Midnight Feeding

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She knew it was a risk to let the cat sleep in the baby’s room. Her mother had warned her about cats stealing the breath of babies, but the cat’s presence was the only thing that seemed to soothe her newborn.

Melanie had tried everything – singing, extra feeds, co-sleeping. All she had earned were a sore throat, bleeding nipples and sleepless nights filled with nightmares of her rolling onto the baby.

After three weeks of nonstop bawling, she had opened the door and let the pacing ginger cat into the room. He had jumped into the crib immediately and the baby had quietened.

Melanie took a shower, carefully washing her breasts. She had switched to formula feeding a week ago, after the baby had bitten her too many times to endure. She still had marks from the teeth.

The next morning, Melanie found that the baby’s window was opened and there was a trail of feathers on the ground. With a grimace, she realised that the cat must have caught a bird and carried it, bleeding and dying, into the nursery. There was no sign of the bird’s body. The trail lead to the crib, where a purring ginger cat nestled against a peaceful baby, blood upon both of their mouths. The bird was nowhere to be seen, apart from some errant feathers and viscera around the mattress.

As she tidied up the mess, Melanie scratched behind the cat’s ears. She heard the front door close and knew her husband had returned from his nightly wanderings, wondering what sort of bloody laundry he would leave for her this time.

Well, she thought as she listened to the cat’s purr, at least someone is helping out around here.

Three Sentence Stories (Part 8)

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She awoke with a start, heart racing as she realised her hands were coated with blood. As she stared at the mess on the bed, spilling from the still figure beside her, she relaxed. After all, it wasn’t her bed.

The princess sat alone in her tower, guarded by a terrifying dragon. It had been many years and the dragon was beginning to show its age after constant assaults. It would not be able to keep the princess contained much longer.

The solo hike had started nicely, until Lilly had come across a stranger ahead of her. No matter how fast she went, she could not overtake them and when she stopped to let them get some distance, they also stopped despite not looking at her. It was only when the wind whipped up the figure’s hair that she saw the eyes staring at her from the back of their head.

A Writer’s Circle

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Feedback welcome!

He had thought it would help his writing to join a writer’s circle.

Alan had been sitting on his first draft for months, terrified that there would be more work in editing the thing than there had been in writing it. He had basked in the pride of having written an entire story and couldn’t bare having to cut away pieces or to reshape it. As he walked towards the apartment block with a printed copy of his first chapter, he hoped they would not have many notes for him. Surely they would at least go easy on him for the first week?

It had been difficult to find this group. They had actually advertised in the newspaper of all places. Even to someone who bragged to his barista (who knew his order by heart) about writing a crime novel, it seemed pretentious. However, he had needed to find the right audience for his work and the ad reading “crime writers meeting – serious interest only” had given him a good impression. After he sent the listed email address his first chapter, he had quickly received an invitation to the meeting.

It seemed odd to invite a stranger to an apartment, rather than vetting them in public first, but he assumed the group outnumbering him made them feel that there was no danger. He supposed the real risk was to him, but he carried a pocketknife just in case. Not that he thought it would come to that.

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Two Sentence Stories (Part 10)

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The child pulled at one end of the cup-and-string phone, but the other end was stuck under the bed, irretrievable behind all of the junk he had hidden there. He felt the cup vibrating in his hand, and as he pulled the string taught to put the cup to his ear, he listened.

For years the birds would bring her gifts they thought she would like, usually small trinkets, in exchange for food. Lately they had been bringing doll eyes and as she wiped a tear from her eye, she made certain she did not forget their payment this time.

I thought it was odd when my new friend moved away after only living next door for a few weeks. Then the missing posters went up, showing a photo of her with different parents.

 

An Idea

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I had an idea last night.

It was a terrible, dark idea. I woke in darkness and mumbled it to myself as a question before I had processed the actual words. Once said out loud, it had a presence, it was part of reality. It was in the room with me.

I had felt it bubbling at the edge of my mind for months, as though I were perpetually on the verge of some horrible realisation. It made my coworkers stop talking to me and it was the reason my bed was empty last night. I was thankful for that as I stumbled into the hallway, closing the door behind me.

I sat in the dark hallway, pressed against my door. I could feel something pressing back on the other side, seeking a way out into the world.

I must have fallen asleep, because it was morning when I finally opened the door to my empty bedroom. I had left my window cracked open and apparently that was all it had needed to escape.

I stare outside and think about how fast an idea can spread.

Stowed

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It was very trying
He thought, compressed
To be trapped lying
In a crate perhaps five feet abreast

It was awfully cold,
He thought, making do
the padding was old
and smelled strongly of mildew

It must be quite a gale,
He thought, feeling queasy
It was better than gaol,
though the swaying made him uneasy

It was annoying, however,
To have nothing to do
He had a letter from his lover
But she was not there to screw

She had convinced him
To get rid of his wife
While the task had been grim
His desire was worth more than her life

He had taken her sailing
An outing she would often demand
And to reward her failings
He made sure she did not return to land

It should have been straightforward
To restart life as a widower
But he was soon cornered
And he made a deal with a ship owner

It had cost him dearly
To ship him away
More than he made yearly
But worth it to finally escape

The storm was growing worse
He thought, his calm beginning to fail him
As he pressed upwards, he began to curse
The idiots had put real nails in

It was more than damp now,
He realised as he heard splashing
Then the grinding of the ship’s bow
And he knew they were crashing

He clawed and he hammered
But he was already entombed 
And no matter how loud he clamoured 
There was simply nothing to do

He now heard words he had tried to ignore
Which his wife had spoken, before the screams
"This is all I have ever wished for, 
For you and I to take a trip to the sea!"

Three Sentence Stories (Part 7)

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It was Hector’s birthday and I have absolutely everything ready for his surprise party. All of his friends and family are positioned and silent as I wait for the door to open.

I see the outside light flicker on and wonder what his face will look like when he sees their smiling, unmoving faces.

“It is time to run for two minutes, Sarah!” the voice in her earphones announced cheerfully, to which Sarah complied, pumping her aching legs and gasping for stinging air.

She had downloaded the app the night before and programmed a daily 6am run for the next month. When she received a phone call this morning, she could hear her daughter crying in the background.

Her date had not drunk any of the wine he had brought over, she realised as she felt inexplicably drowsy. She saw a look of concern on his face as she lay down on the couch, but it was not for her. She smiled as she saw the first drops of blood falling from his mouth and eyes – it was, after all, much easier to hide poison in food than drinks.

 

Tired

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There is a heaviness behind my eyes.

I hear a voice inside me telling me to lie down, to give up and never go outside again. It invites back to my soft bed and warm pyjamas. It encourages another drink so that I will be too tired to be hungry. It is a voice I could happily listen to in a daze, trudging through my days in a fog of distractions and numbness. It tells me that I do not need to watch the news or answer the phone. It will stop ringing eventually.

I have been alone with my thoughts for too long. I am not haunted and I am not possessed. I am tired and I am scared.

I tell myself I will go for a walk tomorrow.

Two Sentence Stories (Part 9)

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I can’t get into the locked and boarded house, no matter how hard I claw and beg. Once the moonlight reaches me I know I will get inside easily and they will wish they had let me hide.

My mother always bragged about having raised her child well using corporal punishment. As I watch her growing frailer and weaker over the years I look forward to being in charge of her care.

The dinner party was going wonderfully until my guests found a photo album under the coffee table. As they start wondering why their host looked nothing like the family inside I wished I had searched the house better and had put the poison in the canapes.