My mother-in-law ate my babies
Episode 3
The sight of the massive snake looming over me filled me with primal terror, but something deep within snapped—an instinct for survival I had never felt before. In my panic, I grabbed the lamp from the nightstand, and without a second thought, I swung it at the creature. The lamp struck its head with a dull thud, and to my horror, the sound that followed was not a hiss but a low, human-like groan of pain. It was unmistakable—the voice of my mother-in-law, Nneoma.
I froze for a second, unable to comprehend what I had just heard. How could a snake sound like Nneoma? But there was no time to dwell on that. The snake recoiled slightly, and I saw its glowing red eyes flicker with anger. I scrambled off the bed, my mind racing. I needed something stronger, something that would end this nightmare once and for all.
Barely thinking, I ran to the kitchen, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I yanked open the drawer and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. My hands were trembling, but I held onto the blade with all the strength I could muster. As I moved back toward the bedroom, I whispered under my breath, “In the name of Jesus, I command you to die and leave me alone!”
When I re-entered the room, the snake was still there, coiled on the bed, watching me with those terrifying red eyes. It seemed to sense my intent, and I could feel its energy shift—less confident, more defensive. I gripped the knife tightly and approached it with a determination I had never known.
“In the name of Jesus!” I shouted again, raising the knife above my head.
I struck the snake with the knife, driving the blade deep into its thick, scaly body. Blood spurted from the wound, thick and dark, staining the sheets and my hands. The snake writhed in pain, its body thrashing wildly. But I didn’t stop. I kept stabbing, again and again, declaring the name of Jesus with each blow.
With every strike, the snake began to lose its strength. Its massive body, once so intimidating, started to shrink. Blood poured from its wounds, pooling around it as its coils loosened. The hissing grew weaker, the writhing slower. I could feel it dying beneath my hands.
Then, something even more shocking happened. As the snake shrank, its form began to change. Its scales faded, its body morphing, twisting. My heart stopped as I watched in disbelief. The snake wasn’t just shrinking—it was transforming.
Within moments, the massive serpent was gone, and lying there on my bed, soaked in blood, was Nneoma.
I staggered backward, dropping the knife in shock. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her lifeless body. Her face was pale, her eyes still open but empty, staring at the ceiling. There was no mistaking it—my mother-in-law lay dead before me.
I should have been horrified. I should have felt guilt, or fear, or something. But instead, a strange sense of relief washed over me. Deep down, I had always known. I had always felt that Nneoma was somehow responsible for my childlessness, for the mysterious deaths of my unborn babies. Now, as I stood there, staring at her lifeless form, I felt something close to peace. I knew she had been the one tormenting me all along.
I sank to the floor, my body trembling, the knife lying beside me. The room was eerily silent, save for the sound of my ragged breathing. The nightmare was over. I had won.
The next few hours were a blur. I cleaned up the blood, trying to erase any sign of the horrific events that had unfolded. My mind was in a fog, but one thing was clear—I needed to tell Chike.
When my husband returned from his travels a few days later, I sat him down and told him everything. He listened in stunned silence as I recounted the events of that night, from the snake to the transformation, to the blood that now stained our sheets.
“Amara, are you sure about this?” Chike asked, his voice trembling. He was clearly shaken, unable to process the possibility that his own mother had been involved in such dark, supernatural forces. “How could my mother… how could she be responsible for all of this?”
I took his hands in mine, looking him straight in the eyes. “Chike, I know it sounds unbelievable. But I swear to you, I saw her. I fought her. I have no doubt that she was the one behind it all. Every time I lost a child, every time I dreamed of the snake—it was her.”
Chike was silent for a long time, his face pale and his eyes distant. He was struggling to understand, to reconcile the woman he had loved and respected all his life with the creature I described. I could see the war in his heart, the battle between his love for his mother and the truth I was laying before him.
Finally, he nodded slowly. “I don’t know what to believe, Amara. But I trust you. If you say this is what happened, then I believe you.”
His words were a weight lifted from my chest. I had feared that he wouldn’t believe me, that he would think I was losing my mind. But hearing his support, even through his confusion, was enough.
After Nneoma’s death, everything changed. The house felt lighter, as if a dark cloud had been lifted. The oppressive energy that had hung over me for so long was gone. And, most importantly, my pregnancy progressed without a hitch.
Months later, I gave birth to two beautiful twins—a boy and a girl. The joy that filled my heart when I held them in my arms was indescribable. After years of heartache and loss, my dream had finally come true. I was a mother.
Chike was overjoyed, and despite everything that had happened, we both agreed that we would name our children after his parents. Our son, Nnamdi, and our daughter, Nneoma. It was our way of acknowledging that, despite her darkness, Nneoma had played a part in shaping our lives—both in ways we understood and in ways we never would.
The End.
Hope you guys enjoyed the story?
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Jerry Smith
