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Forest of Songs

The Lone Light at Night

By Whyte QueenPublished 3 years ago 10 min read

There was only but a little moon perched in the grey stretch of skies. Whispering to her sordid windows, Beccah carved the image of the lonely lunar right where her breath had formed a mist.

She took a step back to take it all in. It was a beautiful one; splitting through the darkness which enshrouded her room, her little moon on the glass pane glistened with the help of the night light.

Beccah had learnt to play and giggle in the dark - the nights here never go away. She learnt that all too late.

She covered the space she had abandoned, finding herself back at the mercy of the windows. Beccah peered through the thick of the night once more. She wondered what it would be like to just run through the forest of songs, never looking back at this little house again.

At night, she had voices singing sonorously to her, mostly luring her to sleep on cold, dreary nights. Most times, she could swear she heard the voice of a mother she had never met. She had a picture of her, so she had imagined a zillion times what her voice sounded like.

She wondered if her life would have been different if her mother had survived lunging her tiny form into this dark world.

All her life, she had lived here - in this tiny basement. She never knew how her house looked like from the outside, or how the parlour and rooms were like.

Beccah ambled towards her bed, climbed on it and trudged on her knees to the edge. She found her furry pillow and etched her head in a way she felt was comfortable.

"It's going to be another long night", she thought. She wasn't even sleepy yet. There was no clock to tell her the time; time was what she made of it.

She reached for the candelabra, finding it, she struck a match and lit it. The night light strayed afar off, hiding from the brightness which now engulfed her room in a transient bright yellow.

Several crayon paintings hung on the walls. Some were her mental image of the perfect families she had read from her books; others were of she and her mother outside a park and other fun places she could dare to imagine.

On the cupboard beside her bed, she retrieved a brown book. She traced the thick embossing of the front page. It read "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" by her favourite author - Stephen King.

Papa had thought her how to read. She could read now. She had heard of huge libraries from her little books and wished she could just get lost in one.

But tonight, she would get lost in this story. Papa had bought this book for her on her birthday about a day or so ago.

She browsed to the last-read page and fixed her eyes on the lines left to be read. She read till her eyes were hung high with sleep.

She carefully placed the book back on the cupboard and snuggled into her furry sheets. She closed her eyes and tried to find a lullaby; all eluded her. Scary scenes from the book grazed through her mind. Soon, she was unable to fall asleep anymore.

Beccah planted her thoughts elsewhere. She knew her life was not on its normal course- she often wondered what was normal and what was not. What did girls her age do outside of her world? Did they lie down all day like she did or did they do something else altogether.

"Girl? Girl? She was not a girl anymore," now she remembered Father had said. She was a little woman!

Almost forgetting what her tender developing breasts looked like, Beccah grabbed the candelabra and stormed towards her miniature mirror. She planted the candelabra on the top of the mirror, and slowly unbuttoned her pyjamas. She was naked now.

She cupped her left breast, pressing the flesh together. It grew in size just as she had done it. Was her breasts normal for a woman of 18 years?

She gave it a quizzical look and tried to imagine what the size of breasts of a 'normal' girl was. She wished now that she had an image of that. There were no images of adult girls in her books; the only book with drawings were the books she had read as a child and they were all colouring books.

Beccah felt disappointed. She knew her body was changing and with every change came a new dose of fear.

She remembered when her monthly flow began. She had told father about it. He had told her that she was a woman now and that was a good thing for him.

She saw a longing for her in his eyes. Although, father only kissed her every now and then, she felt more terrible things were soon to come for her and she was not prepared for any of them.

She walked back to the bed and resigned to call it a night, even though it was never bright in here.


The feet of Father trudging up the stairs that led to the basement startled her from sleep. It was time for breakfast!

She took a cursory look at herself and realized she had not showered yet; she understood the consequences of not showering before Father supplied breakfast. She sprang to her feet to find a set of clean clothes. She changed into them and hurriedly hid under her bed covers.

Father fumbled with the padlocks on the hefty wooden doors and in less than a minute, he appeared at the doorway.

He was a muscular man with grey hairs gradually taking over his head. He had the stern look of a man in his late fourties. He wore a white flannel shirt over a dirty, old pair of jeans.

Beccah noticed he was not carrying a breakfast tray and that shook her more than anything. Father always came with breakfast!

"Good morning, Father!", Beccah said, shifting uneasily from the covers of her beddings.

