In the bed, eyes shut. Now open –
heart still beating – breath seems normal, smelling of a new day.
But why so dark? How could I ever see in all this sudden darkness?
Rising up from the yawning pits and folds of my sheets, I tugged the
two rope-vine strings hanging near that giant, square leaf of shade
that always blinds my room from any sort of morning light. It
clickity-clacked, burned and hissed itself up into a nice fold – an
ordered thing – to the ceiling where a slice of morning rushed
through the window and warmed the carpet under my feet. And such a
spring day it was, as I've ever seen.
Everyone was already buzzing. The air
so crisp you could almost picture the sound of grass being cut at the
park across the street, as the mower blade sweeps over every
individual leaf. I heard once that the smell of it is actually a
plant distress signal. And with the dewy wetness of the lawn at this
hour, I'm sure it only exacerbates the scent and adds to our
pleasure. The neighborhood was walking and talking, some a little
faster, rolling off to work, coffee in hand, children at their waist,
being dragged by the dog, but all of them busy. I turned away from
the window and stretch, stretch, stretched up in the air before I
walk around my house and open all the windows to let the sunshine in.
I poured a bowl of cereal after
moseying into the kitchen, and sat down with a spoon in hand. I
devour my cereal every morning, sometimes using three of four
spoonfuls of sugar and always coming back at least once for seconds.
This gives me plenty of time to think, contemplate the sunshine, and
stare out the window at everyone's business.
I'm crunching away at my second bowl
and watching a squirrel with his morning nuts get chased by two birds
when I hear a knock at the door. It was a very strange knock, too,
for such an early hour. Whoever it was on the other side rapped on my
screen like a ham fisted salesman, who, having so many Christmas
meats to sell, placed two in each hand and didn't leave a free one
for knocking. But it's not even near Christmas, and the salespeople
never show up until at least 9 a.m. So why is it so loud...and so
constant?
I open the door and standing before me
is the most regular looking couple I have ever seen. Surprised to
find them both staring directly at me through the screen, I jumped a
little as I nudged the door open. They looked new to the
neighborhood, or at least I had never seen them before. All the same,
they somehow looked as though they could have been here for years.
Perhaps they didn't step out of the house too often. Between them was
a black baby stroller, covered up from view as if to hide their child
from the sun. It was such a nice morning out, I almost felt bad that
they didn't crack it open a little bit.
“H-Hello” I said in the most
neighborly voice I could muster at eight a.m., “How may I help you
folks on this beautiful spring morning?” Both of them paused and
stared at me for a few seconds as if it hadn't registered that I had
been talking.
The woman cocked her head and smiled
at me in a way that I only see in the toothpaste commercials. “Me
and my husband were just taking a stroll through the neighborhood
with our son, and couldn't help but notice that you were sitting down
for some breakfast” she replied without breaking her smile, “May
we come in?”
The man never moved an inch, but only
stared at me with a blank, dead face and said “Yes, you see my wife
and I have been traveling for some time now, and we're really just
looking for a meal before we hit the road again.” I glanced behind
them and didn't see any sort of vehicle. And what were they doing in
this part of town anyway, and how did they know I was eating
breakfast? Maybe they peeked in through the windows and saw me.
The constant stare of the couple as
they awaited my suspicious reply was suddenly broken when the
stroller started rocking back and forth, and heard the baby's cry
begin to creep softly out from under the black canopy. The woman
turned her eyes up from the stroller to me and spoke softly over the
baby's cries “He must be hungry. Will you please let us in?”
Feeling a sudden swell of pity rise up
for the couple, I nodded my head and said “Of course, of course,
come on in! Make yourself at home. Not sure what I have in the way of
baby food, but I probably have enough cheerios and milk for
everyone.” I turned around and motioned with an arm for them to
come on inside, and turned to walk back towards the entryway. They
must have entered very quickly and quietly because by the time I
turned back around to see what they were doing, they had already
entered and found themselves standing in the exact same fashion as
they were outside. Walking over to introduce myself and take their
jackets for them, I asked “So, what are all of your names?”
The woman smiled, shook my hand, and
turning to the man said, “This is my husband, James, and our one
year-old boy, Oliver. My name is Lucy, nice to meet you, too.”
“Nice to meet you all, as well” I
said, “Would you like some help with that the stroller?”
“Sure” replied Lucy, “Just let
me grab Oliver for you real quick.” She bent down to uncover the
canopy from off the stroller, and hold the fussy child. As the canopy
came back I saw James leave to bar and lock the door behind us. I
started to ask him what he was doing, but when I looked back at Lucy
I cried out in fear, as my knees buckled to floor in horror. For in
the stroller sat the most deformed, and shrivelled child I had ever
seen. His skin was a morbid blue-gray color, with patches of rotting
flesh that appeared to be eaten away, as if he had just been dug up
after lying stiff in the cold, dead ground. He stared at me with wide
pupils, and smiled a sharp, fanged smile. “Wave hello to the nice
lady who invited us for breakfast” said Lucy sweetly as she picked
him up out of the stroller “You won't have to be hungry for very
much longer, dear.”
I screamed and desperately tried to
get up and run away but I couldn't. I couldn't stop staring at the
couple, or into their baby's hungry eyes. They all moved closer to
me. Little Oliver slowly reaches out to my torso as they draw nearer,
his palms stretched wide, his pudgy, rotting face full of innocent
wonder, and pulling the shirt from off my stomach laughs in the only
way a child could ever laugh on a sunny spring morning at breakfast
time. In the bed, eyes shut, I can't move.
