by Amy Cross
“He's a monster,” Jennifer stammered.
“He's just a child,” Vivian continued. “As I see it, there's only one monster in this house, and that's the mother who cannot love her own son.” She paused. “Not that it matters. You might be his biological mother, and you might be the one who produces milk for him, but in the long-run I shall be his mother. And he will want for nothing! I'm not insane, my dear. I only played that part on your first night here, to trick you into staying in the house alone for a few hours.”
With that, she closed the door, and then she could be heard cooing at the child as she carried him away.
“You can't do this!” Jennifer shouted, her body shaking with fear as she looked down at her torn and mangled left breast. The pain was immense, but not nearly as bad as the agony that had filled her belly earlier. Looking up, she tried to pull her hands free from the leather restraints, but the flesh around her wrists was already worn and bloodied. Realizing that she could never break free, she turned instead and looked over at the window. “Help!” she screamed, desperately hoping that someone out in the busy street might finally hear her. “Somebody help me!”
VIII
The child's screams filled the house all day and into the night. Exhausted and in pain, Jennifer lay on the bed, still staring at the window and watching as the lights of the city continued to flash past. Somehow, despite being just the other side of that sheet of glass, the whole of London seemed so far away.
Eventually, several hours after nightfall, the child's cries came to an abrupt halt. Jennifer waited for the sound to resume, but finally she turned and looked toward the door, listening to the silence of the darkened house. For hours now, she'd been expecting Vivian to return with the baby so that it could feed again. Apart from the constant cries, however, she'd heard little except an occasional bump and the sound of hurried footsteps downstairs. She'd spent most of her time trying to get free from the bed, although her sore wrists were too painful now and she'd started trying to think of other options. She knew she had to find a way to escape, but echoes of pain still filled her mind and she struggled to concentrate for more than a few seconds before her thoughts began to drift.
Outside, the din of the city continued. A car horn sounded, and a voice could be heard calling out. Occasionally the lights of a passing car or bus briefly filled the darkened room. City life seemed to be continuing as normal, as if no-one out there had any idea of the horror that was taking place in the house.
“I can hear them,” Jennifer whispered, staring at the window. “Why can't they hear me?”
In the distance, the bells of a church rang out. Slowly, Jennifer began to close her eyes, slipping away...
Suddenly a scream rang out from elsewhere in the building, but this time it belonged not to the child but to a grown woman. Jennifer tried to sit up, but the restraints held her down and she froze as she listened to the scream twisting through the house.
Vivian.
It was Vivian's scream.
She waited, and slowly the scream became more choked, stopping and starting several times until finally fading to become a desperate, rasping wail. After a moment, even this faded, and the house became quiet again.
Her heart pounding, Jennifer waited for the sound to return. From the sounds of passing cars outside, it was clear to her that no-one beyond the house's walls had heard anything amiss. She felt certain that something terrible had happened downstairs, but as she stared across the darkened room and watched the door, she realized there was no sound of life at all. She waited, and slowly she began to wonder if somehow the Diebolds were gone and she was alone in the house, chained to the bed and left to starve.
Too weak to struggle, she drifted in and out of consciousness as the sounds of the city lulled her to sleep.
Finally, after several hours of darkness, she stirred as she heard footsteps on the stairs and then in the corridor outside the room, slowly coming closer. She turned and looked toward the door, tensing at the thought of Vivian returning with the baby. While her left breast was mangled and glistening, the other remained intact, waiting for the child to feed again. When the door slowly opened, however, she was surprised to see Mr. Diebold limping through alone, with a distraught, shocked expression on his face.
“What do you want?” she whispered, barely able to get the words out as she watched him approach the bed.
Stopping next to her, he stared down at her chest for a moment. The room was so dark, she could only see the edge of his face picked out by light from the window, but there was pain in his eyes.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
His lips trembled, but he seemed lost for words, almost traumatized. When he tilted his head slightly, the light picked out trails of tears running down his face.
“I can't...” Taking a slow, deep breath, Jennifer began to realize that the old man was close enough for her to reach him with her legs, if she could just time her move properly. Despite the exhaustion in her body, she knew she had to summon the last of her energy and take the chance, so she waited a moment longer before suddenly striking out with her right leg, slamming her knee into his waist in an attempt to pull him onto the bed so she could get at him properly. She succeeded only, however, in knocking him against the bedside table, and he quickly pulled away. Lashing out at him again, she found he was already out of reach, although that didn't stop her trying several more times.
“You'll tear your stitches,” he stammered, his voice sounding drained and fearful. “Please, stop.”
Letting out a cry of impotent frustration, she tried one final time to kick him before letting her leg drop down so that it dangled off the side of the bed. Deep down, she felt certain she'd blown her one final chance.
The old man muttered something under his breath before turning and shuffling back over to the door.
“Why don't you just kill me if that's your plan?” Jennifer asked. “Why are you keeping me alive up here?”
