Queen solomon, the unwise[ A Horror Story]

The trouble with old age; An ill omen; Anyone home?

Across from Jane's house

Mrs Magdalene Iwinosa (the neighbourhood's friendliest and quirkiest old lady) had not been asleep last night. Her bleary bespectacled eyes ,dull from wakefulness, as she trudged into the kitchen with a hand on her aching back were a telltale sign of hours spent binge watching Supernatural alongside Emmanuel, her youngest son.

The boy had snuck past their room at about past ten o'clock to the living room, where he had sat watching the said movie, volume turned low so as not to wake them. But unfortunately for him, Magdalene had been roused by a full bladder instead.

However, the moment she had pushed her door open, it had squeaked and alarmed the boy, and with lightening speed he had turned the television off, plunging the place into darkness, after which he had lain still on the couch, hoping his mother would go back in without suspecting.

And it would have worked, if he had remembered to turn off the decoder too--- the green digits had stood out and caught Magdalene's failing sight (it seemed to be enhanced in the absence of light; the optometrist had mentioned some eye problems responsible for that). Emma had yelped when a hard knock struck his head painfully.

After a lengthy scolding, she had sat to watch as well. Magdalene had taken a fancy to the show much later, and it wasn't because she was a fan of Hollywood or Bollywood movies---except for Nollywood movies, she found the others incomprehensible-but because she loved to ogle at goodlooking men whenever the opportunity presented itself( in this case, the Winchester brothers).

Probably shouldn't have, she thought. But what else was there to do these days? Most of her sons were married. Her Husband was out with other old geezers, playing a particular board game that he had once tried to teach her.

Apart from church and the women's meeting she usually attended, she was mostly at home reminiscing on her youthful days, on her marriage, sometimes with her husband, who would yap on about his days in the military.

How had he convinced her to marry him? He wasn't romantic-most African men weren't anyway-and that bland part of him only worsened with age. But then she remembered why every time she posed the question to herself: He was a good man and a hero to his country.

Next to the fridge there were two pairs of slippers, one made from rubber, the other from something far thicker. Magdalene opted for the former, slipping into it while yawning (a choice she would regret later). A twinge of pain shot down her back as she crossed to the sink, where dirty plates, pots and cups piled in leaning towers of disarray.

On days like this when her joints ached and bones felt brittle, Magdalene was reminded about her silver hair, her wrinkled, sagging skin. She was afraid to stretch, thinking something would snap or shift out of position.

Blinking drowsily, she watched crystal clear drops from the tap plop into a plate of murky water, causing ripples that swirled the powdery Amala remnants to the surface. Then they'd resettle at the bottom before another drop joined the pool and effected the motion all over again. Magdelene turned it off.

I'm forgetting something, she thought, staring out the window into the sunny afternoon. What is it?

Whatever it was remained beyond her grasp, Magdelene relegated the sense of something amiss to the back of her mind and began washing the plates (she couldn't bend to sweep today, her spine hurt could shatter). It was Emma's chore, along with sweeping the compound, but the boy was probably awake and surfing the internet; and she had no strength left to berate an unruly teenager, especially not this morning.

That intanet is making mindless meat of the younger generation. What had her son called those pale, lifeless, flesh eating creatures on television? Zombies, yes. They were like....zombies.