Naledi’s Serpent Dance.

The dream plane is not one to be taken lightly in African culture. It is not uncommon for Civilisations that have never even met, to sometimes come to the same conclusions about certain things. The dream plane is one of those.

Many Africans consider it to be a realm of both gods and man. Coexisting in synergy.
It is where gods can speak to man in plain language and vice versa.
However, not only benevolent spirits dwell in that realm. For in the shadows, malevolent vices lurk. Perhaps it’s the delicate balance of good and evil. Where one cannot exist without the other.

“Ma, I had weird dream. Some old mama gave me an apple and I ate it.”
Naledi was about 13 when she had her first dream. “Quick, we need to give you something to vomit it out!”, her mother said. It is common knowledge to never eat in the dream realm because that’s how spirits come into you. Sometimes, though, that is how your enemies poison you. Naledi’s mom knew this and so she made her vomit. These were the weaker rituals. Warm water with salt, or Blue Stone, or even a feather would do.

As Naledi grew, she came to learn some of the rules of the dream realm.
We do not eat in the dream realm
Some things mean the opposite of what you see. An example of this would be that if you dream of a wedding, then someone was going to die soon and you’d have a funeral instead. And vice versa.
Dogs in your dream represent your ancestors. If the dogs are friendly towards you then goodness is coming your way. If they were aggressive then you need to appease your ancestors or woe would befall you.

In some cases things aren’t even remotely related. Dreaming of poop means someone close to you is pregnant. Frogs and toads means someone is actively bewitching you to fail in everything.

Snakes are a symbol of your enemy. The bigger the snake, the stronger the enemy. You’d better make sure that it doesn’t bite you or, worse yet, swallow you. If it swallows you, you become what they call a “body two”. In this state your physical body is taken to the realm of the performers of the black arts and what is left behind is merely a shadow clone. The rituals to bring you back are nothing short of arduous. Often requiring relics you only hear about in legends. Like the toe of a gryphon, clippings from the horn of a unicorn or a three eyed toad from the depths of the Congo river. Many families would just accept that their loved one is gone. It was easier that way. No one had the time nor resources to take on the adventure.
If you swallow one you’d be possessed by a serpentine demon. The exorcism thereof is just as onerous.
If one chases you and you run, you have made yourself a victim to your foes. You will now forever be prey. If you vanquish one then in the reality realm you would win against the enemy.

It has been about 6 years since Naledi had the apple dream. At least to her knowledge, she told herself that in all her dreams she had seen neither food nor snake since.
Her mother had passed in the previous year. Her death, an unsolved mystery and horror in the village. She had suddenly vanished from her bed leaving nothing but a pool of blood on her sheets.
Naledi, the police, the village, had all come together to try and search for her mom. She vanished at the dawn of Naledi’s 18th birthday. The scene had turned what would have been a celebratory morning to that of bawling, howling, and vomit strewn across the floor. I looked like she had struggled and fought but all to no avail.

This morning was the anniversary of her death and Naledi had a dream where she had swallowed what looked like an African rock Python. With eyes as red as hot coals in the deep of night. In her dream she managed to bite off the tip of its tail before it had all gone in. She could still feel the sensation of his scales scraping against her throat. The thought made her gag but she could not puke. Only a dry and, rather, painful heave manifested. Her voice was gone. She wasn’t mute. It was more of what you get when your voice flattens due to flu. Laryngitis. Yes, that’s what it is.

The local drug Lord that had been a menace not only to the society (for obvious reasons), but an ever sharpening thorn on Naledi’s side had suddenly vanished. He had fancied her since she was 16.
His real name was Malachai. Named after the biblical prophet. His mother wanted him to be a good young man, as any sensible mother would. She had hoped he would be a beacon of light in this village that had now gone to the dogs. The streets knew him as Art, short for Artaxerxes. The biblical adversary to Malachi.

Art had been known to dabble in the darkest and most forbidden realms of magic to boost and safeguard his business. He reveled in the depths of malevolence, sparing no expense to achieve his desires. No act was too heinous in his eyes, no sacrifice too great. For three long years, he had suppressed his insatiable lust for Naledi, patiently waiting for the moment she would come of age. Now, as she blossomed into a woman, his obsession consumed him entirely. Every glance at her ignited a fire within his soul, a hunger that could not be tamed. As the eve of Naledi’s birthday approached, he brazenly declared his sinister intentions, vowing to possess her at any cost, regardless of the consequences that lay ahead.

And then on the morning of Naledi’s birthday, Art was gone. Only a severed foot was left on his bed.