Lyrical Darkness: 11 dark fiction stories inspired by the music that rocks your soul by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

Angie Baby

by

Terri Reid

Chapter One

The windows of the small house glowed bravely in the darkness of the autumn night. Large, bare branches of ancient oak trees that waded in the season’s gathering of leaves, waved provocatively in the wind, coaxing any who saw them to come closer with their gnarled and bent fingered twigs. However, the woodland creatures that inhabited the woods just beyond the white picket fence were not tempted; instead they huddled in dens, burrows and hollows, hiding from the terror they sensed on the wind. A wind that whispered and warned all who knew to listen.

The front door of the little house was locked and bolted for the night. Beth Wisnewski knew her husband’s truck route would keep him out of town until mid-morning the following day and they had no friends or family, so she wasn’t expecting visitors.

Watching the evening news in her faded, flannel nightgown and worn-out slippers, Beth sipped the cup of tea her midwife had promised would help protect the tiny embryo she had growing in her womb. This time her husband, Paul, had decided they were going to use a midwife because the doctors in town hadn’t been able to do anything to stop her last four miscarriages. And, perhaps even worse, they hadn’t been able to tell them why they were happening. She knew, deep inside, that Paul blamed her. All the solicitous comments and thoughtful gestures didn’t disguise the suspicion in his eyes when he looked at her.

Draining the last dregs of the disgusting brew, she rose from the sofa to rinse the empty cup out in the sink. Immediately a sharp pain in her abdomen had her crying out and doubling over in agony. “No!” she screamed, all too familiar with the initial symptoms of losing a child.

He won’t believe me, she thought frantically. He’ll think I killed the baby on purpose. None of them believe me; they all think I’m a murderer.

The pain subsided and she was able to release her hold from the arm of the sofa. She straightened and took a deep breath. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was an early contraction, that’s all. Perhaps it was just indigestion.

Walking tentatively, she crossed the room and entered the bathroom. Telltale splotches of blood stained her undergarments and she knew it was going to happen again. Ripping the offending garment from her body, she threw it across the room into a small, white, plastic, trash container and watched in horror as it slipped down the side, leaving a dark, red streak in its wake. A primeval sob rose from her gut and exploded from her mouth in a guttural groan. “Not again,” she wailed, burying her head in her hands as she felt the now subtle contractions move through her body. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her abdomen, trying to frustrate the machinations of her own body that were destroying the tiny life inside.

“I need to save my baby,” she sobbed, pushing herself up from the toilet.

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