She waited for a reply, but he said nothing as he headed out into the corridor. This time, he left the door open as he disappeared from view. A moment later, she heard him making his way back downstairs.
“Get back here!” she screamed, rattling the bed's metal frame until it bumped against the wall. “You can't just leave me here like this! You can't -” Breaking into loud sobs, she gasped for air as tears rolled down her cheeks, and her whole body shuddered as she began to cry uncontrollably. All the fear and anguish she'd been holding back, all the sorrow and horror, came rushing into her head now as she realized the true hopeless of her situation, and she let out an animal-like cry of horror as she tried one more time to pull her hands out of the restraints. The pain in her wrists was worse than ever, but she no longer cared. She didn't even care if she had to break her wrists in order to get free, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to work. Finally she slumped down again.
Outside, a double-decker bus passed the house, the very top of its roof just about visible as bright, vibrant lights briefly flashed through the darkened room.
Still hanging from the restraints as she sobbed, Jennifer barely even noticed the sound of footsteps coming back upstairs. When the footsteps entered the room, however, she turned and saw Mr. Diebold cautiously approaching the bed from the other side, holding a set of metal chains in his trembling hands.
“You be good!” he shouted, although there was a hint of fear in his voice. “Don't try anything, okay? I will cut you down if you struggle!”
They stared at each other for a moment, each with fear in their eyes, before finally he leaned across the bed and began to loosen her restraints. Before she could slip free, however, he attached metal cuffs and pulled them tight, and then he stepped back. The cuffs were attached to chains, and the chains rested in his old, trembling right hand. In his left hand, he was holding a knife.
“You're going to come with me,” he explained, his voice still shaking with fear, “and you're not going to try to run, is that
clear? If you do try to get away, I shall have no hesitation in...” He paused, before looking down at the knife. “I know how to cut,” he continued finally. “I'll sever your spine and I'll cut out your tongue, and use what's left of you to...” His voice trailed off.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered, too exhausted to fight back.
“I...” He stared at her for a moment, with more tears in his eyes. “You're going to come with me,” he said again, tugging on the chains and causing the cuffs around her wrists to tighten. “On your feet. You're coming downstairs.”
“Why?”
“No questions. Just get up.”
“Can't you at least -”
“Get up!” he shouted, pulling on the chains with enough force to drag her off the bed, sending her bumping down onto the floor. For an old man, he clearly retained a surprising degree of strength. “Stop asking questions and get to your feet!” he yelled. “Now!”
Shocked and shivering with pain, Jennifer slowly started to get up. Her knees were so weak, she could barely stand, but finally she was able to take a couple of slow, staggered steps forward.
“That's right,” he continued, leading her to the door while holding the knife out toward her. “One wrong move and I'll have no choice but to cut you, do you understand? I know how to cut!”
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as she bumped against the door-frame and then stumbled out into the corridor. She tried to steady herself, but Mr. Diebold quickly pulled on the chains again, forcing her to stagger along after him as he led her slowly toward the top of the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the door to the darkened nursery was open, and once again there was a dark, silhouetted figure standing in the doorway. When she tried to look at its face, she found that her gaze was still deflected. “What is that thing?” she stammered.
Without answering her, Mr. Diebold began to lead her down the stairs. Having spent so long in the darkened room, it took a moment before her eyes adjusted to the bright light of the chandelier that hung high above the hallway. She briefly caught sight of herself in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, and she was shocked to see how much blood was dried all over the legs of her pajamas, while her shirt was still hanging open to reveal her ravaged left breast. Lost in stunned horror for a moment, she was suddenly yanked down the last couple of steps and then across the hallway, heading to the library.
“Help!” she called out as she passed the front door. She knew there was little chance of anyone outside the house hearing her, but she had to at least try. “Somebody -”
Before she could finish, Mr. Diebold pulled hard on the chains, as if her cry for help had angered him. After almost stumbling again, Jennifer managed to follow him to the library and then over to the door in the corner, which was unlocked and open, revealing darkness within and a set of stone steps leading down beneath the house.
“What's down there?” she asked, pulling back.
Instead of answering, he simply kept walking, forcing her to follow. When she reached the door, however, she pulled back and tried to run, only for the old man to grab her shoulder with a firm, strong grip.
“Don't fight this!” he hissed. “You're -”
Letting out a cry of pain, Jennifer slammed her elbow into his chest, pushing him into the wall. She hadn't planned to make a move, but pure panic was filling her chest as she tried to tear the chains from his hands. As Mr. Diebold tried to push back, she rained her fists down against his face and began to scramble free, staggering back across the library. Just as she began to think she might get away, however, she felt the chains tighten again, and she was suddenly yanked back until she landed hard on her back. Stepping over her, Mr. Diebold held the knife down against her face.
“That,” he said breathlessly, “was a very foolish old move to try on an ex-marine, young lady. I might be getting on in years, but I can damn well deal with a weak little streak of piss like you! Now move!”
