“What would you like tonight’s story to be about, Aiyah?” Ammah says, caressing my hair directing me to lay my head on her lap. I feel a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in such a long time. I peer up and see my mother with her beautiful, brown skin that practically shimmers in the sunlight, shoulder length twisted hair, deep brown eyes that remind me of the perfectly tilled soil in our garden, and a smile that can put any man at ease.

“Ammah, tell me what you were like as a little girl.” I reach up and tenderly touched her face, as if checking that it is truly there. The same routine I do every night, and when my palm meets her cheek, I feel the warmth of skin, but I do not feel the skin itself. Almost as if the woman before me is a phantom. There’s a moment of disappointment, but I push it to the side. I turn my head towards the rest of the room.  

It is lit by warm candlelight with lanterns hanging from each corner of the clay roof, amplifying the red hue of the walls. There is a low sitting table in the middle of the chamber with three place mats and cups. At the front left corner of the room was a large favian that all of the clothes and adornments belonging to my mother and myself. In the opposite corner was another box that held the remainder of our possessions being a couple of parting gifts my mother’s family gave her when she married my father, seeds for our garden, and a story book. The book I had saved up years for by doing small favors for the shopkeepers in town. Everything is here and in order, and yet there’s something off. Where’s the doorway? 

Just as the thought crossed my mind, a dark rectangle appeared on the left wall. The curtain that usually covered the doorway was nowhere to be seen, instead, replaced by a shadow. A very deep shadow.

I return my attention to mother and smile brightly, any thoughts of oddities washing away. “Tell me a story from your childhood,” I continue. 

“Hm, I don’t believe I have any more stories to tell, Tewoh.” She takes on a pensive look to replace her gentle smile, searching through her memories for anything she has yet to recite to me. “You have run me dry; I have no more stories that wouldn’t put you to sleep,” she says, tapping my forehead mischievously causing me to scrunch my nose.

“Well, good thing it’s bedtime, no?” I ask, as I reach up and grab the offending hand, slowly tracing the dark lines on her palm.

“Since when did my Tewoh become so quick?” Her smile returns to her face and I shrug my shoulders. “Well even if it is time for sleep, stories are supposed to be curious, intriguing. So how about I tell you of a little girl’s dream instead?”

“Hm, who’s the little girl?”

“A spirit I knew a long time ago. Now close your eyes,” she says, drifting her hand over my face and I let the darkness overtake me “and let’s begin.

“There was a little girl, a spirit. She was born from Quowah, the Ammah of the spirit realm, but she was forgotten and never recognized by her mother. So, she believed her only purpose was to blend in. To do as she was told. To perform as she should. To be who others set her to be. She was not particularly good at one thing. She had no specialties like her brother and sister spirits, but she was a hard worker. She was wherever a helping hand was needed. When her sister needed string for her beautiful quilt, the little spirit was the gatherer, first to go into the field and sheer the sheep. When her brother’s arrows broke from his hunt, she would become a fletcher and take down the trees herself without complaint.”  

“She must have been very kind,” I say pleasantly. 

“She was. So much so that it blinded her. The object that the little spirit wanted more than life itself was love, believing all of her work would earn her the affection of siblings, and even of Quowah herself. But no matter how much work was done, she was never loved. The spirits thought she only worked to ride the coat tails of their glory. She had no claim to fame and no talents of her own. Not realizing the merit of all she did for them, they villainized her. Talked behind her back, and disparaged her image to the great mother. 

“Time passed and the little spirit continued her mission of uplifting those around her, all the way up to the Ofouem.”

“The spirits practice the naming ceremony as well?” I interrupt, opening my eyes. The room was dimmer before. My mother’s face had changed ever so slightly. For a moment, it had shown white, sickly, almost empty, but it had only lasted a flash and she was back to her normal self. I could barely even process what I saw.

“Yes, Tewoh. They are our origins. But rather than their Ofouem occurring soon after their birth like we did for you, Aiyah,” she says, grabbing my nose, “they had to earn the name that would reflect their talent.” She closes my eyes again. “All of her siblings earned their new titles after mastering their talents within a century. But for the little spirit, she could never earn her name. She never understood that helping those around her was what caused her Ammah to look at her so distantly. Years and years passed, new spirits rose, and those she had known before went off to their own journey’s.”

I interrupt again, “Was she upset? Did she ever earn her own name?” This time, I had opened my eyes and there was a darkness spreading through the room from the doorway, and we seemed to slowly be drifting towards it. Everything in the room was susceptible to its pull. My mother’s eyes were missing and she had gone pale. I feel my eyebrows furrow. And I reach up towards my mother’s face once again before my eyes were forced close for a third time. This time, her hands were cold, overbearing, and yet I still felt some peace from her touch.

“The little spirit became very upset after many generations of servitude overcome by her sadness. All of her work had evaluated to nothing. She found smile had become tears, and the gossip of the spirits caused her to be cast as an outsider.” Another voice seemed to come from the doorway. It was gentle but ominous and it fit within my mother’s voice perfectly. The voices continued. “She went to the great mother, Quowah, and cried at her feet. ‘What have I done wrong?’” a third voice joined. The darkness felt absolute. 

“Quowah answered harshly. The little spirit had become well versed in many trades and yet mastered none. She had always come second in talents and laid no claim to her own. ‘I was doing the best for my brothers and sisters. Is that not enough to gain your recognition?’ The little spirit questioned.” The second voice had become urgent. I could hear the fear and pain arise making my heartbeat faster in return. I could feel my own fear begin to creep in and my breath became shorter and shorter. 

“‘You were blinded by your own motives. Your help only inhibited the growth of my children. It has been a century and yet you never learned. You are selfish and pathetic, and do not deserve a title as a spirit.’” I felt sick to my stomach. Almost suffocated to the point I could no longer speak. “Quowah, raised her hand against the little spirit, stripping her power and sentencing her to live the rest of her days as human,” the second voice says with spite and anger. 

Now only the second voice remained. “As the spirit, now human, was cast down to the mortal realm, she swore to never serve for the benefit of others again. Filled with poison in her heart for those she once admired. She cursed the spirits every hour of the day and vowed that no matter how long it took, she would overcome the spirits that cast her aside and lord over them with no mercy. The only beauty she found was in the thought of her revenge.” My mother’s voice finally returned, her hand removed itself from my eyes, and the darkness wasn’t as consuming. 

I open my eyes. The candles shined as before casting their red hue against the clay walls, and the darkness retreated back to the doorway, with a curtain now caging it. My mother’s face is back to normal, and her familiar smile had returned. My breath eased and I felt the stream of tears flowing down my face slowly start to cease. “Aw, do not cry my Tewoh, I did not mean to tell you such a scary story at bedtime. Forgive your silly Ammah,” she says as she bends down to kiss my forehead and wipes my tears. “Now sleep.” 

I immediately am overcome by fatigue, and right before I slip into my rest, the ominous voice whispers.

“You will do well, Aiyah.”