GRAINS - by Zarah Writes

Part 2 Zara stumbled into the compound, barefoot, the concrete cold beneath her feet. Dawn was just beginning to thin the darkness, that ugly grey hour where night refuses to leave and morning refuses to arrive. She clawed at her arms. The rice would not let go. It clung to her skin as if it belonged there, crawling with quiet purpose, collecting in the soft hollows of her elbows, pressing into the lines of her palms. Wherever she brushed them away, more appeared, spilling from her clothes, her hair, her sleeves. She ran to the outdoor tap and yanked it open. Water blasted over her arms, her shoulders, her chest. Rice fell in handfuls, hitting the ground and scattering like insects. For a split second, relief surged through her. Then the rice on the ground began to move. It didn’t scatter randomly. It moved toward her. Zara screamed again, louder this time, panic shredding her voice. She backed away, slipping, nearly falling as the grains dragged themselves across the wet concrete, climbing over each other, reforming on her ankles. A door slammed somewhere behind her. Another. Someone shouted, “Abeg, lock that door!” She spun around, wild-eyed. “Help me! Please!” No one answered. Windows stayed dark. The compound that usually buzzed with early-morning noise felt abandoned, like she was the last living thing inside it. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The sound nearly made her drop it. With shaking hands, she pulled it out. The screen lit up. A message notification. UNKNOWN NUMBERYou saw it move, didn’t you? Her blood went cold. Zara looked around, heart hammering. “Who is this?” she typed, fingers slick with water and sweat. The reply came instantly. You weren’t supposed to look. The rice surged higher on her legs. She ran. Inside her apartment, she slammed the door shut and twisted the lock, chest heaving. She backed away, pressing herself against the wall as rice slid off her clothes and onto the tiled floor. It gathered near the kitchen doorway. Waiting. Her phone buzzed again. You left the container open. Her stomach dropped. “How do you know that?” she whispered, though no one could hear her. Because it needed air. The grains on the floor shifted, spreading outward, forming a loose ring around the kitchen entrance. They did not cross it. Not yet. Zara scanned the apartment, mind racing. The pot. The rice she cooked. Her eyes darted back to the kitchen stove. The pot lid rattled. Slowly. She took a step back. Then another. Her phone vibrated again. Boiled rice doesn’t die. It just wakes up slower. It gathered near the kitchen doorway. Waiting. Her phone buzzed again. You left the container open. Her stomach dropped. “How do you know that?” she whispered, though no one could hear her. Because it needed air. The grains on the floor shifted, spreading outward, forming a loose ring around the kitchen entrance. They did not cross it. Not yet. Zara scanned the apartment, mind racing. The pot. The rice she cooked. Her eyes darted back to the kitchen stove. The pot lid rattled. Slowly. She took a step back. Then another. The lid lifted. Just enough for her to see movement inside the pot. Not bubbling water. Not steam. Something rearranging itself. Zara grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a broom, and swung it blindly at the floor. Rice scattered, hit the walls, fell back down. And crawled again. Her phone rang. This time, it was a call. UNKNOWN NUMBER. She hesitated, then answered. “Hello?” Her voice cracked. “You shouldn’t have screamed,” a calm voice said. Not male. Not female. Flat. “Now it knows where you are.” “What is this?” Zara sobbed. “What is happening to me?” Silence. Then, “Did you wash the sieve?” Her eyes snapped to the sink. The sieve hung where she’d left it, dripping water. Rice clung to its mesh, unmoving. Too still. “No,” she whispered. “That’s good,” the voice said. “If you had, it would already be inside you.” The line went dead. The rice on the floor surged forward. Zara ran for the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it just as grains slammed against the wood like rain. She slid down to the floor, knees to her chest, shaking. Her breathing slowed. Then she felt it. A faint itch. Behind her ear. She froze. Slowly, carefully, she raised her hand and touched her skin. Something hard shifted beneath her fingers. Her phone lit up again in her trembling hand. One final message appeared on the screen. It only moves when you notice it. The bathroom mirror began to fog. And something tapped softly from the inside.The end☹️

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