With that, he dragged her kicking and screaming across the library and then began to lead her down the stone steps. Trying to get to her feet, she bumped down the first couple of steps on her knees before managing to get up, and then she grabbed the railing to steady herself. The steps felt cold against her bare feet, and the air was noticeably colder as she made her way down after him, heading deep beneath the house. She could see an electric light on the wall at the bottom of the steps, and finally Mr. Diebold led her down into a large, narrow-ceilinged stone basement with just a few lights on the walls at regular intervals. She opened her mouth to ask what was happening, but suddenly she saw a dead body sprawled on the floor up ahead.
Shocked, Jennifer stared at the body as she got closer, and finally she saw to her horror that it was Vivian. Most of her face had been gouged away, leaving just a bloody, pulpy mess with one remaining eyeball staring out from the meat. The old woman's hands were gripping the floor, almost as if she'd been trying to dig her fingertips into the stonework, and the sinews of her neck were impossibly tensed, making it clear that she'd died screaming.
“Is she...” Stepping around the corpse, Jennifer turned to Mr. Diebold as he led her across the basement. “What happened down here? Is she dead?”
“What do you think?” he replied scornfully.
“But how did -”
“Don't ask foolish questions!” he barked. “She only wanted to be a mother, but she knew the risks. We both did, right from the start.”
“But -”
“She gave birth to twelve of her own before you came along,” he continued. “As each one died, her mind became a little more damaged, until finally Ivan pushed her over the edge.”
Glancing over her shoulder as she kept walking, Jennifer couldn't help staring back at Vivian's body. Whatever had happened to the old woman, there had clearly been some kind of furious attack that had focused entirely on her face. Turning back to watch where she was going, Jennifer saw several more patches of blood on the stone floor, and finally she spotted a crib at the far end of the basement, with a wriggling form inside.
“Who killed Vivian?” Jennifer asked, as Mr. Diebold led her closer and closer. She was shivering now, since her ragged pajamas offered little protection against the basement's cold air. “Please, you have to tell me! What's happening here? Who are you people? Who killed her?”
“Who else?” he replied, finally stopping ahead of her. He turned, holding the knife up as if to remind her that he could kill her at any moment, but there was fear and grief in his old eyes, as if he couldn't get over the shock of what he'd seen. “My poor darling Vivian was so certain that this time the child would survive. It never occurred to her that it might become sick, or that...” His voice trailed off for a moment as he looked back over at Vivian's bloodied corpse. “She was only trying to love him,” he continued, with fresh tears in his eyes. “He wouldn't stop crying. She thought she could comfort him, but instead he turned on her with such savagery. It... It was over before I had a chance to do anything.”
“A baby couldn't do that much damage,” Jennifer stammered, watching the wriggling figure in the crib. “It's not possible.”
“This isn't a normal baby.”
“No baby could kill a woman!” she said firmly.
“He needs feeding again,” Mr. Diebold replied, his voice trembling with fear. He took a deep breath, as if he was having to force himself to stay. “All things considered, I thought it would be safer to bring you to him, rather than the other way around. I can only hope that his mother's milk might calm him down.”
Still staring at the crib, Jennifer shivered at the thought of going anywhere near the child. She glanced around the basement, half expecting to see masked figures and burning torches, but there was no sign of anyone else and the only decoration in the cold stone room was some dark lettering scratched into the far wall. She squinted, but she couldn't make the words out.
“He needs to be fed!” Mr. Diebold said firmly, stepping around her and pushing her forward. �
�You're his mother! Get it done!”
Stumbling toward the crib, Jennifer stopped as soon as she saw the child. To her horror, she saw that his flesh was covered in large, bloodied blisters that seemed to be filled with yellow fluid. Patches of skin had already begun to flake away, revealing glistening red meat underneath, and the crib's white sheets and woodwork were already stained with smeared blood.
“What happened?” she whispered, unable to stop staring at the horrific sight. “Did you hurt him?”
“The heat comes from within,” Mr. Diebold replied. “Even just a few hours after birth, his soul is developing too fast. His body can't keep up. The same thing happened to the last one, but mercifully the process seems a little slower this time. Vivian was convinced that we should keep you alive so you could feed him, she thought it might help. I can only hope that she's right. My poor darling wife was so desperate to see the child survive and prosper, but I'm sure that wherever she is, she's looking down on us now. For the sake of her memory, we cannot fail.”
“He needs to see a doctor,” Jennifer said, stepping closer to the crib. “Something's really wrong, you have to get him to a hospital.”
“No,” Mr. Diebold said firmly. “You have to feed him.”
“I can't do anything for him,” she whispered, as the child looked up at her with a gurgling smile. There were patches of Vivian's blood around his blistered mouth and his eyes were discolored, almost yellow as if internal heat was causing the whites to slowly cook. “He needs medical attention.”
“He needs his mother's milk!”
“But I -” Still staring at the child's grinning face, Jennifer felt a sense of pure revulsion at the thought of even touching him again.
“You're his mother!” Mr. Diebold said firmly. “Nurture him!”
