My son was born premature, weighing a measly 1.4 kilograms. He was supposed to be dead, or so the degrading doctors told me. They told me if I didn’t remove the sickly baby from my womb immediately, there was a high risk that both of us wouldn’t survive childbirth. I declined- I would rather be dead than have to continue life with a much awaited, but dead, child. You can imagine my relief when Henry entered the world, his chest slowly rising and falling.
My husband Nikolai and I had polar opposite reactions. Whilst my beam was plastered on my face, he looked neutral and somewhat crabby. I asked him what was on his mind, but he refused to reply. I assumed he had just taken a swig of alcohol. Despite a plethora of rehab sessions and everyone’s strict restrictions and anxiousness, he continued to drink just as much as he did when he was a fresh alcoholic. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it got him drunk, because not only could he cancel off his own life, but he stopped being so utterly vexatious. His bad habits caused many to dislike him, but I stood by his side, hoping one day we would prove everyone wrong. I’ve been waiting 4 years.
After several weeks, Henry was finally released from the NICU. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He was a perfect mix between Nikolai and I, obtaining the best features of both. My green eyes, rosy cheeks and plump lips paired with my husband’s thick tustled brown hair, button nose and irresistible bone structure. I excitedly ran to the parking lot, infant firmly pressed to my chest. I couldn’t wait to reach home and show Nikolai the newest member of the family.
I furiously jangled the keys in the front door and threw it open, quickly grabbing all the attention. “Nik!!” I called. Gratefully, he was sitting in his armchair, writing in his old, leatherbound book. The thing with Nikolai was that there were only two things he loved. Horror stories and booze. It’s a rough suggestion, but I’m sure I would never be his proper lover. I had only met him in the club, and he was close to passing out when we hooked up. That night, I could smell beer, but particularly, love at first sight. We exchanged our phone numbers and 7 dates later, he proposed to me. I glanced at the substantial diamond sitting on my ring finger. Neither of us were wealthy enough to spend money on such a valuable posession, and I still wince thinking about how he obtained it.
Nevermind that, I thought. I cautiously ambled towards Nik, and he stood up with a poker face. I smiled, perhaps he could accept one more thing in his life. He stared the child down, looking straight through the innocent face. At last, he raised his hand and smacked it hard, sending it flying from my hands down to the hardwood floors. Henry wailed and wailed, his face contorting into a distressed expression.
I gaped in astonishment and began screaming at Nik. I couldn’t believe what he had just done. Nik stood beside the baby, tilted his head and went into the kitchen. Cupboards were opened and he came back clutching a bottle of whiskey. He popped the cap with his teeth and looked me dead in the eye. “Katalina, you either abandon the child or I abandon you”. At that moment, I picked up the injured infant and fled.
On Henry’s second birthday, I began noticing multiple changes. He appeared to have spider veins on his legs, arms and abdomen and his skin had a faint tinge of green. His teeth resembled the fangs of a vampire but his voice remained soft and innocent. “Mama, I’m hungryyyyyyy” he would say, grabbing my leg and humming an eerie tune. Chuckling, I’d fix him a small plate of peas, carrots and chicken and he’d scoff it down, grunting and licking his lips. I never took notice of the fact that white, bubbly foam would run down his mouth down to his shirt everytime he ate. I wish I had.
On his birthday, I decided to surprise him with a rich chocolate scone. He had never had one, and I prayed he would enjoy it just as much as he enjoys his now gone father’s horror novels as bedtime stories. I served it to him and he hesitantly prodded the pastry with his chubby fingers, then dipped his fingertio in the chocolate glaze. He sucked on it for a while, then wrinkled his nose and tilted his head. He made funny noises, and then ate the rest of the scone within a few minutes. “Yummy?” I cooed. He grinded his teeth- a smile. Laughing, I picked him up and set him down on the sofa so I could watch him as I did the washing up. He slept to a recording of “The Nightmarish Stalker” .
