Chapter YASMINA MANSOUR EL AGAMY, ALEXANDRIA ONE MONTH AGO
Khalto Safa left shortly after dawn on my last day in El Agamy, promising to return by dinner. She wouldn’t say what business required her urgent attention. Pressing her wouldn’t lead to anything pleasant, so I watched the gates close behind her with a mixture of relief and worry.
She had to come back, right?
I tried to spend my last day productively. I finished some required summer reading for AP Lit. Planned the meals I’d make for me and Baba during the new semester. Plotted how I’d convince my friends to forgive me for ditching them without a word.
By sunset, Khalto Safa hadn’t returned. I pushed off the couch and checked the gate for the millionth time.
The lock hadn’t budged an inch. No way Khalto Safa could’ve come back without going through the gate, not unless she’d developed supernatural climbing skills and scaled the walls surrounding the estate.
What if she didn’t come back tonight? Who would drive me to the airport tomorrow morning?
Viscerally aware of the darkening sky, I ventured across the second floor, turning on the lights as I went.
I even found the switch for the crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the hall.
It lit up like a star, the teardrop diamonds dangling in long strands from the center, creating chess patterns on the walls.
Triumphant, I placed my hands on my hips. There. They could probably spot the house from space with all these lights.
I veered to admire my handiwork and bumped into one of the side tables. A mirror propped on the table tipped forward. I caught it just in time and quickly righted it.
“Watch where you’re going,” I told my reflection sternly.
The chandelier glowed behind me, casting my features in a soft bronze.
With my hair loose, I looked like a character out of one of those gothic novels Mrs. Lawrence kept asking us to read.
Little did Mrs. Lawrence know that apparently the secret to gothic-era hair was to anxiously pick apart your curls until they formed a cloud of tangled frizz around you.
My campaign to distract myself from Khalto Safa’s prolonged absence (She’ll be back.
Of course she’ll be back. Just because my mother never came back doesn’t mean Khalto Safa won’t come back) led me downstairs, where I continued flipping light switches and wreaking havoc on the estate’s electric bill.
A breeze brushed my skin as soon as I stepped outside. I always forgot how freezing it was inside the house until I emerged into the lovely summer evenings stretching over El Agamy.
These balmy nights were one of the rare times I remembered others lived in this quiet little neighborhood.
I’d gone for a walk the day before and spotted families lounging on plastic chairs out in the street.
One family nursed a small bonfire as the father roasted a basket of corn, much to his squealing children’s excitement.
Another family passed around a tray full of glass cups, filled nearly to the brim with dark red tea.
The third family I’d passed had been my favorite.
The boy and girl were older, maybe around my age, and had been splayed out on square cushions arranged on the porch.
The guy had his nose buried in his phone, only looking up when his mother kicked his shoe and pointed at a ginger cat trying to discreetly sneak into the street.
The girl had a striped bandana tying her curls back from her face while she read.
Her wide-rimmed glasses were fogging from the steam curling out from the mug at her elbow.
While I’d hovered in the street like a creep, the father had ventured onto the porch with his laptop in one arm and a deck of cards in the other, clearly planning for an evening spent with his children and the full moon.
The mom had run outside to catch the cat and smiled at me as I passed. I nearly cried at the thought of my mom in some other life, cradling our family cat while I read a book on the porch.
I toyed with the idea of going for another walk before discarding it. The streetlamps weren’t the strongest in this neighborhood, and tonight’s moon was hidden beneath an opaque screen of silver.
Not that the light in the Haikal garden was any better.
I rubbed my arms, wandering further into the overgrown thicket.
Yellow grass crunched under my shoes. Rutab were scattered beneath the trees like forgotten gemstones.
The only illumination came from a small string light dangling above the tall bushes.
Leafy vines crept over the walls separating the garden from the street, winding tight around the perimeter.
In the daylight, I might’ve said they were shielding us from the outside.
I wiggled a finger between the tightly woven branches. The date trees rustled above me, whispering with the wind.
At night, it was hard not to wonder if perhaps these plants weren’t protecting us from the outside, but penning us in.
The breeze carried over a flurry of whispers from behind a row of prickly rose bushes on the southern wall of the garden.
“The girl flies back tomorrow. Safa will have to leave to take her to the airport. We will be waiting inside when she returns,” said a familiar voice in short, gruff Arabic.
I pressed my palm to the vines as I moved closer. Were they talking about me and Khalto Safa?
“You know as well as I do that girl is never leaving this house.”
I made out a figure standing by the edge of the wall, speaking into a gap in the bricks.
The housekeeper.
“It’s not safe inside,” the person behind the wall urged. “Hamida, I know you’re scared—”
“Not safe inside? It won’t be safe anywhere in El Agamy!
” Hamida smacked her fist against the brick.
Blood scraped over her knuckles. “It’s happening again!
Why else do you think she brought Nadine’s daughter here?
She’s going to pick up where her mother left off.
She won’t have a choice.” A dry sob left the housekeeper.
“The house has been in ruins for years. Safa is sick. I thought, finally. Finally, the curse of this family and their horror house will finally end. Our children will be safe again. Families can grow old here without fear.”
A dry leaf snapped underfoot. The sound cracked through the air, and the housekeeper whipped around. I froze, plastering myself to the wall. She couldn’t see me through all these bushes, could she?
I held my breath.
Finally, the housekeeper murmured something to the person waiting outside. As soon as she left the garden, I bolted for the house. Dates split against my heels, a chunky mash oozing behind me.
I paced inside my room. What was the housekeeper talking about, picking up where my mother left off? Picking up with what?
And what did she mean, my aunt was sick?
