Phenyo: Book 1 : The Drop-Dead Gorgeous Corpse

By Busisiwe Mahoko

Phenyo is a Bishop's Daughter who left home a few years ago due to seeing herself as the "black sheep" of the family. Everything was working well for her until, her past came back to bite her. She will take us back to her gruesome past then back to her current life and situation. Also introducing us to the love if her life, her mother, her best friend and her brothers. She is here to teach us about life and the secrets she unlocks whilst on her journey to self discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Busisiwe Mahoko
• Release date: May 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463997079

Busisiwe Mahoko

In the world of words, where stories shape our lives, there's a shining star—Busisiwe Mahoko. She comes from the vibrant streets of Meadowlands, Soweto, and her literary legacy is a testament to the unbreakable human spirit and the magic of storytelling. Busisiwe Mahoko has written an incredible 51 books. With her pen, she paints vivid pictures, telling stories that stir passion, compassion, and empathy in the hearts of her readers. Growing up in the colourful tapestry of Soweto, she drew inspiration from her surroundings, where resilience and courage were everyday virtues. Her writing knows no bounds—fiction, non-fiction, and more. Each of her books is a journey, an exploration of what it means to be human, a window into new worlds, and a mirror reflecting our dreams and struggles. But Busisiwe Mahoko's influence reaches beyond her books. She's a symbol of hope, especially for aspiring women writers. Her journey from Meadowlands to literary stardom is a testament to her determination and thirst for knowledge. When you dive into her books, you dive into the human soul. You experience resilience, and you witness the beauty of storytelling that connects people around the world. Busisiwe Mahoko hasn't just written 51 books; she's written 51 lifetimes, filled with triumph, courage, and the enduring spirit of Meadowlands, Soweto. Her words can transform, heal, and inspire, leaving an indelible mark on literature and in the hearts of her readers. Prepare to be mesmerized, moved, and deeply touched by this remarkable woman's literary talent. Busisiwe Mahoko isn't just an author; she's a storyteller, a visionary, a trailblazer, and a true luminary in the world of literature.

Book preview

Phenyo®

Book 1: Drop-Dead Corpse

By Busisiwe S Mahoko

Copyright©2018 Busisiwe S Mahoko

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table Of Contents

Dedication

Author’s Note

Epilogue

Chapter 1………………Are You Alright?

Chapter 2………………Who Is This Stranger?

Chapter 3………………Everything Is A Mess.

Chapter 4………………The Other Side Of The Coin.

Chapter 5………………The Revelation

Chapter 6………………The Restoration

Chapter 7………………Telling On The Devil.

Chapter 8……………...The Path Of The Righteous.

To Every Exceptional Woman

To Every Remarkable Man

About The Author

Acknowledgements

Other Titles By The Author

Let’s Connect

What To Expect From Book 2

Dedication

D. Ogle,

My peach, My Aries King…this one is for you…thank you for coming into my life…you changed my sentiments about love. You made me stronger in all that pertains me, you boosted my self-confidence, and made me realise that, what I have inside me is far greater than what I think it is and for that…I love you so, so, so much (yes that much). I appreciate you everyday, and yes…I will never forget you, not in this life time. Your belief in me has made me realise that indeed, I am a powerful woman. Rest assured, in you resides the most powerful man. I cannot thank you enough, but I thank your mother and granny for raising such a wonderful being.

Boocy

Author’s Note

Dear reader,

Thank you so much for encouraging me to put pen to paper. Each day I write is a blessing for me, as I know my books will either change lives or save lives.Your vast response in all my previous books has made me push myself even harder. I have you in my thoughts each time I put pen to paper, thinking about what would inspire you today. I hope that my writing inspires you to such an extent that, you see a greater version of yourself. You are an amazing person. Never let anyone tell you any different. Never forget to fight hard to attain your dreams. We are not perfect but the fact that we chase perfection in all that we do, makes us far better than perfection.

Thank you for being my daily inspiration.

