JD Hyde enjoys rocking back and forth in the shower rethinking his life decisions. Follow him on Twitter.
At first, Patty thought it was a case of the bugs, she had been out all day and the jitters had started. She had scraped her glass pipe clean a few times that day and wanted to call her connection. He had warned her though, that the next time that he got a call at an ungodly hour she was cut off. She couldn’t risk it.
She laid in the dark, hoping to sleep until the hours stopped being ungodly. She kept hearing a scraping sound from the walls and the closet. Patty grabbed the decorated tin box she kept her pipe in. She held it to her chest the way a child holds its favorite stuffed toy. As if they knew it would keep the monsters away until light.
Leaning against the wall, Patty stared at the grey shapes the dark made in the room. The scraping started again reminding her of something deep in her unconscious, something she had heard many times over the years. She thought it might have been rats, but Patty knew what noises rats made. It wasn’t rats.
Patty shook the tiny whisper from her head, she knew she was alone. She was damned sure knew she wasn’t a mommy. The cry came a little louder this time. She couldn’t tell if it came from the closet or from the shadow in the corner. Patty brought her knees to her chest and tried to watch both places at the same time. Without looking she opened the tin box and held the glass pipe in both hands, mumbling to herself. Like a nun praying with her rosary.
She shivered at the voice, so hollow and wet and tiny. “Shut up, you’re not there.”
There was a chuckle. “We are here, mommy. We miss you.”
“Who are you?”
There was more scraping and laughter. From the dark corner, a shape crawled out. It moved slow, dragging itself. When it got to the edge of the mattress, she could see it more clearly. A round, bald shape with one small arm. Its tiny hand held the other. Eyes shining like a cat.
“We are your forgotten. The ones that you scraped away, tossed away. And we want more. We need brothers. We need sisters. We need you.”
From the shadows of the room more small sets of eye began shining. One set for each of her visits to the hospital, for each of her missed periods, for each of the forgotten….