Feed the Babies
I love to twist and play with the prompts that Indies Unlimited give us every week. There is a bit of joy to be found in turning a prompt that looks fairly innocent and turning it into something dark. And then there are the times like this. I think the harder task for me would have been to go the other way. But ya know, sometimes when the clown hands you a pie with an arrow pointing right at his face, those are the times you just have to go with the obvious. Is that so wrong? I mean seriously who doesn’t love throwing a pie into a clowns face?
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The clown analogy has absolutely nothing to do with the story ahead. I don’t know where that even came from. Forget the clown. The clown never existed. He isn’t hiding in your closet right now. There is nothing behind the curtain…
Feed the Babies
Jason found the peculiar little eggs while playing in the woods behind his house. He hid them on a tray under his bed because his mother didn’t like it when Jason brought things home from his little excursions.
Photo by K.S. Brooks
Though he gave them a lot of attention at first, he eventually abandoned the idea that they would ever hatch. He more or less forgot about them. Jason was asleep when they did hatch. His mother was also sleeping until she heard his screams…
Chrissy rushed into Jason’s room, the tail of her dressing gown flew out behind her in the dash. “What is it?” She called into the darkness, but she was answered only by whimpering sobs. “Jason?” She didn’t wait for answer this time, instead she flicked on the overhead light.
Greeted by the shambles of his room, at first she thought nothing of it. Jason had been lax in his chores recently and the room remained a mess after repeated scolding. The whimpers came from under a pile of blankets in the center of his bed, whimpers and jerky movements.
“Jason?” She placed a hand on the blankets and shook them. All movement under the blanket ceased. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Still with no answer, not even the whimpers she pushed her misgivings aside and pulled back the blanket.
Her boy didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She pulled the blanket down further and was met with blood. The insides of her beautiful boy had been ripped open to the night air. Worse, something had chewed on the tattered remnants of his flesh. Chrissy opened her mouth to scream, her vocal chords, frozen, only to squeak out a muffled gurgle.
Something moved away from the light. She caught the hint of it as it pulled away. Her naked legs, her uncovered feet just at the edge of the bed, covered by the darkness underneath she didn’t see what lay hidden. But the scratching and biting of their explorations unfroze her vocal chords.
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