Boocy

Epilogue

I am glad that this is finally out. His face drains of colour as he looks at me. I see disappointment and sadness in his eyes, as he battles to digest it all. He sits steadfast in his seat and gives himself time to process what I have just divulged. He is weary. We are gazing at one another. Tears roll down his cheeks. I swallow hard, feeling ashamed. I have never seen my father cry. He is enraged. He knows the truth now. Both our hands reach out to one another. His facial expression is rather comforting. This is my father. I am still his favourite, one and only daughter. The picture he paints before me is clear. He gazes at me with anguish written all over his face. I simper at him.

I am okay, Papa. I have healed and somehow found the courage to overcome it. I comfort him, letting go of his hand, to rise from the chair and give him a warm hug from behind.

I am sorry, Phenyo, he says. I release myself from his embrace and look at him with furrowed eyebrows. What is he sorry for? None of this is his fault.

ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

01 September 2017, Friday

Ridgeway Extension 4

MORNING

MY HOME

I lie awake, gazing at the cherry pine ceiling in this soft bed, these sheets smell brand new. I smile from ear to ear, thinking about the perfect life I have with my long time boyfriend, Basil Maleka. I cannot believe that our relationship has endured life’s ups and downs for all these years. I take a deep breath, as I turn to the side and gaze at him. He looks peaceful in his sleep. As I wake up to kiss him, like I do each morning, I feel a chill run down my spine. His mouth feels cold and dry. I look at him again, and realise that he is not responding to my kisses, as he normally does.

The sun is up. Oh, I just love the spring season, the trees give birth to exotic fruits, and the earth becomes green with luscious lawns and plants. Basil seems unresponsive as I steal one last look at him, before getting out of bed.

I step off the bed wearing my silky white lingerie, grab his sky blue shirt from the couch, and slip into it. I amble to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee, hoping the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans will arouse his sense of smell.

I walk over to the kitchen counter and prepare the coffee machine with its ingredients. As I turn to face the sink, I notice that the main door is slightly ajar. It is unlike Basil to leave the door unlocked. He is so precise and careful in all that he does. I hurriedly walk back to the bedroom to wake him up, shaken by the possibility that an intruder may be in my home. I snap out of my blissful reverie and become more conscious of my surroundings.

As I walk towards my bedroom, my eyes follow a trail of dry muddy footprints leading up the stairway, all the way to my bedroom. I shudder in fear, confused that I did not notice them before. My pulse increases, as I begin to anguish over the possibility that an intruder may have come after Basil last night. Anxiety encompasses my body, as it begins to dawn on me, that someone might have invaded my home. I open my bedroom door with the intention of waking Basil up, only to be distracted by my ringing mobile phone. I try my hardest to ignore it, but the persistent caller does not relent. I walk up towards my bedside table, reach for the phone and answer it.

Hello, I greet with a clear voice.

Good Morning, my love, how did you sleep, greets the man on the phone.

Why does this man have the same voice as Basil? I am perplexed—I remove the phone from my ear and check the caller’s identity. My blood runs cold, as Basil’s name appears on my phone screen.

Who…who is this, I stutter in response to the man on the other end of the receiver.

The man laughs. I am more confused, he sounds exactly like Basil. I cautiously turn to stare at my bed pillows, afraid of what I might see. The man is still lying in the same position as I left him earlier. I draw in a deep breath and nervously shake my head.

Hello, are you there? the man on the phone enquires.

Yes…yes, I’m still here, I reply nonchalantly, not wanting him to detect my fear.

Are you okay? the man enquires. No, I am not.

I remain silent, whilst trying to figure out what could have happened last night. My tears are uncontrollable and my thoughts are a blur. I am emotional and confused.

Pen are you alright? he asks, concerned, as I begin to sob.

I remain silent, without uttering a single word. He senses that I am crying hence his concern as to whether I am alright.

Ok, listen...I want to apologise for not coming home these past two days, I have been hectically busy at work.

I am speechless. The more he speaks, the more I gaze at the man on my bed. If the man on the phone is Basil, who is this man on my bed?

Babe, I am concerned. I am coming over.

No, please don’t come, I’m ok…I’m not upset, I hear myself say, lying without batting an eyelid.

