The Painter
by Dylan Siunwa
Content Warning: Murder
It all started with the single case of the disappearance of Mila Kadzo. She was a ripe fifteen-year-old that attended high school at the famed and acclaimed Lulu Academy. Many said that she had her whole life ahead of her. That she would become a lawyer, or doctor, or engineer, or something along those prestigious lines. She lived in Bamburi and commuted all the way to Tudor for classes each day. And when her folks were asked as to why they were adamant on her not boarding they would say,
“Boarding schools are cesspits of all kinds of indiscipline” and
“Just because you lock the girls in, doesn’t mean nothing bad can happen. At least at home, I get to keep an eye on my daughter”
But she didn’t really do her job quite well. Not at all. The body of Mila Kadzo was found sitting upright at a roadside bench by a bus stop somewhere between Shanzu and Mtwapa along the Malindi highway. She had been there for days, presumably weeks, as reported by the coroner. Her body was drained of all its fluid and left desiccated for the public to notice, to witness. At first, people dismissed her as a humble traveler awaiting passage, but then after days in stagnation, one curious child decided to poke. And poke she did at the gruesome discovery. The only other awry thing found about her body was her panties. And, no they were not missing as some pervert killer would take as trinket. They were tied around her left wrist as a signature. Ironically, there would be no other sign of the killer at the scene.
The police, even being as incompetent as Kenyan police go, knew that the murder couldn’t have taken place anywhere near where the body was found. But due to the killer’s meticulous nature, they had nothing to go on. And so, the public mourned; those who knew Mila and those who didn’t alike. And in a matter of months the case got filed as closed when the cops desperately pinned it on some rando who seemed suspicious enough, owing to public upheaval. For a while, the atmosphere calmed. The heat lessened. And the local news was empty of any homebound crisis of death and murder. However, this brief peace didn’t quite last very long as yet again another body was found.
This one was Tina Mkara and she lived within the prestigious confines of the Nyali constituency, home to demagogues and family dynasties alike. Now, when she disappeared, her family had the means and resources to raise national hell and did so quaintly. And soon, even Nairobi had its sights on the dismal state of affairs down at the coast. And questions without answers were thrown about pondering what kind of evil had been unleashed upon the port city. Many locals raced to churches to beg their god for safety against this new devil. But what they knew not of was that this was not an evil of divine scale. This was one manufactured by society. And one that hid in the crevice of its incompetence at catching it.
‘Mombasa’s very first serial killer’, the headlines would read each day for weeks to months on end.
And the people never slept, except near police stations for their misplaced sense of security. Curfews were set for teenagers by parents, and the same by adults upon themselves. No one would be caught roaming the streets past 8 pm. But salt to the already festering wound, people began disappearing in the daylight as well. And bodies to be discovered days later, equally drained of all their fluids, and with their undergarments tied about their wrists. So, rumor and gossip spread with many of the locals believing the killer to be a vampire or some malevolent creature from another worldly plane. And the police got the worst of it, being flamed in the international media as most incompetent and unfulfilling. So, fear spread. In the air and in the ditches by the side of the road. It radiated off of people’s bodies, off of their minds and evaporated into the air from the sweat through the pores in their skin. And in the air that fear coalesced and potentiated further until it brimmed off of the horizon of everyone’s state of mind and sight. Until all anyone saw 24/7 was white. The pure white color of fear.
But then, all of a sudden, the massacre stopped. Bodies stopped appearing ominously, and almost as suddenly as the serial murderer had appeared, so did he rescind. The city regained its color once more, and hoped that it would no longer fear the monster that lurked within it. Many people wondered if such heinous acts were of one sole effort or of a grand cultist many. As was usual to the African mind, the nearest religious radical idea seemed the safest and most easily explainable as no person could fathom another just like them capable of such grotesque ability. As to treat a human soul as a canvas with which to paint a remarkably horrid story.
Dylan Siunwa (he/him) is an aspiring author from Kenya that specializes specifically in writing African fantasy and speculative fiction. In his work, he intends to delve readers into the innards of the origins of stories steeped in African myth and legend. He most recently completed his first novel of a series, titled, Folklore: Legends and Secrets but has not published yet. Dylan is currently working on a massive project book series titled the 'Empires of Ebony and Ivory' that he seeks to publish later on in his career. When he isn't writing, he enjoys singing, dancing and composing songs on his piano.