DEATHLY SHADOWS

Chapter 1

The Muchina home glowed with quiet opulence, its polished mahogany dining table reflecting the chandelier light like it was auditioning for a furniture commercial. In the affluent Chicago suburbs of Kwekwe, wealth wasn’t just visible—it strutted. Velvet drapes, imported china, and the Sony PVM‑4300 in the lounge screamed: we’ve arrived, and we’re staying.  

Mr. Desmond Muchina sat at the head of the table, carving beef with the precision of a surgeon. Beside him, Lillian supervised with the calm authority of a queen. Cordelia, twenty‑one, was elegance in motion; Tadios, eighteen, had the restless energy of someone who thought rules were optional; Lorraine, fifteen, was still deciding whether adulthood was worth the trouble.  

In the lounge, the children balanced plates on their laps, glued to Santa Barbara. The actors on screen were busy betraying each other with style, while the Muchinas were busy admiring their own reflection in the glow of imported television.  

Then the telephone rang. Not politely, but with the shrill insistence of a debt collector.  

Tadios leapt up, nearly spilling his plate. “Hello? … Baba, it’s for you.”  

Desmond took the receiver, his face tightening. A few seconds later, his shoulders sagged. “Marutenga… she’s gone. Struck by lightning. She didn’t make it.”  

The room froze. Forks hovered mid‑air. Cordelia gasped, Lorraine dropped hers with a clatter, and Tadios looked like he’d been punched.  

Lillian reached forward and switched off the television. “Enough of Santa Barbara. We’ve got our own drama now.”  

Cordelia’s voice cracked. “No, Baba… no, it can’t be true!”  

Lorraine sobbed. “But she was just at church… she was fine!”  

Tadios slammed his fist on the table. “Why her? She was so full of life!” He pressed his palms against his face, muttering, “If this is God’s sense of humor, it’s a bad joke.”  

Desmond’s jaw tightened. “She was taken in the cruelest way. Lightning, of all things. God help us.”  

Lillian’s tears spilled. “My love… how do we bear this? She was your sister… my sister too.”  

Cordelia wrapped her arms around Lorraine. “We’ll get through this. Aunt Marutenga would want us to hold on.”  

The family clung together, grief thick in the air.  

Finally, Desmond spoke again, his tone heavy but resolute. “We must go to Gutu tomorrow. Marutenga deserves our presence. We cannot delay.”  

Lorraine sniffled. “Will we stay at the homestead? I don’t want to see her… like that.”  

Desmond squeezed her hand. “You must be brave. Death comes to us all, but we honor her by standing together. You will not face it alone.”  

Cordelia whispered, “We’ll need black dresses… and Baba’s suit. We must show respect.”  

“Yes,” Lillian said softly. “Respect. And prayers. Tonight we pray for her soul.”  

Tadios muttered under his breath, “And pray the car doesn’t break down halfway to Gutu. That road eats tires for breakfast.”  

Desmond shot him a look. “You’ll check the Citroën BX before we leave. That suspension may float like a boat, but if it decides to sink, we’ll be stranded.”  

Cordelia managed a faint smile. “At least the BX looks elegant while breaking down. Aunt Marutenga would laugh at us pushing it in funeral clothes.”  

Lorraine sniffled, half‑crying, half‑giggling. “She would say, ‘Look at you, city people, too proud to walk!’”  

The humor, though faint, eased the heaviness for a moment.  

Cordelia wiped her eyes, her voice trembling but steady. “Do you remember how Aunt Marutenga used to sing at family gatherings? She had that laugh… the kind that made you forget your troubles.”  

Lorraine sniffled. “She always brought me sweets from the market. She said I was her favorite niece.”  

Desmond closed his eyes, his mind drifting. “She was strong. Too strong to be taken by lightning. In our tradition, such a death is not ordinary. It is said the ancestors choose those struck by lightning. It is a sign… though I cannot yet understand it.”  

Lillian nodded, her voice low. “Yes. Some say it is a cleansing. Others say it is punishment. But Marutenga was kind, faithful. If the ancestors chose her, it must be for a reason beyond us.”  

Tadios scoffed, though his eyes were wet. “Ancestors or not, it feels cruel. If they wanted to send a message, they could have used a letter. Or a dream. Not lightning.”  

Desmond gave him a weary look. “You joke because you are young. But tomorrow, when we stand at the homestead, you will see the weight of tradition. You will see how the elders interpret this.”  

Lillian rose, smoothing her dress though her hands trembled. “We must pack tonight. The road to Gutu is long. We’ll need blankets, food, and water. And Desmond, you must check the car. The Citroën has been coughing lately.”  

Desmond groaned. “That BX coughs more than a chain‑smoker. But it will get us there. It has to.”  

Cordelia managed a faint smile through her tears. “If it doesn’t, we’ll push it. Aunt Marutenga would laugh at the sight of us pushing a car in funeral clothes.”  

Lorraine’s sobs softened into a nervous giggle. “She would say, ‘Look at you, city people, too proud to walk!’”  

The humor, though faint, eased the heaviness for a moment.  

Desmond leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “We leave at dawn. The road will be rough, but we must arrive before the burial rites begin. Gutu is not forgiving to latecomers.”  

Tadios stretched his legs, muttering, “Eight hours of potholes and dust. If that’s not punishment, I don’t know what is.”  

Lillian shot him a sharp glance. “Enough. Tomorrow we travel not for comfort, but for duty. You will endure.”  

The Muchinas sat together, grief binding them in silence once more. Outside, the night pressed against the windows, shadows lengthening across the walls. The Muchina home, once vibrant with laughter and wealth, now felt like a vessel preparing to carry sorrow—and a touch of irony—across the miles to Gutu.