I understand that your work is important, I say, hoping to convince him with my lies. What is becoming of me?

I move towards the bed where my Basil is lying and feel my body tremor, as I spot a pool of blood on the laminated wooden floor dripping from his right hand, which is hanging loose all the way to the white frill covering the base of my bed. My hands begin to tremble.

Baby, baby, let me call you back, I say, not giving him a chance to respond, as I hang up abruptly. I am panicking. My eyes widen in fear, as I gaze at the man on my bed and begin crying hysterically—I hear myself mumble things like, Basil wake up, I need you to wake up. I page my bed sheets open, wanting to assess what is before me. I gasp - flabbergasted and terrified by what I see.

He has been shot, I utter in shock—watching the man bleed from over eight bullet wounds on his body, and one on his knee.

So this is what people look like when they have been shot, and why does he look like Basil? I whisper in shock.

I collapse on the floor with tears streaming down my face, as I sit leaning against the bed, not even aware that the shirt I am wearing is touching the pool of blood.

Ding-Dong! my doorbell rings. I panic, as I slowly lose my mind in my bedroom. I close the bedroom door softly and lock myself in.

Hello, anybody home? a woman shouts from my kitchen.

Damn! It’s Zenzi, my friend and neighbour…Uggh! She can be so nosy. These are the joys of living in a townhouse—everyone knows everyone’s business.

I slowly step out of the bedroom and quietly make my way down the stairway towards the kitchen, then pause midway on the stairs to watch as she sips on the coffee I had prepared for Basil. I look at her and smile, as she licks the sugar on the mouth of the mug. She is wearing her favourite yellow dress, a white cardigan and matching black slippers. She is sporting her favourite hairstyle yet again, as her long ponytail sits neatly on the side of her head.

Uggm, I clear my throat before greeting her with a smile.

She turns and smiles at me in sheer delight. Apart from being annoyingly inquisitive, she is quite a gem.

What’s new girl friend, she asks.

I look at her, hesitant to answer her question. Do I tell her my about dilemma, or do I keep my secret to myself? My mind ponders over these thoughts, as I stare at her.

Are you alright…you look like you’ve just seen a ghost, she says, moving towards me like a concerned mom. She can be very nosy.

I smile and nod at her, wondering how to tell her that there is a dead person lying in my bed. The thought disturbs me, as I envision what the outcome may be. I cannot do this, I have to act as normal as possible. I walk over to the kitchen table and stand beside it. She is eyeing me suspiciously with her huge investigative eyes, as if she is able to see right through to my soul. I look away and try not to give her any reason to doubt me.

You have blood on your back side, she casually mentions, pointing at me as if I am a murderess.

Is my guilt that evident? Can she really see right through me? I am embarrassed.

I have to tell her, there is no way I can hide this from her. I take a deep breath, as I courageously stand up to face her. I feel my body shaking, as my tummy rumbles uncontrollably. It is unnerving to look her in the eye, when she glares at me like that.

Zenzi, I have something to tell you…I don’t know how it happened…I’m still perplexed by it.

Zenzi laughs at me, as if I stood up and cracked a joke. She walks towards me and softly caresses my shoulder.

It happens to most women…don’t worry about it, she reassures.

I…I don’t know what to say, I stutter, looking so embarrassed.

It’s ok…let me leave you to freshen up, I will pass by to check on you later, she says, gulping down what is left of the coffee and leaving Basil’s cup on the table.

Zenzi leaves. Paranoia sets in, as I walk to the kitchen door to check if she is gone. She must have hurried home. I shut the kitchen door, turn the key to lock it, then hurry off to my living room to look through the window. I need to ensure her whereabouts. There she is, entering her home. Now what do I do with this dead corpse inside my bed? I have to dispose of him, but how?

I walk to my bedroom, stand by the doorway and stare at the man lying still in my bed…he is still dripping blood. I open my wardrobe, withdraw my black leathered pumps, and place them on my feet. I spot a short, yellow, frilled dress, similar to the one Zenzi was wearing earlier, and slip into it. I run to the bathroom and scratch around for my latex gloves inside my toiletry basket. I fit them on and fold three extra pairs of gloves, placing them inside my bra, in between my bosoms.