It took an hour until I stopped waiting for the housekeeper to storm my bedroom. I opened my window, hoping to catch a sound. Any sound. I’d settle for shouting and car horns, at this point.
I missed mainland Alexandria. It had thrived in the night. Groups hanging out by seaside cafés, watching soccer matches in twenty-four-hour restaurants, driving beach buggies in country clubs.
Not here. As soon as night deepened, the entire neighborhood withdrew.
I watched prom proposal videos at top volume to chase away the quiet.
Everything was packed and ready for my flight tomorrow.
I should’ve been restless with nervous energy, thinking of fake stories to share with Baba.
But America felt far-off and unreal, like an idle daydream I’d indulged in a little too long.
The house was heavier tonight. The dust motes seemed to swirl slower.
Every groan and creak stretched for centuries.
I played with the curtain by the window, searching for the moon behind the clouds.
For some reason, I felt confident the moon would chase away the danger.
If the moon emerged, then Khalto Safe would come home.
Hamida would swing by with a smile and explain she’d been pranking me with that scene out there in the garden, and did I fall for it?
The air would move normally again, releasing the villa from this smothering stillness.
The gates cast shadows over the still road, and a sense of danger dragged icy fingers through me.
I was on the wrong side of those gates.
The more the hours ticked by, the less effective the videos became at calming me down. The silence grew, layers upon layers. Suffocating. This room used to be Mama’s.
The thought came out of nowhere. I sat up, bedsprings creaking beneath me. Time became as thin as a thread, unspooling around me in a single, unbroken line.
In a million years, I wouldn’t be able to explain how, but I knew my mother had slept in this bed. Paced around these floors. I could see her imprint in flickers, like the corners of an unfinished memory, or a shadow in the corner of my eye.
At four in the morning, the birds started to scream.
I groaned, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Every damn night. I could set my watch to the sound. The other animals joined, a mixture of frenzied howling and shrieking grating inside my ears. “What is it?” I mumbled. “What are you all screaming at?”
I pushed my feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers and slipped from the room. A warm glass of yansoon might help me sleep.
Darkness cocooned the second floor. Strange—I hadn’t heard Hamida come up, and I’d turned on every light in this villa the minute the sun set. I groped around the wall for a light switch.
Nothing. The light switch had vanished.
My slippers shuffled across the marble floor. I kept waiting to bump into a loose suitcase or an armchair, but my feet navigated the terrain without encountering any obstacles.
A peculiar notion crossed my mind. Perhaps my mother had walked these floors so often, she had worn a groove into the energy of the air itself. I was walking her steps, guided by whatever imprint she left behind.
I collided with a hard barrier. I reflexively reached for my toe, then stopped. What was I doing? I hadn’t hit my toe.
I straightened, and the darkness roiled.
A set of wide steps materialized in front of me. A banister ran along the side of the short stairwell, supported by white balustrades shaped like hourglasses.
My muscles tensed for only a second before they eased. The fear that had been coiled in my chest since I stepped into this house evaporated. My worries drained away. None of it mattered anymore. None of it could hurt me anymore.
At the top of the stairs, a door appeared.
Everything was going to be okay.
I reached for the banister, my arm operating of its own accord. As soon as my palm settled over the smooth metal, my entire body seized. Electricity ran burning currents inside me, scorching through my veins.
Come to me, Mina, sang a sweet voice. Mama. Oh, I’ve missed you so.
I couldn’t speak. The electricity burned off the wetness of my mouth, leaving my teeth loose and brittle.
But I could still climb.
With each step I put behind me, my breath came easier. The burning eased, promising sweet relief if I could only reach the top step. Promising more of my mother.
My beautiful, beautiful daughter, she sighed. My greatest joy. The piece of my heart that lives outside my chest.
I reached the top step and stood in front of the door.
White and ornately decorated, it sent childlike joy washing over me.
Terrible things couldn’t look this beautiful.
This door would only take me to equally beautiful places.
It could take me to the mountains at the world’s first snow; the Nile’s marshes before the floods; the earth’s finest flower as it unfurled its petals to the sun.
This beautiful door could take me to my old house in Ward, where the languorous melodies of Mohamed Mounir filled our living room while Baba tried to cook Mama dinner on her birthday.
A perfectly round silver knob bloomed in the corner of the door.
I could travel to any other life behind this door. I could live any variation of the lives I had dreamed of.
I was reaching for it when something slammed against me.
NO! Mama screamed. NOT MY DAUGHTER!’
I rocked back on my heels. Static burst in my ears. I cried out as nails scraped against the inside of my head, and the villa disappeared.
A woman in rags knelt in pools on a pitch-black road. Head bent, clumped hair hanging in her narrow face. Thunder split the sky, washing the world in blue. Even without any other signs of civilization around us, I recognized the bumpy path leading to the Haikal estate.
Lightning blasted into the water around the woman’s legs, and she jerked. Light emanated from her bones. Her head snapped up.
Black blood ran down the woman’s face, oozing from her scalp, her ears. She rocked back and forth, dirty nails scraping against her throat and collar. She resembled someone. Who?
The glow illuminated another shape in the muddy water. A small body floating on its stomach.
The lightning struck again, and her eyes flew open.
Bright orange eyes stared directly at me.
I slammed back into my body, finding my hand already wrapped around the door handle.
A wail came from behind me, so real I almost turned around. She’s not finished yet! She needs more time! Echoing around me, over and over, a bottomless plea stretched through space and time.
“Mama?” I whispered.
Every molecule of me ached. I could rest behind the door. I could finally get some sleep. Maybe Mama would be there, and she would untangle my curls and call me a real Masriya. Maybe the Masriya Mina was in there, and she could tell me how to become her.
I twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
The world went white.