“Oh my fucking god!” I screamed suddenly, looking at the clock. James and I had agreed that working on home office would be the best way for me to keep track of our children’s activities.
Now there I was, failing at it.
I hurriedly threw a jacket over my pitiful working pajamas and grabbed the car keys. I’ll admit to have driven slightly recklessly, the thought of my poor boy sitting all alone in the playground too hard to bear.
Literally one second after I parked the car, the backdoor was opened, and a little blonde boy materialized on his usual seat.
“Hey, mommy!” he greeted me, cheerfully. His golden hair was covered in sweat, despite the cool weather.
“Hello, Tommy!” I smiled back. At least his clothes weren’t muddied. “Too much running around today?”
“Just a little!” he replied, and started drawing furiously on a coloring book. When I say furiously, I mean it literally; Tommy was making holes with the crayon across the pages.
Is five supposed to be a strange age? His older sister was the most quiet, easy-going girl during kindergarten. I can’t believe it’s been over five years ago.
Maybe it’s because he’s a boy. Boys are always difficult.
“Mum, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner today?”
Shit. James used his day off today to spend the day with our 6-months-old at his mother’s house so I could get some work done. Making dinner was the last thing on my mind.
I texted my husband on a red light. Tommy was still using his crayon to destroy the coloring book, but at least he was quiet.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll bring food from Mom” was his reply. Great. Now my delightful mother-in-law knew I’m not able to work, take care of my children and feed my family at the same time.
A horrible thought crossed my mind. Why did we even have 3? I always said I wanted only two kids.
“Mum, I’m so hungry”, Tommy said again. We still had a while before dinner, so I stopped by a famous fast-food drive-thru and got him a burger, absent-mindedly.
When we finally got home, I unpacked the car and noticed Timmy had only eaten the meat, leaving bread, pickles and cheese behind. Ugh. The picky eater phase.
I left Tommy playing downstairs and headed back to my office. If I hurried, I could get all my work done before James and our baby girl were back. My oldest was at our neighbor’s, getting some school project done. God bless the Davidsons and their well-behaved daughter who’s good friends with mine.
Just one more hour. You can do it, I psyched myself. After putting on some classical music on the headphones, I immersed myself on work.
My hungry stomach hurting was the only thing that made me realize that a lot of time had passed. For the second time that day, I cursed out loud because I lost track of time.
It was 10 PM.
Why the fuck James didn’t come fetch me for dinner when he got home?
I went downstairs angrily, but stopped dead on my tracks as soon as I realized the smell.
But despite the metallic and bitter scent, nothing could prepare me for the carnage on my very living room.
James and my two daughters were completely mangled, their blood and guts all scattered. Their eyes and part of their viscera were missing. I’ll never know if they screamed before being ripping apart, but I’m assuming they didn’t, or the neighbors would have called the police.
Unless the neighbors were eaten too. Tommy said he was hungry.
And then I realized I don’t know any Tommy. I don’t even have a son.