Almost 2 years later, I was extremely anxious. Henry now had slits for pupils, faded purple eyes and a few of his fingers had gone up in flames and all that was left were ashes. He had scared me. Just the week before I crept up on him and saw him lying in bed, reciting:
“Lizzie Borden Took an axe, And gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, She have her father forty-one..”
I gasped in astonishment. I had never spoken of Lizzie, and he had no books mentioning her. How would he know? That was when I decided to print out and sign some important documents. The child didn’t need to stay. I would disown him as soon as I could.
Once his 4th birthday rolled up, I was close to fainting. Henry had grown bright red horns that stuck up through his hair. He had a large black marking on his face, which looked like a intricately carved serpent. I paused waking him up- clearly, he want human. Nik was right. I should’ve abandoned him. By the looks of it, this “innocent” child could kill me and would probably never get caught.
Gulping, I ran back to the kitchen and instead of giving him his usual cup of cold milk, I added something extra. It would be defined as an extra strong sleeping pill for insomniacs like me. I slowly woke Henry up, and passed him his cup, telling him to drink it all up. He grasped the cup, sniffed it, and suddenly his eyes went from gorgeous green to a deep, hellfire red. Hands by his side, he hovered above his bed and made his way towards me. His face was stretched due to the unnerving grin he put on. “Don’t. Follow. Daddy’s. Footsteps,” he growled, and reached out to claw me. His talon formed a long slit down my back, and blood oozed from it, staining my shirt and dripping like a broken faucet. Henry then began giggling and smiling. At that moment, I decided to flee.
I opened up my window, his body holding mine, his nails piercing my shoulders. My teeth chattered and my knees knocked as I finally saw the outside world through the window. The sliding glass formed an opening just large enough for someone my size. I knew I had to take action. My heart smashed against my chest and adrenaline made its way through my body. I thrust Henry off me. I jumped up to the window ledge and Henry let out a screech worse than you’ve ever heard. High pitched and quavering. I had to go faster. One leg was out, one was in- clearly, I was in a vulnerable position and Henry knew that too.
He was beside me within a fraction of a second. Holding my hair, he dragged me back into the room, grabbed my arm, and positioned himself diagonally from me. “Henry please! Henry I’ll stay!” I cried. He shook his head in disbelief. Then, in a moment of agony, my right arm was ripped right out of it’s socket. Blood spurted everywhere like it was a firework. The removed arm lay on the floor, wriggling and twiddling it’s fingers until it turned purple and became motionless. It wasn’t going to end here, though. My child then squeezed my abdomen with his claws and created 5 leaking holes on each side. All the pain and fright was going to be killing me now, not Henry. I collapsed on the floor, dizzy and a bloody mess. As I was about to black out, all I could hear was “That should teach her,”.
I awoke in Henry’s room on a floor with crusted blood being the carpet. It looked to be nighttime, because not only was it pitch black outside, but Henry was fast asleep. My abuser was asleep. Unconscious. I took this opportunity while I could. I didn’t bother to change out of my pyjamas or to clean myself up. I didn’t know if the noise would wake Henry up and spoil my plan. Don’t get me wrong, though. I was still wincing with every movement, but didn’t need the pain to get the better of me. At last, I put my home and car keys in my pocket and grabbed Henry with my only remaining arm. We went to the garage and I carefully placed him in the backseat of my beaten up Toyota, and then once the engine was started, I set off for the longest, but quietest path to the orphanage.
46km later, I saw the tall red brick building in front of me. Metal signage read ‘Clifford Orphanage’ and I stepped outside, regretting that I didn’t bring a jacket. I shivered all the way to the front door and I pushed that open. There I saw a beautiful young lady, with soft layered hair and fair skin, looking up at me crazy self.
“Oh? Oh, excuse me ma’am. How many I help you at this hour?” she said.
