Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange stretch of road.


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Building 8 "The Thing in the Crib"

“There is something terribly wrong with the way it moves. There is something wrong with the way it smells. It smells like formula and breast milk and something spoiled. But it shouldn't smell like that. Only my kid should smell like that. This thing isn't my kid, no matter how many times it calls out to me. No matter how many times...I look again in the crib and that thing is looking back at me. I try not to vomit, and I search the house again for my son, as the eyes in the dark glow red.

My wife is screaming again. I tell her that she doesn't need to worry. That everything will be okay. She had breastfed it, not realizing in the dark the thing she held in her arms. You would imagine that a mother would know the difference. She didn't. But the stuff it spit up when she went to burp it gave it away. It is what caused her to scream originally. Water has helped a great deal, but she needs medical attention to treat the burns on her shoulder and back.

First I need to find my child. I need to find my son.

I search again, checking the same places over and over, fear building up in me until I feel like I will explode. I am yelling his name, though he is too young to talk. I hear a knock at the door and I rush to it. I tear the door open and a stranger in a black suit and a broad smile says that there was a mix up at the hospital. In his arms is something wrapped in a blanket.

I go to grab my child, but the one with the eyes says that it must be an even exchange. I nod, feeling my neck heat. I go upstairs and grab the horror in the crib. It grips me tight as I lift it and bring it down the stairs. The man and I exchange. I bring the thing wrapped in linens to my wife and go to call the hospital. My wife if still screaming. My son is screaming too. I hear the phone ring, and when I answer it, there is static on the other end of the line.”

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