Saturday, April 4th. 917 words (DWOM).
He fell asleep in the corner reclining chair of his studio, the baby in his arms. It felt heavy, heavier than what he imagined. He closed his eyes and imagined he could see through his eyelids, could see through the dark, and the little thing in his arms glowed a bright white. He must have been dreaming by then, but through his eyelids he saw it open its own. He saw it look at him with eyes that were black, a deeper black than anything else. If he’d been with all his senses, he would have sworn the vision was real, but it was as if only a minute had passed before the sun came busting in through his window and he was waking up.
The baby was no longer in his arms. The door to the study was open. Gray leapt to his feet, fighting spots in his eyes. He lurched into the hallway, trying to make sense of the light. What time was it? Noon, later? He almost started running to the kitchen, but ratcheted back his emotion. He wasn’t the type to panic. At the same time, all he could think of was the baby. Where had it gone? What if it had gotten into something, choked on something, hurt itself? The kitchen was empty. The clock said 11:43. He stood there for a minute, in the middle of the room, turning slowly to his left, letting his eyes fall on whatever they would. It’s not here, it’s not here. Something was keeping him from taking the next step, from finding a plan of action, locking his brain up in a endless loop that coincided with the things he saw over and over again as he kept turning.
Rebecca wasn’t up. That was it. She was always up before him, always in the kitchen rattling things around before ten. Sometimes even before nine, if she was feeling chipper enough. She’d always been a morning person. Gray had spent time on that side of the clock too, but only when he was being paid for it. The questions mounted. Where was the baby? Where was Rebecca? They intertwined in his belly, making a fist of unease behind his ribs. He went to the bedroom door with the same feeling he had the night before, when he’d cut open the package. The feeling of absolute possibility, and this time he was thoroughly terrified.
He opened the door.
She was sleeping flat on her back, and for a moment he imagined she was dead. Then he saw her chest move up and down slowly, barely disturbing the blanket laying over her. The blanket or the baby. It was tucked in next to her like a stuffed animal might be, clutching her body. Its head had erupted with a shock of bright red curls, and seemed more the size of a toddler than a newborn. It had grown almost two years older in the span of one night. Gray moved closer. Rebecca slept peacefully, a serene look painted on her face. She had always been a wonder to behold as she slept - even now, at her age. Gray squinted. Did she look…older? He bit his lip.
“Rebecca.”
She didn’t respond. He put a hand on her shoulder and rocked her.
“Rebecca, it’s time to wake up.” No response. He shook her harder.
“Rebecca!” Not even the toddler attached to her stirred. That was then he got it. The way it clutched her, like a leech. It was taking something. From his wife to this motherless child, the transfer of something necessary, life-giving. The demon baby from the under layer was feeding.
He snatched it up, or tried to, because it was no longer so easy. It was so heavy now, so dense. Understanding even in its slumber that its host was being taken from it, the child reacted by clutching at Gray instead. He let it. Looking in its face, he found nothing evil there - nothing that would give him any reason to believe the kid was anything but a kid. It yawned, showing a row of baby teeth that were perfectly human. No fangs, or especially sharp incisors. Just baby teeth. To be safe, he checked Rebecca for bite marks, but found none. He shook her again, calling her name, but she didn’t respond anymore than she did the first threre times he’d done it. What if she didn’t wake up? It was his fault for falling asleep, for not watching the baby, keeping it with him. He stared into its face again, remembering his dream. He’d seen it open its eyes, dark black eyes, through his own eyelids. If it opened its eyes now, what would he see? What color, if it woke? That was when, standing in the room beside his wife with the child from the package clutched to him, he understood what he was looking at. The child’s eyes weren’t just closed, weren’t just shut like the shades over a window. No, the kid didn’t even have eyelids in the traditional sense. What it had was one sheet of skin that covered the top half of its face. There were bulges where the eyeballs were, but no way for any flap of skin to open and reveal them. The only holes in its face were its nostrils and its mouth. This realization led to another, one that pumped the fist in his gut against his spine.
It wasn’t sleeping after all.