“I want to disown my 4 year old child. I just cannot live with him,” I replied, refusing to look her in the eye as she let out an audible gasp.
“Well, alright. Can you gill in these papers beforehand and then we can have a look at the youngster?” she questioned, and I nodded. 15 minutes went by and u handed her the completed paperwork. Mumbling my answers aloud, she finally nodded and I gestured outside to my car. I opened up the backseat and showed her the sleeping demon. The receptionists eyes glanced from me to him and suddenly she ran back in. I chased after her until she told me she couldn’t take his kind in. She slammed the door in my face and shut the blinds.
I was distraught. I didn’t want him, neither did Nikolai, neither did the orphanage. He wasn’t suitable for any body. He was harmful and scary. He didn’t need to live any longer and cause trouble. I already didn’t have an arm. I’d like to keep my head, thank you very much. In a desperate final attempt, I grabbed him loosely from the car and ran over to deep ditch I found. I threw him down as hard as I could, but as he fell, he awoke, but was only capable of a blood curdling scream and scratching my leg from the thigh down to the ankle. I ran as fast as I could back to the car. I knew it was the right action. At least, thats what I kept telling myself. I raced off in my vehicle, finally abandoning Henry. All I could do was pray he wouldn’t come back…
The night of the abandonment of Henry, I felt a sick feeling in my stomach. Not only were my sleeping pills not aiding my insomnia, but I could keep hearing a familiar voice. However much I racked my brain, I still couldn’t put my finger on it. The voice was so rich and beautiful, with every inaudible word flowing like the melody of a classical composition. It haunted me. Clearly, I wasn’t alone.
After the first sleepless night after retrieving medicine in 2 and a half years, I could barely move, think or talk. As much as I tried to get out of bed and exit the room, I failed. It felt like I was permanently glued to the mattress. I tried to call out for help, hoping a neighbour would hear, but I just continuously opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish. As a last resort, I was ready to grasp my phone from the left of the bed and dial the emergency services. My arm reached out and I finally held the cold metal device in my fingertips. Then, my mind went blank. Why would I need a piece of black metal? It’s junk, I thought. I threw it as far as I could and it landed on the word flooring with a harsh, concerning smash.
I spent a few hours laying in bed, but don’t blame me- I seemed to be mentally and physically exhausted, and was completely unable to do basic movements. Suddenly, I was gifted a burst of energy, and I kept out of bed enthusiastically, clinging on to the opportunity. I sidestepped over my phone, reminding myself to place it in the large green garbage bins outside. I made my way to the kitchen, craving a steaming hot mug of coffee. I reached out for the kettle, but at one touch it disintegrated. Nothing was left of it except for dust.
I gazed in astonishment. Still hungry, I looked in the fridge and grabbed a fresh egg. I grabbed a pan from the cupboard and put it on the stove. I poured oil over it and turned on the heat, ready to make scrambled eggs. Just as I was about to crack the egg, the pan released an ominous lime green gas and began hovering horizontally. It flew up to my height, turned to face back and tipped vertically, spilling boiling hot oil down my shirt, burning my back. I writhed in excruciating pain, tears flowing down my cheeks. The pan didn’t stop until all the oil had hurt me. I screamed and screamed until the third degree burns burnt my nerves. The own then set itself back down how it was before this incident. The worst thing was, it was only the first phase.
I awoke in a mysterious place. It smelt like laundry detergent and honey, and I was dresses in a checkered dress, which was really more of a sack. Beside me was a talk glass of water on a chestnut table and I was connected to a piece of machinery accompanied with a screen drawing red lines that went up, down and straight. My memory clicked in. I had been here approximately 4 years ago. I had given birth to the most stunning baby alive. There was still a question remaining, though. Why was I back?
