After returning home from the office, I came across my wife Jill asleep on the couch. Our three-year-old daughter Payton was locked in on a show on the TV. She didn’t even notice me sit down next to Jill.
“Hey babe,” I said, giving Jill a peck on the cheeks.
“Hey. Sorry, just a super exhausting day today. Payton finally settled down and found something to watch.”
My attention shifted to the screen. An absurd animated kids show was on with a baby that had a creepy, low adult voice.
“What are you watching, kiddo?”
Payton said nothing.
“Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy.” The baby on the show said this over and over with a ghoulish tone.
My eyes were glued to the screen as the baby proceeded to crawl on top of its mom and claw at her stomach, discarding flesh left and right. The baby took out organs and shook them like maracas. Blood filled the screen.
I grabbed the remote and shut off the TV.
“What the hell was that? You’ve been letting her watch this nonsense?”
Jill returned a frown. “Excuse me! I’m not the one always watching my horror movies with Payton by my side wide-awake and invested.”
“You’ve got a point. Sorry, I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I planted another kiss on Jill and ruffled Payton’s hair. Payton remained silent and unfazed by my gesture. During my shower, I heard a horrible shriek from Jill. I slipped and landed awkwardly, narrowly avoiding a severe injury.
I gingerly stood up. “You okay, Jill?” I yelled.
“Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy.”
I felt relief for a second as the overly loud playful sounds of Payton’s voice met my ears. I threw on some clothes and headed for the living room.
I wish I could erase the following thirty seconds of brutality I witnessed by Payton. No father should ever have to experience such misery. No mother should ever have to suffer such a heinous death, a death committed by their own daughter.
The images are burned into my brain. Payton scooping out flesh from Jill’s stomach. Smiling and laughing and having the time of her life. Pulling at Jill’s intestines.
As I pulled Payton away, she opened her mouth and spit at me what I can only imagine was a piece of Jill’s liver or gallbladder. It doesn’t matter. It was too late. Jill’s blood loss painted the couch. Payton slipped from my arms and ran to the opposite end of the room, creating some distance.
“Yummy…in…the…tummy,” she said slowly.
She smirked with her bloody mouth and looked at my stomach.
“Payton, what have you—” tears poured down my face. “How could you do—”
I was in utter shock, but I didn’t have time to process things for long because Payton lunged at me and started swiping at my shirt. While I fended off Payton, our neighbor Amanda must have heard all the commotion because she entered through the living room door.
I was able to restrain Payton long enough while Amanda called for help. During the briefest of moments as I gathered myself and we waited for the police, I dropped my guard. Payton took a piece of flesh that clung to her shirt and put it in her mouth.
She choked to death as I frantically tried to save her.
My entire family life gone in a matter of minutes. How does one recover from such an event? For the weeks afterwards, I tried to find that show, but had no luck.
But every night, I wake up in a sweat, and I hear it over and over and over again.
“Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy. Yummy in the tummy.”