Demon Baby

Suspire, breathe out death and desire.  That awful sing-song voice, the endless repetition and rhyming, inscribed into the grey folds of her sleeping brain. 

Madness, breathe in death and gladness.  She reached for the trash can, heaving up bile and blood.  An ulcer, she thought, or something like it.  How many more times could she survive this? 

The antacids were on the stand next to a glass of water.  He had laughed when she pulled them out of her purse.  She grimaced at the taste in her mouth.  But brushing her teeth would do nothing to banish the taste of the nightmare.

She breathed deeply.  For weeks now she had hoped for dreamless nights, to no avail.  First the dream, the child hurling insanity and obscenities, clawing open her stomach.  Then the pain, as if the lurid dreamscape had escaped the confines of Morpheus, gouging her insides, scraping the abdominal wall.  There could be no more sleep tonight. 

Getting out of bed slowly – David, she thought, but it could have been Daniel – as to not wake him, she threw on his robe and padded towards the kitchen.  The microwave blinked at her accusingly, the neon-green light bathing the kitchen with the uncanny colors of her dream.  Opening the refrigerator, she poured herself a glass of milk, more for something to do than out of any real need. 

It was 5:46.  She had slept in later than usual.  A faint glow danced on the horizon, signalling the sunrise. 

Leaning against the marble-topped island, she waited for the pain to subside.  Perspire, suspire, death and desire.  Madness, sadness, death and gladness.  The voice was strident and insistent, louder as if to combat the dawning of the day.  The sun was only minutes away.  Then it would stop, she would get paid and leave.  It never spoke to her during daylight hours. 

Now she was truly frightened.  Whatever it was, it had moved.  The pain intensified.  Left hand on her stomach, she pushed hard, pushing back at the thing attempting to escape.  The metallic tang of blood filled the air.  Tiny claw marks embroidered her abdomen, each oozing slowly in the darkness.  She howled her horror to the merciless appliances.  They stood mute before the appeal.  The glass in her right hand shattered, slivers of glass embedding in her palm.  More blood for the demon child.  It burst forth, devouring its mother with rapacious hunger. 

Footsteps and the steady whooshing of the machines woke her.  Instinctively her hands flew to her stomach.  There was pain, but a different kind of pain.

‘What happened?’ 

Forehead sweating, the doctor explained.  Something she had never heard of before.  Judging by his expression, neither had he.  It sounded like a dinosaur, or some fantastic winged creature.  Lithopedion.  Her demon baby.  She wouldn’t tell him about the nightmares.  They would only make her seem crazy.  Thanking him, she fingered the surgery scar, elated.  She had won.


Note: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithopedion