The Things We Give

It was going to happen again today—the thought crept into my mind like an intruder, sitting with me the whole day.

“I want chicken nuggets.”

The calendar was right there taunting me, with a thick red circle around the 24th. My heart crawled into my throat, the uneasy rhythm matching the click-click of the grandfather clock near me. Each second hammered in my ears, —click—the seconds dragged forward—

“It doesn’t taste right… this isn't how Daddy made it.” 

That clock—a wedding gift from my brother-in-law—had been broken for years, its mechanism skewed, twisting its tick into a hollow click. Ben had insisted on keeping it, saying it gave the house “character.” But tonight, the urge to rip it off the wall was overwhelming. Five-thirty… just a few hours left.

“Mom, I want chicken nuggets!” Her fork clattered as she shoved her plate toward me.

I glanced at Amanda, my six-year-old drama queen, frowning, her little face scrunched in frustration. The food sat untouched on her plate—mashed potatoes shaped into tiny hills and grilled chicken carefully seasoned but left to cool.

“Amanda, eat,” I said, my voice flatter than I’d intended.

She looked up, eyes widening with surprise before they narrowed.

“Eat your food.”

“But I wanted chicken nuggets!” she whined, kicking her legs under the table. “I don’t want this.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, massaging away the dull ache creeping up from my temples. Please, not tonight. I don't have time for this. 

Cuddle bug… I heard Ben’s voice echo, each syllable like the broken click of the clock as if he were right there.

“Amanda, we don’t have any. Just… eat what’s on your plate.”

Amanda would’ve eaten anything I put in front of her a month ago. She once scarfed down a glob of wasabi without a flinch. Now, she was a miniature Gordon Ramsay, critiquing everything like she’d been training for it for all six of her years. 

“But it tastes weird,” she said, matter-of-fact. 

I forced myself to stay calm. “I made it exactly the way your father did.”

“But it’s not the same. Daddy didn’t make it taste weird.”

“Amanda, please.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. “You need to eat before it gets too late.”

Light from outside streamed in, casting a pale, fading glow over everything. I glanced out the window at the dead trees, their bare branches stretching like brittle fingers across the sky. Shadows bled along the yard as the daylight dimmed.

My pulse quickened. “Shit…”

I bolted to the back door. Milo was out there, barking—yelping— his head off, his shape barely visible in the thickening shadows swallowing the bushes. I had to get him inside before it happened.

“I don’t wanna eat this!” Amanda shouted, and a sudden crash filled the kitchen.

I spun around to see her plate shattered on the floor, mashed potatoes, and peas splattered everywhere. Something hot surged in my chest, raw and consuming.

“AMANDA!”

The word tore out of me, sharp and raw. She shrank back in her chair, her shoulders hunching up, eyes widening in that guarded way that made my heart twist. Silence fell, broken only by Milo’s muffled barking. My daughter stared at me, like I was the monster here, like I was the one who’d caused this mess over chicken nuggets.

I let out a shaky breath, releasing what felt like months of tension in one exhale. Amanda’s gaze softened, her lip trembling as she peered up through her curls, tears clinging to her lashes. Why was she looking at me like that? 

“I hate you.” Her words barely cut the silence, each syllable laced with something cold. Her eyes blazed, her tiny fists clenched.

“What?” I could barely believe what I was hearing.

“I hate you!” she screamed, the words spilling out like she’d been holding them in forever. “I wish it was you who the bad thing took away! Not Daddy!”

The words hit me like a slap. I’d done everything I could to keep us together, to protect her, to hold it all together. But she—she hated me? 

“Your room. Now.” It was all I could manage, my voice barely steady as I watched her turn, stomp off, and disappear down the hall, her feet echoing her fury with every step.

***

I couldn’t say anything, just left alone in this quiet kitchen, staring at the aftermath of Amanda's tantrum. A broken plate lay on the floor, food smeared across the tiles. The smell… thick, rancid. The clock kept ticking, louder. The dog wouldn’t stop barking outside, but I knew I had to bring him in before time ran out. I kept glancing at the clock, its hands inching closer to six; it was going to happen. But—

The bad thing? She wished it was me who’d been taken by the bad thing? Kids can be cruel, sure, and they say things without thinking. But this… this was different. I leaned against the counter, gripping the edges so hard the wood dug into my palms. A feeling—tight, choking—rose up in my chest, pressing up into my throat. That damn broken clock kept clicking out its uneven rhythm, each click echoing in my head— Ben’s voice.

“I love you.”

Click.

“I know you can take care of her.”

Click.

“I love you both so much.”

CLICK!

His voice felt so close, so real, like I could feel the reassuring squeeze of his hand on my shoulder. I used to hate how positive he was, but now… I’d give anything to hear him again, to feel him again. The image of Ben, standing in the hallway as that— that thing took him away from me. My eyes felt pricked, burning, and my whole body felt like it was under something heavy, pressing down on my shoulders until my knees wanted to buckle. The smell of the bad thing stuck with me. This feeling was heavy. So damn heavy.

