27/08/2026
*CHAPTER 3 - THE MONEY UNDER THE BED*
The water in the bathtub was too hot. Mom always makes it too hot.
*Mam Manzini:* Wash it off properly. Gadafi doesn't like a dirty offering.
I scrubbed my wrists. The cuts were not deep, but they stung. The black mixture was still in my skin. It smelled like burnt rosemary and copper.
*Me:* Mom, where does the money come from?
She didn't answer. She was downstairs counting. I could hear her. One, two, three — flipping the notes fast. She always counts it three times.
When I came downstairs in my pyjamas, she had already hidden the stacks in the kitchen cupboard, behind the maize meal. Like always.
*Mam Manzini:* Snow baby, come eat. You did well.
She was smiling now. The nice Mom. The one who makes me amagwinya on Sundays.
*Me:* Mom, I don't want to do it again tomorrow. Please.
Her smile disappeared.
*Mam Manzini:* You think this mansion pays for itself? You think your fancy curly hair, your phone, your clothes? Huh? You think I work? Gadafi provides. And you... you are the reason he stays. Because of your father's blood. You are special.
That again. My father's blood.
*Me:* Then tell me who my father is! If his blood is so special, why did he leave us? Why are we hiding in this bush?
She slammed the plate.
*Mam Manzini:* Enough! Go to your room!
I ran upstairs. Not to the ritual room. To MY room. I locked the door. My real room was small, unlike the rest of the mansion. No mirror. Mom said mirrors offend Gadafi.
My phone was buzzing. A message from my best friend, Lethu:
> *Lethu:* Sino, village is saying your mom's mansion has lights on upstairs again even when Eskom is off. What is she doing there? 😭
I wanted to tell her everything. About the cuts. About the hissing. About waking up in that room even when I run away.
But then I felt it.
A cold wind under my bedroom door. And a soft hissing sound, right outside.
*Hiss... Ss