I run back to the bedroom and stare at the man pensively. I cannot make sense of right and wrong, a part of me wants to call the police, but a huge part of me keeps repeating the words Trust me, you don’t want to go to jail.

There’s no way I’m going to jail….no way, no how, I conclude proudly, exiting the bedroom. I shuffle towards the stairs and hurry to the kitchen drawers to look for a huge steak knife, forgetting that I had sought it out earlier, but never found it. I open the bottom drawer and find a nail hammer. I withdraw it from the drawer and gaze at it.

What am I going to do with this? I wonder, looking at the hammer with my piercing light brown eyes. I shake my head, place the hammer back in the drawer, then step back a little, as my heart begins to pound inside my chest.

What are you doing, Phenyo? You are a bishop’s daughter, I scold myself.

With hot tears streaming down my face, I turn and study each section of the kitchen with suspicion and fear dominating my gaze. Is there anybody here who could have heard what I just said?

I swallow my spittle, wipe my tears with the back of my hand, head to the kitchen door and double check that I have locked it. I then race to my bedroom to find my cell phone. I slow down, as I approach my bedroom door, feeling like an intruder about to eavesdrop in on a private conversation. I take a peek to see if the dead man is still lying there. To my horror, he is. This is surreal indeed. I silently pray that this is a bad dream I’m about to wake up from, but to my chagrin it is real.

I stand in my bedroom and gaze at the dead man, feeling tears well up inside my eyes again. I see my cell phone on the bedside table, and head on over to snatch it up.

My eyes wander around the room and it dawns on me that I have yet to check the sliding door. I head to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. I heave a sigh of relief when I find it locked. I exit the bedroom, whilst using my right hand to dial my mother’s number. I then enter into the guestroom, place the phone on my ear, and wait for the lines to connect.

Good Morning, Phenyo, my mother greets humourlessly.

Mama, I need your advice, I say, sitting on the bed restlessly.

I am listening...

Mama…would you break the law to protect yourself?

I am panicking, unaware that I am tapping my foot repeatedly on the ground, whilst anxiously awaiting her response.

My mother laughs at my ridiculous question. You are a sweet child. Breaking the law is not in your vocabulary.

Mama…please answer my question?

Phenyo…I am married to a Bishop, who happens to be your father…I can’t answer that in the eyes of the Lord.

Mama…have you ever heard of hypothesis? I ask, as I roll my eyes and shake my head in dismay.

She scoffs. I know what that means and I’m afraid that I cannot answer you.

Well, I am afraid I have to end this call…goodbye, mother. I reply with a scoff.

Before you end the call, young lady, tell me…

Tell you what? I ask in an abrupt manner. I am angry with her. My anxiety is now killing me, and I damage my nails even further by chewing what’s left of them. I half-heartedly listen to my mother.

When are you going to look into your father’s offer?

Mama…can you please understand that I don’t want to follow in yours or my father’s footsteps, let alone those of my three big brothers…I don’t want to become a pastor nor sign my life away to anybody and anything. Please stop involving me in things I do not want to partake in.

Phenyo…do as I wish and everything in your life will fall into place…especially with what’s troubling you.

I remain silent for a while, tuning into my mother’s tone of voice and suddenly it dawns on me that my mother knows. I begin to sob and end the call immediately.

I deliberately retreat to the floor in tears, feeling defeated. My phone rings again, but I choose to ignore my mother’s call, along with her manipulation.

I don’t know who to trust, I disclose audibly, rising from the floor, without picking up my phone. I then exit the room. A minute later, I return to the guest room and to my horror find that the room has been roughly rearranged.

I am not alone, I say to myself, as I reverse slowly out of the guestroom, shaken by the feeling that what had just happened in this house was orchestrated by someone who purely hates me.

I head back to my bedroom and roughly pull the bed sheets off the dead man. I stand and gaze at him for a long time, while tears run down my face. I quickly wipe them away and take a series of deep breaths.

In an attempt to cover the blood, I place the bed sheets on the area of the