laughed nervously, unsure if she was joking or serious. With Grandma, it was always a toss-up. She had her good days. Days when she told stories from her youth and gave me sweets wrapped in tissue paper. But then there were the other days. The days she screamed. The days she raised her hand.
Still, today felt strange. Stranger than usual.
"I, um… I dropped your favourite plate earlier," I said, trying to change the subject.
Her gaze snapped to me.
"Dropped… a plate?" she repeated, her voice flat.
"Yeah, by accident. It slipped while I was washing—"
"You stupid girl!" she barked.
I flinched.
The shift was instant. The warmth, false as it was, vanished. Her face twisted with fury, the veins on her neck bulging.
"You broke a plate? Do you think we're made of money? That things just replace themselves?" Her hand rose mid-air.
I shrank back instinctively, but she stopped just short of my face.
Then she smiled. A soft laugh. That awful, knowing smile. "I'm just joking, little bird," she cooed, lowering her hand and stroking my cheek.
I didn't laugh. But I forced a smile anyway. It was always better to go along with it.
She leaned closer and whispered, "Accidents always have consequences. Even if they don't show up right away."
I nodded dumbly.
Behind her, something moved.
I froze. Just a flicker. A shift in the shadows near the wardrobe. It might have been my imagination. But it felt real. Like something was hiding there. Watching.
"What's wrong?" Grandma asked sweetly.
"Nothing," I whispered.
My eyes darted around the room. The thick curtains, the dust-lined bookshelves, the heavy furniture… and something else. A locked chest in the far corner. Old, with iron hinges. One I'd never noticed before.
"Would you like to open the window?" I asked quickly. "It's a bit stuffy."
"No," she snapped. "The light hurts my eyes."
I nodded.
"Besides," she added, "some things are best kept in the dark."
I didn't know if she was talking about the room or something else.
The tray of breakfast sat untouched. She hadn't even looked at it.
Outside the door, I thought I heard Ayoma's footsteps. Light and calculated. She always walked like she was on a stage. Always too graceful. Too perfect.
Grandma looked toward the door too. "She listens, you know. Even when you think she's not there."
"Who?"
"Ayoma."
I swallowed hard. "She's just trying to help…" I defended her.
"She's trying something, alright," Grandma muttered. Then she looked back at me. "Don't trust smiles, child. Not hers. Not even mine."
I forced a laugh. "Grandma, I may look foolish, but trust me.....I trust my own eyes, not yours, neither mother's."
She reached over and tousled my hair gently.
"You're a good girl. Don't end up like your mother."
I blinked. "What?"
But she didn't respond.
Her eyes closed, and her head leaned back.
The room was silent again.
This time, the silence felt like it was listening.
I stood up slowly. The air felt heavier now. The shadows thicker. I walked toward the door, trying not to look back. Trying not to think about the smell, or the locked chest, or the words Grandma had said.
When I stepped outside, Ayoma was standing in the hallway, her arms crossed, her smile painted on like a doll's.
"Did she eat?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Not yet."
Ayoma nodded. "She'll eat when she's ready."
I stared at her. Something about the way she looked at me felt wrong. But I didn't know why.
"Thank you for taking care of her," she said sweetly. "You're such a good girl."
I nodded, but my heart was thudding in my chest.
"Here's your candy!" Ayoma laughed, "See I remembered but you forgot the treat."