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No stone unturned

The last candle had just been blown out. And Mr. Williams was walking to bed. As he steadied his bedroom door open, he heard a creaking floor board and paused at the door, he listened intently for a few minutes, silence. His wife turning and sighing in her sleep disrupted his attention and off he went to bed beside her. As he inched off his slippers, he seemed a bit unsure, something just wasn’t right.

He pulled out his rifle from the wardrobe and tucked it into bed with him; something was going to happen tonight. He needed to defend himself and his family. About three hours later, in the dark of night, the floor board creaked again, not as weighty as before, but with more of a slight almost fluttering sound. Mr. Williams was dead asleep.

The footsteps inched toward Mr. Williams bedroom door, shadows cast by the bright moonlight of shuffling feet, could be seen pacing beneath the door. Mr. Williams happened to turn in his bed and mumble slightly. The feet at the door stood still, the shuffling came to an end.

Then suddenly the bedroom window above Mr. Jones head was opened. A slight wind whistled in causing Mr. Williams and his wife to reach for the blankets which were now half way down the bed. No one awoke or suspected anything.

A machete blade glistened through the window as it drew closer to them. The hand was steady, it was sure, yet so supple and young; it was Macharia. The little boy who just a few hours ago received his chore list for his next day of work; what was he doing there, let alone wielding a machete?

Macharia inched through the window and slithered to the bed. He had the luxury of surprise, which the Williams did not have. With both hands clasped together on the machete’s hilt he raised his arms above his head taking deep breath lifting his poise and swiftly cut through the mosquito net and made a clean cut of Mrs. Williams head. A thud and a rolling pitter patter sound awoke Mr. Williams. He opened his eyes and swiftly aimed and with an explosive sound, Macharia’s head was blown off.

The shuffling feet broke through the door as Mr. Williams came to terms with what he had just done, the blood splattered mosquito net was moved aside to give him clearer vision of what ad just transpired. “Macharia?” The group of 5 youth wielding machetes ran through the door straight for him yelling.

“Boom! Boom!” Mr. Williams was a good aim, two were down and finally a third before the last two managed to pin him down. First they pulled down his trousers and castrated him.

“This is for poisoning our sister with your blood.”One man said.

Mr. Williams screamed piercing through the night. Lights in the neighbourhood went on almost instantaneously. The surge of the Mau Mau was building and the retaliatory attack of the Mau Mau to the British colonial government’s torture and killings was steadily rising. Families of Colonial administrators were constant targets.

“And this is for our brothers that you killed.” And with that, one last splatter of blood splashed across the wardrobe, Mr. Williams was gone; mission was accomplished. These young men weren’t the Mau Mau, they were young men who had watched Mr. Williams allow British administrative staff rape and defile young women before the eyes of their bound fathers and brothers. Retaliatory attacks had begun and there was no sign of quelling them.

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Murder most foul

She was screaming violently; hysterically she was inconsolable who wouldn’t have been? Michelle had just come back from her morning jog. She found the door ajar; curiously she peeled off her hoodie revealing her sweaty matted hair in little braids draping the sides of her head. She unplugged her ear pods and inched in to the room calling out.

“Steph! Are you up already? That would be new.” She laughed. She looked at her watch it was 6.30am. The sun had risen bright and early. Michelle accidentally knocked a glass over, luckily it was empty.

“How many times?” She muttered shaking her head, leaning down to pick up the glass. She turned to call out her roommate’s name again and her lungs gave way to a wild scream. There was blood all over the west wall splattered all over the amplifier and TV set and hanging right above the set was Stephanie pinned to the wall like an animal skin rug. Mouth ajar, eyes rolled back showing the whites, she had nails in her skull, hands and her legs and toes were spread eagle. Michelle was glued to the spot. Her screaming was silenced but her body trembled violently.

Her screaming was heard in the corridor and apartment door locks began to turn rhythmically; some locking, some unlocking. Cyrus, their next door neighbour, walked through the open door; his knees gave in at the scene and he fell to the ground. He took a series of deep breaths not looking up at the wall but to the ground and crawled right behind Michelle.

“Michelle?” He gently whispered, unable to muster much else. Michelle was startled and quickly turned and recognized him. She thrust herself upon him and whimpered violently, as he arose from the ground, her body shuddering. Cyrus tucked his chin in her shoulder and held her tight. A few more neighbours emerged with gasps, more screams and in the background phone calls could be heard.

“999? Does the damn number work?” one voice says.

“Hello Afande?” another voice seems to have called a police officer they knew.

“Mum, you won’t believe this?” another voice seemed to be spreading the word.

There were clicks of cameras with flashes. Cyrus stepped out of the apartment with Michelle and shut the door behind them. They sat outside the door till the police arrived. It was all a blur; the questioning, the ransacking through their belongings. All Michelle recalls is being asked to come to the police station and seeing her best friend and roommate whisked off in a blanket hand held by two police officers.

Michelle walked hand in hand with Cyrus, nothing was said, no glances were shared, heads hung to the ground.

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Bleeding Truth

Mona groaned as she turned, she had slept in her clothes. She stretched and groaned again wiping her face with the back of her hand. Then she turned again to try and go back to sleep. She closed her eyes and a sound jolted her. She opened her eyes suddenly in shock. She sat at the edge of her bed hands supporting her up on either side of her body.

The bed creaked as she sat up and one of her hands touched something wet. She opened her eyes wide to see what the wetness on her hand could be? She couldn’t, the room was dark. She rubbed her index and thumb together again after feeling on the wet spot. Whatever it was it was sticky, she rubbed her fingers together again drawing them closer to her nose.

She turned her head rapidly slapped by the stench; it was blood alright. Mona panicked and started to touch every inch of her body wondering where she was bleeding. She felt no pain, where did this come from she wondered.

The florescent light in the bathroom was flickering making a constant clicking sound. Mona walked to the bathroom to look at herself.  As the door creaked open with a gentle push from her, the first thing that met her eyes was blood droplets all over the bathroom sink that seemed to be spattering toward the shower. The tiles on the wall had bloody hand prints. Mona’s heart began to beat so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She covered her ears and began to sing to herself as tears streamed down her eyes. She dashed out of the bathroom back in to the bedroom and sat on her bed. She looked around palms still pressed on her bed on either side of her body. Tears gushing down her face dripping on her clothes. She started to tap her toes restlessly. She shook her head and then pressed her palms against her ears.

“No! No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Mona was in disbelief. “This can’t be happening! This can’t be happening to MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” She screamed now shaking her head violently from side to side, breathing heavily, her rocking more violent.

Mona catapulted herself to the curtain and ripped them open. The daylight hurt her eyes and she let out a scream! The light flooded the room. Mona turned, her tears turned into loud sobs; she clasped her chest as if to prevent her heart from popping out of her rib cage.