#somethinginthewater

There must something in the water that the Lihanna brigade is drinking these days.
Because for the past two weeks, they have been very noisy, restless, worked up. I don't see them, I hear them. Over the wall that separates our houses.
Last night was the limit. I marched to their house and demanded that they keep down their din. I’d had it. Someone, Lihanna’s older sister, she’s about eight, was bawling her lungs out. The night was quiet, and then all of a sudden the racket started. The child was crying, the new maid was telling her to keep it down, Lihanna was yelling. Oh God!
I put my Bible down. “God, help me to be patient. And tolerant,” I prayed fervently.
The din crescendoed to something else. This time I could make out the maid shouting, “You go to sleep! You go to sleep!”
But the child was having none of it.
And I was also having none of it. It was so irritating. I didn't look for my nightgown. I just marched out of my gate and into theirs.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! On their front door. “Shut up and go to bed!” I yelled from outside.
The silence died down immediately, like somebody had turned it off.
“Shut up and go to bed!”

Rihanna flung open the curtains of the front window and peered out. The sitting room was bathed in a ghostly blue light. Lihanna Younger and the maid were standing near the door to the corridor, frozen like statues. My screams must have frightened them.

“Go to bed!” I demanded in my most menacing tone.
“Yes, you go to bed!” the maid echoed in her baby-like voice.

Lihanna let go of the curtain and it swished back into place.

The din started again in the morning. It was not yet even 5am. I know their mother is not at home because she cannot stand that kind of rubbish. She would have given them a proper reason to cry. Something must be wrong. This is just not comfortable.