Why did this have to happen to us? Why did it have to come here? We’d just been… living, just like everyone else, doing our best. The bad thing first crept into our lives three months ago, a whisper in the dark that took Ben before we could understand its hunger. Since then, it’s been like a shadow over us, waiting… always waiting. It took everything. From Amanda. From me. From both of us. I tried to breathe, tried to let the feeling pass, but it ached like a bruise that just wouldn’t heal. Ben thought it was an angel at first, saying, 'The way that voice speaks to us, it just has to be,' until we saw it up close.

We shouldn’t have fed it. Should’ve let it starve or something. But now… now it’s here, and we’re trapped with it. 

A creak came from above, deep and groaning, as if the ceiling was bending under the weight of something… restless. My heart froze. My body became taut, like piano wire, and I couldn’t help staring up at the peeling paint that separated me and Amanda from… it. I don't know when I started the four second breath hold, but it was long past four seconds. I gasped for breath, my body forcing itself to breathe. 

“No… it’s too early.” I tried to find the clock, my eyes widening as I realized… I’d been staring at the ceiling for forty minutes. “Oh no, oh god, no…”

I pushed myself away from the countertop. The door flung open behind me. The dark swallowed the yard, and dead trees loomed in every corner, casting jagged shadows under the faint starlight. It was late and the dog—Milo—was silent.

“No—” I stepped into the damp grass, cupping a hand to my mouth. “Milo! Milo, come here, boy!” I tried to sound happy and cheery, but my voice came out scratchy, like a madwoman’s cry into the night.

The neighbors might have heard me; maybe Mrs. Pamela next door would think I was losing it again. But right now, I don’t have time to care. I just needed to find the dog. 

don’t

“Milo?” I shouted into the backyard. The crickets’ churning hum pulsed around me.

My heart pounded fast. I checked the corners of the yard—nothing. I settled for the bushes, running over in bare feet, naked skin against wet plant life. “I hate you!” Amanda’s voice echoed in my mind, the rawness of her anger crashing over me like a wave. I didn't have time to think about it, I had to find Milo. But it was happening right in front of me again. Wet eyes that looked ready to unleash tears, tiny fists balled up by her face. “I hate you!” 

It was heavy like a phlegmy cough in my chest. I have to find Milo, my legs running on autopilot to the edge of the fence, where he might have been, in the bushes.

“Milo, come here, boy.” My voice softened. 

“…hate you!” Amanda’s words echoed back.

Did he hate me, too? Calm down, Darcie, I could hear Ben’s voice, smooth as silk. It’ll be okay. Just breathe.

“But it won’t be okay if I can’t find this stupid dog!” I shouted out into the bushes, my voice shook as tears spilled over.

I must have looked miserable, standing there in the dark, crying and shaking as I called for Milo. He wasn’t coming out no matter how much I called for him. Everytime I called for Milo, Amanda's words echoed: ‘I hate you,’ twisting with every unanswered call. I stepped into the bushes, feeling cold branches scraping my shins and mud squelching under my toes. I shivered, but I kept looking, peering behind each bush. I could feel something laying its eyes on me. I wanted to look over my shoulder, to look at the house, but I willed away the urge and kept searching. 

Nothing. 

“Milo, please…” My voice cracked, almost a whisper. I wasn’t sure if I was calling for Milo, or just begging for someone, anyone to help. It’s coming, I thought. It’s going to happen tonight, and I can’t find him! 

I searched and searched, pushing farther behind the bushes, feeling sticks stab into my feet. He wasn’t there.  

“I hate you!” Amanda’s voice called back again. Milo, our nine-month-old puppy, wasn’t in the bushes or the yard. 

The night pressed into me. The sky was black, dotted with white stars, and the smell of wet earth clung cloying to my nose. My eyes scanned the empty yard. 

“No…” I whimpered, sliding my hands down my cold, damp face. “What am I going to do?”

Something muffled barked into earshot. It was Milo’s bark, and…when I looked, I realized it was coming from inside the house. 

***

The door slammed shut as I ran into the kitchen, icy tiles that bit into my feet. My breaths came in quick, shallow bursts. The house was dark. I must have forgotten to turn on the lights before running into the backyard, because now everything looked… foreign, like I’d stepped into the wrong house.

Down the hallway, Milo barked again, his yelps echoing throughout the house. I peered down the hallway, dread creeping in with each pitch of his tiny yelps. 

“Shh! We have to be quiet, or the bad thing will hear us!” Amanda’s small voice failed to whisper.

But Milo only barked louder, his yelps laced with either excitement or fear. Amanda must have slipped out of her room to grab him before I could. How she did it, I couldn't figure out. 

I started down the hallway, ready to pound on her door, but a chill ran through me—the sensation of eyes watching. Shadows gathered in the living room, somehow darker, deeper than usual. A smell pressing into my nostrils, sticky and cloying seemed to ooze down from the ceiling. I tensed, glancing up. The broken clock’s uneven ticking filled the silence, each tick jagged. My breathing hitched. It was happening and I didn't have the dog. 

