THE NIGHTMARE THAT DID NOT END WHEN I WOKE UP___#54
I have never believed in nightmare until that night in my village.
My name is Chisom. I live in Awka, but I went to my village in Orsumenyi for my grandma's burial. The burial was stress. Plenty people, plenty cooking, plenty crying. By night, everybody don tire.
Grandma's old house has many rooms, but because of visitors, I had to sleep in her room — the same room where she died two weeks ago.
My cousins said, "Chisom, you no dey fear?"
I laughed. "Fear wetin? Na my grandma, she love me."
They gave me one small torchlight and one mat. NEPA no bring light that night. Everywhere was dark like inside pot.
I slept around 11pm. The wrapper they used to cover her body was still hanging on the wall, smelling of camphor.
That was when the nightmare started.
In my dream, I was still in that same room. Same bed. Same wrapper on the wall. But the door was open, and cold wind was entering.
Then I heard grandma's voice. Not the sweet voice she uses to call me "Nneoma". This one was deep, like voice from well.
"Chisom... why you dey sleep for my bed?"
I turned. She was standing at the corner of the room....... Same face, same wrapper she was buried with, but her eyes were all white, no black inside....... Her feet were not touching ground.
I wanted to shout, but voice no come out. My chest was heavy, like person sit on top me. That thing that Igbo people call "mkpuru obi". I was struggling to breathe.
She came closer. One step. Two steps. She raised her hand, long nails like she never cut them for years.
"You carry my box? Where you keep my box?"
What box? I did not understand.
She shouted, louder, "MY BOX!"
I woke up.
I sat up on the mat, sweating, breathing hard. The room was still dark. Torchlight was still on, low battery. The wrapper on the wall was still there, not moving.
Thank God, na nightmare.
I drank water. I said, "Grandma abeg, no vex, na dream." I checked time — 2:13am.
I tried to sleep again. I turned to the other side of the mat. And I saw it.
Under grandma's wooden bed — one small old box, covered with dust. I have never seen it before.
My heart beat fast. In my dream, she said "MY BOX".
Is this not the box?
I was scared, but curiosity pushed me. I pulled the box. It was locked, with small padlock, rusty.
Inside my mind, two thoughts were fighting. One said "Leave am, go back to Awka." The other said "Open am, na your grandma box."
I used one stone to break the padlock. Kpo!
Inside the box — not gold, not money like I was expecting.
Inside, there were three things: one old black and white picture of a small girl, maybe 5 years old, who looks exactly like me when I was small. One letter, folded, written in Igbo. And one small handmade doll, with red thread tied around its neck.
The letter said: "If anyone finds this box, tell my daughter Nneka that I did not throw away her first child. The child died. I buried her behind the old Udara tree. Forgive me."
My mother's name is Nneka.
My mother always told me she is the first child, that she had no elder sister.
My hands were shaking....... Who is the small girl in the picture? Who is the doll for?
That was when I heard the footstep behind me, inside that real room. Not dream.
The same cold wind from my nightmare entered again, and the wrapper on the wall started shaking, though no window was open.
And the voice, the same deep voice from the nightmare said again, behind me, very close:
"You don see am?"
That was my real nightmare.
Not the dream where grandma chased me.
But the reality that my family has been hiding a secret for 35 years, inside a box, under a bed, in a room where I was sleeping.
I did not sleep again till morning. By 6am, I carried the box and went to my mother. When she saw the picture, she fainted.
Later she told me everything. She had an elder sister who died at age 5, before my mother was born. Grandma never told anyone because the pain was too much. She kept the box as memory.
So the nightmare was not evil spirit. It was grandma wanting somebody to finally find the box and tell the story, so the little girl can be remembered.
I am back in Awka now. But sometimes, when I sleep, I still see grandma in my dream. But now she is smiling, holding the small girl's hand, waving at me.
And I wave back.
That was my nightmare that taught me that some nightmares are not to scare us. Some are just unfinisshed storiees, waitingg for sommeone to wake up and listeen.
Prompt: The Inkwell Combined Writing Prompt #54 - Nightmare
Community: The Ink Well
Fiction - based on Igbo family secret
