Stupid Baby

“Not really,” she admitted. “She was a pest. And anyway,” she added logically, “we already had six kids. That was plenty.”

The two smiled at each other. Louise felt almost like a co-conspirator, though she didn’t know what they were conspiring about.


That night Louise dreamed of the baby. She dreamed she was sleeping and the baby crept into her room. She woke up, feeling a tug on the sheets and it was the baby, climbing onto her bed. For some reason, she couldn’t move. The baby sat on her chest. It was heavier than a baby should be, and it continued to grow heavier and heavier.

Louise tried to open her mouth, to beg it to get off her, to scream, but she couldn’t. Her chest felt as if it were being crushed. The baby watched her, and Louise could see the glint of triumph in its eyes.

She felt the dampness of its diapers through her pajama top, and knew that even that was somehow deliberate, a way for the baby to mock her.

Her ribs began to crack. Tears streamed down her face, but she could still make no sound. She couldn’t breathe, and her face was red.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)