My throat was parched and I reached over to the glass of water, wrapping my fingers around the patterned glass. As I turned to face the drink, I noticed something truly strange. My arm wasn’t peachy coloured and fleshy. It was silver with black elements, and too many knobs and gears. It felt natural despite it’s unusual appearance. I cautiously lifted the water, relying on this weird arm to support the weight of it. Thankfully, it did. I brought it to my dry lips and poured water down my throat, greedily guzzling it all up.
As I set the empty glass back down, I felt an odd buzzing sensation in both eyes. My vision went all blurry and I was beginning to feel a migraine develop. The pain was unbearable, and it was causing me to scream and holler in agony. What looked to be a doctor rushed in, panting heavily and covering my buzzing eyes. In a few moments I felt the pain grow stronger than it ever had, and my eyeballs shot out into the doctors gloved hands. Right then and there, darkness coated all the remains of colour. I was blind.
“Zav, Zav, we’re here. Open your hands,” I heard someone say in a thick Polish accent. I assumed Zav was the scared doctor that was now clutching my eyeballs in his palms. There was a collective gasp and Zav sighed. “They cannot be reattached. They’ll explode like her remaining limbs did,”. That was a shocking sentence to me. I had only thought one of my arms had been given an artificial limb. But now, without sight, I could never clarify if they all were fake.
Zav was proven right when there was a sizzling sound and a streak of light ran through the darkness. Then, there was a high pitched, potentially female shriek and a thump and multiple screams. Multiple footsteps were heard running out of the room and I could sense something above me. “Mummyyyy?”
I stayed as still as stone. How could I be so stupid. I knew who was there. I knew who was the cause of my traumatic injuries. And it was all my fault, as I had been the one inviting him to Earth when he never would belong. I could feel wet feet walking all over my body, and every footstep felt like a thousand needles pricking me. I held in my yelps and I heard Henry giggle. “You like it Mummy! Doesn’t it feel so good? Even better than being put to sleep and left alone, huh?” I shivered- he was too smart for his own good.
He was scaring me. He was angry and there was no escape. I felt him walk down to my chest and I felt him breathing down my neck. “I like revenge,” he murmured. In a spilt second, he gripped my throat and squeezed it with his claws. I choked and I was struggling to breathe. He then sliced my throat open with a talon and extracted a bone. There was a sound of sucking and he maniacally giggled again. “This is yummy! Does it hurt you, Mummy? It doesn’t hurt me, though. That’s why I don’t care. You’ll suffer as you made me,”. I was losing myself as he then sliced my tongue, grabbed it and chewed. Now I couldn’t speak or see if he left me to try and recover, although I highly doubted he would.
“You must be wondering how you’re still experiencing all with a sliced neck, aren’t you? But you don’t need to know that. That’s personal. And it’s my pleasure to slowly murder you,”. The demon then moved to my left side, and cut a long X over my heart. He ripped it out, and smacking of the lips, chewing and gulping was heard. The demon I birthed was devouring my heart like how a child would with a sweet.
I wanted to cry, but that was impossible now. No eyes. While Henry was enjoying himself, I was regretful and dying. “Now, Mummy, I feel bored. Let’s speed this up,”. There was a loud click, and I was lifted from the hospital bed. My artificial limbs shot out, rebounding off the walls and hitting my torso as if it was a punching bag. Henry then ripped out my stomach and threw it on my face. At last, he held my neck and twisted it 360 degrees. There was a chorus of extremely disturbing breaking and cracking of bones, and then I was released from the air. I collapsed onto the bed and the demon laughed. “You’ll think you’ll die, huh? No. You won’t. Not until the world ends,”. After that, he was gone.
I can’t do anything but suffer now. A doctor is being my scribe, writing down all these horrible and frightening events. If only I had allowed the doctors to remove him from my womb while still pregnant. If only. But you can’t change the past. And although I’m a miracle and a hot topic for all journalists and television presenters, I wish I wasn’t. I can’t enjoy the rest of my life, which will be for endless years. Billions, trillions, i’ll never know. But as I said, the only thing I can do is suffer.