People say their blood runs cold or their heart stops in moments like this, but for me, everything came alive. The feel of grime between my toes, the metallic taste rising in my throat. My gaze locked on the brownish-black stain. It was slithering down the corridor like it was alive, writhing in slow, sickly pulses. No…oh god no…

It'll be okay. Just breathe. Ben’s voice echoed in my mind. I clung to it.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, and took in a shaky breath. The air tasted thick and stale, tinged with necrosis The thing in the attic… it’s waking up. I could almost taste it. I shut my eyes, trying to picture Ben’s embrace.

Four seconds in, hold… release. Slowly, I opened my eyes, a momentary calm settling over me.

The house was silent, save for Milo’s yelps. Amanda’s door was shut tight, with her scribbled sign: MY ROOM. STAY OUT! She’d put it up two months ago, after the bad thing took Ben.

The ceiling groaned above, louder this time, like something heavy had shifted. I sprinted down the hallway to Amanda’s door, pounding hard enough to rattle the door off of the hinges.

“Amanda!” I jiggled the doorknob. Locked. “Open the door.”

“No! You’re going to give Milo to the bad thing!” Her voice was tight, terrified.

“Amanda, open up now. We can—”

Another creak, heavier, from the ceiling above. It sounded like something was dragged across the ceiling. My body was on fire, eyes wide with terror. I need that dog!

“Amanda!”

“No! Go away!”

I slammed my shoulder into the door, feeling it bend. Pain prickled through me, sweat cascading down my back.

“Amanda, open this door!” My voice was shrill, tears burning my eyes. The dog! 

The attic door rattled above us. Heat spread throughout the house, thick and nauseating, like a hotdog left to rot in a car. I slammed against the door, again and again, until the wood splintered. I could see into Amanda’s room now—her glow-in-the-dark stars, the stuffed animals, and the toys Ben and I had bought over the years. So many memories were in this room…

The stairs groaned like fatty weight tumbled onto each step. 

Amanda was huddled in the corner, clutching Milo, her wide eyes terrified. I knew she was scared. So was I. But if I didn’t give it this dog… I’d lose her, too.

“Amanda!” I pushed through the broken door, reaching for her as Milo thrashed in her arms.

“Mommy, please! Milo didn't do anything bad! I promise he’s good; he’ll be so quiet!”

My face felt set like stone, my mind narrowing down to the one, brutal truth: It has to be Milo. 

Then Amanda’s eyes widened, her gaze fixed on something behind me. The hallway was pitch black. The shadows coiled tighter, shifting like thick, oily smoke with the faint outline of limbs clawing forward. I could hear it, the way those things thumped against the walls and floor. It was there, swallowing the hallway, and crawling closer. I could feel it looking at us. 

My knees buckled, and Amanda’s scream cut through the silence.

It had to take something. Please, not her. 

Maybe Milo would be enough… just for tonight.

I threw him into the dark. His yelp snapped off, replaced by a cruel whisper—Ben’s voice, mocking, 'Cuddle bug…'

“Take him!” My voice barely whispers, shaking. “Take him and leave us alone!”

My heart seized, but I turned to Amanda, reaching for her. ‘You’re safe,’ I whispered, pulling her close, promising her every fiber of me. She was sobbing in my arms, unintelligible words spilled from her. I hurt her, I know I hurt her but it was to protect her.  

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words breaking in my throat. “I'm sorry Cuddle bug, im so sorry.” 

Amanda’s tiny hands gripped my sleeves, her face pressed into my blouse, her whole body shaking. I could feel her tears against me, her quiet sobs pleading.

“I don't want to go with it Mommy, don't let it get me…” 

Inhale, Four seconds. Release…

But I knew what had to be done. I’d keep her safe, I promised Ben that I would take care of her. I’d never let the bad thing take her. If it wanted to take… it would take me.

I loosened my grip on Amanda, feeling her tiny hands clutch desperately at my fingers, her wide, frightened eyes searching my face. I forced myself to look away, forcing my heart to harden.

“Mommy…?” Her voice was so small, her fingers trembling in my hand. With every ounce of willpower, I pried her hands away. 

The metallic smell grew acrid, filling my senses as I let it wrap around me, like a second skin. And in the distance, Ben’s clock ticked—steady—each second drawing me deeper. I clung to the ticking his voice, Amanda’s first laugh, the time we spent together in our own little world. Each click of the clock pulled me further from her, but the love… the love remained.

Amanda’s quiet sob broke through the darkness, her voice choked away by the voices that hummed around me. 

My voice trembled. “Cuddle bug… Mommy loves you.” But the words came out a twisted murmur that sounded unlike me. 

I could feel myself unraveling, memories melting like wax, twisting and reforming into something darker, something that wasn’t me. I was slipping—melting. The mocking voices wrapped around my thoughts whispers splattering across my mind, filling every corner with insidious hunger. There was no room left for me—only it. Only the bad thing.

A dark warmth filled me, spreading like honey… I was… away…slipping…

“We… love you, Amanda,” my voice—Ben’s voice—Milo’s bark— twisting and blending. “Mommy and Daddy… we love you… so… much….”

'So…Come…. to… us…’

‘Amanda…’ 

‘Amanda….AMANDA!’