He clutched the heavy bolt from the inside and pulled it to the left to lock the double doors.

"Nothing good about the morning," he said, moving close to inspect her as he had always done.

"Have you had your bath?", he asked, sniffing her dark, curly Africana locks.

"Yes, father", she lied. Looking away from his prying eyes. He held her head in his large palms and tilted her head towards him. He knelt down beside the bed and found her lips with his. He kissed on, searching for her tongue with his tongue.

Beccah shifted under his weight, noticing her discomfort, he pushed her gently to the bed and she fell at his mercy.

Beccah instinctively became afraid. Their kisses had never led to this path where her heart threatened to beat itself out of her chest. She saw what was imminent and she was still not ready.

over her, he took off her shirt and for the first time, Beccah noticed he was very hairy on his chest. He grabbed her head and found her lips once more.

His lips wandered first to the nape of her neck and then hovered over on her breasts. She felt a new wave of pleasure hit her! She had always fumbled with her two tiny areolas but never felt this intensity she felt now.

She looked at him but his eyes were closed for the show, obviously lost in the treasures of the moment.

He took off her skirt and then her panties. He kissed her navel and traveled to her privy parts.

She couldn't recognize the man who bent over what she had only known to put over a toilet when she wanted to wee. She never knew, until now, that this part had other functions. She was lost between pleasure and fear but she knew fear always won. That was what she knew how to do best. That's all Father ever taught her.

He got up, fiddling with his jeans and took it off. For the first time in her life, she saw how huge Father was. "How did he ever manage to hide such hideous thing beneath his trousers?", she wondered.

"Come play with it", he beckoned on her. She sat fixated on the bed, too sore afraid to even breathe. "I said, come play with it!", he sparked like a naked wire. She jumped up from the bed and was subservient to him on her knees.


Beccah lay on the bed, bleeding from her privy. She could smell the night's air from her bed. She unwillingly recalled what happened in the past few hours. The memories threatened to break her into a million pieces.

She knew she had to wash up but she couldn't muster the strength to do that. She consciously willed herself to get up and with pains, she found the closet.

She turned on the faucets and stepped into the tub. She lay still in the chillness of the waters and then the tears found expression, loosing themselves to the surrounding waters.

She wanted no more of this life. She wanted to....needed to fight. But her only weapon - fear was her very weakness.

her very weakness.

What if she finds a way out of this house? Where would she go? Who would she go to? What path of escape should she take? What lies beyond the forest of songs? What if she got caught? What if....what if....?

Her head was throbbing from her unanswered questions. She gently scrubbed her body, opting to leave her privy unwashed because the pains were in discord with her body.

She limped back to her dim bedroom and found a pink polka-dotted shirt and a blue checkered skirt to wear. She decided not to wear any panties. She lay on the bed, sore and hungry.

About an hour later, the double doors flung open. Father balanced a tray in his hands. "Come eat, my Princess", he said smiling. He deposited the tray on the bed in front of her.

Her eyes darted to the fried plantains and eggs and a glass of orange juice. She salivated and realized she was hungrier than she had thought. She picked up a fork and helped herself, gulping down some juice.

Father stood up, still wearing that same smile that pricked her heart. "Eat, I'll be back for the plates". He turned to walk away.

"Father?", Beccah slowly called.

"Yes, my little princess?", he tilted his face to look at her.

"Why do you never let me go out of this room?", she asked, swallowing her plantain and egg, in case a slap met her across the face.

"The world is not a place for such fragile things as you. You are my Love and you belong to no one else! You know Papa loves you right?"

Beccah nodded her head but her lips wanted to scream a "NO".

"Yes, that's right, Papa does. I can protect you here but outside I can't protect you. So you eat and grow for Papa.", he winked at her causing creases to form around his eye bag.

"Someday, you'll not be lonely anymore. You'll give Papa little rascals who would run around the house. I promise you if you do, I'll show you around the house and you may not have to live here anymore. You'll take care of Papa's rascals upstairs and wear beautiful clothes and jewelries too". He patted her head and walked towards the door.


Thirty minutes later, Papa was in her room. As he reached for the tray, Beccah swung the candelabra with such force as her hands could summon on his head. It buried itself deep within his skull as blood sputtered onto her face.

Beccah displaced from the bed and dashed out the doors. She ran as fast as her weary muscles could permit. Safely out of the house, she headed for the forest of songs, running after the moon - the only light that guided her path until she could run no more.

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