21/09/2024
My mother-in-law ate my babies
Episode 1
I am Amara, a woman once filled with dreams of a perfect family. I had married the love of my life, Chike. Together, we built a home, filled with joy and laughter, the kind of happiness one hopes for in a marriage. But behind the smiles and the façade of bliss, there was a darkness I couldn’t shake. I was childless.
For years, I carried the weight of our unfulfilled desires. The sorrow crept in like a silent predator, growing with every failed pregnancy. Each time I conceived, my heart would soar with hope, only for it to be dashed by the second month. It always happened the same way—the baby would mysteriously die. No medical explanation, no sign of warning. It was as if something beyond the physical world was at play, something terrifying.
Chike, my beloved husband, was my pillar of strength through it all. He was kind and patient, always assuring me that we would one day hold our child. "Amara, we are strong together. Our time will come," he would say, wrapping his arms around me whenever I felt like breaking. But despite his comforting words, I sensed his own frustration growing with each loss. A man can only take so much.
Yet, there was something else that unsettled me, something that always lurked in the background—Chike's mother, Nneoma. She visited often, unannounced and with an strange regularity. At first, I thought she came out of love, to console her son and daughter-in-law. But as time passed, her presence filled me with unease. There was something strange about her visits. Each time she came, she enforced a bizarre rule. By midnight, I had to be in bed, lights out, and asleep. She insisted on this with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
I remember the first time I asked her about it. "Mama, why must I sleep exactly at midnight and in total darkness?"
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s tradition, my dear. It’s for your own good. Trust me, it’s best that way."
I didn’t understand her reasoning, but I obliged. How could I argue with an elder, especially my husband's mother? Still, I couldn’t shake the discomfort I felt, especially when I started having a particular, terrifying dream.
Every time I got pregnant, the dream would come. I would find myself in a dark forest, the air thick with fog. And then, out of nowhere, a snake would slither toward me. Its eyes burned red, and its scales shimmered under the moonlight. But the most horrifying part was that the snake wasn’t just any serpent—it was Nneoma. Her face would flicker on the serpent's body, hissing at me, baring her fangs. In these dreams, she always devoured my unborn child. I would wake up sweating, trembling, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Amara, you’re just stressed," Chike would tell me whenever I confided in him. "My mother is not a snake. She loves you."
But the dream felt too real, too consistent. It haunted me.
It was only when I got pregnant for the fourth time that I started to panic. This time, something had to change. I had to do something differently. "Chike," I said one night as we lay in bed, "please, whatever you do, don’t tell your mother about this pregnancy. I have a bad feeling."
Chike turned to face me, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But why? She’s your mother too. She’d want to know."
I hesitated, unsure if I should confess my dreams to him again. But I had to. "It’s the dreams, Chike. Every time I get pregnant, I dream about her... as a snake. And she always eats the baby. I know it sounds insane, but please, this time, let's keep it from her."
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly. "Alright, Amara. I won’t tell her."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe, this time things would be different.
Chike traveled frequently for work, and a week after I told him not to involve his mother, he was gone again. I was left alone in our home, trying my best to stay calm and positive. My days were filled with quiet anticipation, hope threading through my heart. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to believe that this pregnancy might go smoothly.
But as the second month of my pregnancy approached, that familiar sense of dread began to creep in again. I tried to dismiss it, telling myself that the dream was just that—a dream. But deep down, the fear gnawed at me.
One night, as I sat in the living room, reading a book to distract myself, there was a loud knock at the door. The sound startled me, my heart skipping a beat. It was late, well past 10 p.m. No one ever came by at that hour. My hands trembled as I set down the book and made my way to the door.
I opened it slowly, my breath catching in my throat. Standing there, cloaked in the darkness, was Nneoma. My mother-in-law.
Her face was expressionless, her eyes piercing as they met mine. "Amara," she said softly, though her voice seemed to echo through the quiet night. "I heard the news."
My heart sank. How could she possibly know? Chike had promised not to tell her. I hadn’t told a soul. Yet here she was, standing at my doorstep, her presence like a shadow stretching over my fragile hope.
"I... I don't understand," I stammered, stepping back.
She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing. "You should be in bed by now, Amara. And the lights—turn them off."
To Be Continued....
Jerry Smith
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