Short Story
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                          Nursery Sounds
                                               By Hal Kempka


Carrie suddenly sat up in bed.  She nudged her husband Jerry, who was
propped up against the headboard reading the newspaper.

“Listen,” She whispered.  “The baby is crying,”

He lowered the paper.  “No Carrie, it’s not.  You lost the baby two months
ago, remember?”

She glanced toward the stairs.  “But I hear her.”

“Please Carrie; don’t make this any harder than it is.  I don’t know how much
more I can take.”

Her dark-rimmed eyes enlarged into an angry stare.  “I know you’ve never
forgiven me for losing the baby.  But, I tumbled down the stairs and it was an
accident.”

“I know,” he said.

“Regardless,” she said, getting out of bed, “we do have a baby and she is in
the nursery fussing.  I am going to go and feed her.”

Jerry’s cheeks ballooned with a sigh of resignation, and he turned his back to
her.  He burrowed beneath the covers wishing things could have been
different.

Later that night, Carrie climbed into bed.  He pretended to be asleep when
she nuzzled against his neck.  Then, he felt something warm, wet, and sticky
on his back.

After turning the night stand light on, he rolled toward her.  Jerry gasped, as
blood soaked her nightgown from a gaping hole where her left nipple had
been.

Something moved on the bed between them and Jerry gagged on a fetid
odor.  A gray-skinned, cloudy-eyed infant crawled toward him.  Its blood-
blackened lips curled in a saw-toothed smile.  Jerry became entangled in the
bedcovers while trying to scramble toward the edge of the bed.

The diminutive creature lunged at him.  It ripped chunks of flesh from his
throat, and Jerry’s horrific screams dissipated into gurgling bloody bubbles.  
His blood-starved brain waves soon went haywire, and his body fell limp.  
While his legs twitched involuntarily, Carrie yawned and shut off the light.

“It is your turn to feed it,” she said, and rolled over to go to
sleep.