Baby

She couldn't remember from whom she bought the house, or anything about the previous owners in fact, she was just happy to have a place called home. The house itself was situated at the end of a long, endless row of bland and repetitive terraced houses. She loved the location of home, upon a steep Hill, away from the noise and unrestrained pursuits of those in the bustling streets around her.

She lay one night, in her perfect home, only to be awoken by the most horrific, stomach-turning screaming coming from somewhere inside the house.  She shot up, forgetting where she was for a moment before Gathering her breath. She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose before releasing it composedly throughout her mouth. She got out of bed and turned to her husband.

‘She’s up.’

Her husband didn’t move. It was her turn with baby, just as it was every other night. Why should this one be any different? She creeped to the door of the bedroom silently, trying not to wake up her resting husband. She twisted the knob of the door which squealed ever so softly. She turned back, hoping to not see him awoken. He remained still, unmoved by her actions. 

As she entered the nursery, the heinous crying grew louder, as if it was driven from her own thoughts and memories. She pressed the switch upon the once-pink wall of the nursery and on came the night lights. The endless possibilities of the moon and stars lit up the ceiling, highlighting a damp, green stain that blended with the shadows of space. An unnatural coloured liquid dripped to the floor, creating a puddle which grew larger by the day, generating a putrid smell that she had learned to ignore. She walked through the puddle with bare feet, as if it wasn’t even there, moving closer to the cot which sat in the middle of the room.

She moved in and twisted the cot around to face her. What was once a white, luxurious bed for baby had gone green with mould, rotting and festering as time passed. She rocked the cot , smiling at baby. Her smile was her own truth. She was happy. The horrific screaming did not stop as she began to sing.

‘Hush, little baby don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.’

Her once large and happy smile began to shrink as baby’s cries grew louder, filling her ears and mind with the agonising scream until she could no longer hear herself think. She ran back to the bedroom, knowing that baby needed her father tonight. He didn’t wake. He never did. 

She stared at him. His eyes open, gazing at the ceiling just as he was before she left to see to baby. She began to get frustrated as he ignored her. Anger spread from her chest, into her face, turning it a blood red. She was sick of him always lying there.

‘Lazy. You do nothing around this house. You’re lucky I’m on top of things or I’d be sending you packing.’

Just as she had finished ranting, she noticed the barling sound of silence echoing through the walls of home. She turned back to him, who still laid motionless, and smiled. She skipped away with a spring in her step back to the nursery, standing once again in the puddle as she walked to the cot. She looked inside at baby, who lay silent in the decaying pit.

‘Would you like to sleep with Mummy and Daddy tonight?’

Baby didn’t respond, nor make any movement. A tear ran down her face, past her nose and onto her lip where it sat for a moment before falling into baby’s cot, merging with the other liquid that had sprouted in there over time. She reached into the cot and pulled out the doll that lay. The hair had rotted from the porcelain scalp and only one of the two eyes remained lodged in its face. The rotting dampness that the doll had sat in dripped from its worn-out clothes, onto her feet and over the floor of the nursery as she carefully carried it from the cot to her bedroom.

‘Looks like we have a little visitor tonight.’

The smile that shined across her face was that of a true mother. Her own nuclear family together as one. She cradled baby in her arms as her pyjamas began to stain from the moisture spreading from the doll’s clothes. She looked at her husband who was nothing more than a portrait. She stroked the face that sat upon the broken canvas and closed her eyes tightly, hoping it would be morning soon. She was happy. Baby was at rest.