The Child

“Do you sell wigs for children?”, she asked, looking nervously around the shop.

“Aww, is she sick?” the young man behind the counter responded with genuine concern.   

“No, she’s…” she stopped. “Do you?” It was taking all her control to keep the panic from engulfing her. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, pointing. “On the back wall.”

She guided the child carefully to where the clerk had pointed. As she tucked the child’s blonde locks into the dark, curly wig she whispered, “we’re going to play dress up, now, remember?” The child nodded, her gray eyes vacant. 

She kissed the child’s head. “We’re going to be fine, sweetheart, I promise,” she said quietly. Then she lifted the child into her arms and hurried back to the counter to pay for the wig. “It’s for a costume party,” she said, trying to sound cheerful when she felt the clerk regarding them curiously. “She wants to wear it home.” She smiled. “Yeah, sure,” he said.

She turned to leave but saw something out the front window. It was a flash. Nothing. Something.

“Is there a back way out?” she asked.

“Look lady, if you and the kid are in trouble, I can call someone.”

“No, no, I just…is there a back way out?” Her throat was tight. “Thanks though…we’ll be fine.” 

The clerk regarded her suspiciously. “OK, yeah.” He sighed. “Back through here out to the alley.”

She carried the child for blocks, staying in the alleys and close to the buildings. Her plan to take the train meant navigating the populated sectors still ahead. Her limbs ached now, and she knew that she needed to rest, or she’d collapse. She stopped behind a large brick building gently lowering the child—who hadn’t made a sound since leaving the wig shop—to the ground. “There you go sweetie. I need to rest for a second, OK?” The child nodded.

She lowered herself on to the stoop; the child sat down next to her. They stayed there for quite a while, until she began to nod off. The past few days were a blur. Hiding the child had taken a toll on her. She knew it couldn’t go on much longer and decided that escaping this place—her home--was her only hope. Their only hope. 

She jerked herself up suddenly and pulled the child close. “You ready to go sweetheart?” she asked. The child didn’t respond.  She shuttered and brushed aside the fear that sat just behind her conscious thought. She kneeled down and put her hands on the child’s cheeks. She looked into her eyes. Those beautiful grey eyes that now seemed—what? Dead. No, she dared not--refused to--think that. Just out of sorts with all that’s going on. She hugged the child, kissed her head, then took her hand and they walked on.

As they approached the main street, she knew that they would be seen. “It’s time, honey”, she said to the child. “Remember how we practiced? Mommy and her girl, having a nice stroll. That’s us?  Ok honey?” The child nodded. “Smile honey”, she said. The child flashed an emotionless smile. “Yes, that’s lovely sweetie…a beautiful smile.” She drew in a long breath. All she could think of was the train station; get to the train station. Hand in hand, they walked.  

When they passed others, she avoided making eye contact by looking down and talking softly to the child. They had just passed an elderly couple when she looked up. Fear gripped her and her heart—already beating fast--was now thundering in her chest. 

They didn’t see us, she thought as she scooped up the child and turned quickly to cross the street. They didn’t see us, did they? Now unsure whether or not this was true. She was walking fast now. She had to keep herself from running. “Don’t worry darling, we’re fine” she whispered to the child, quickening her steps. She dared not look back.

Then she was running. She was running and clutching the child close to her, gulping in air as she went. She ran until her body began to betray her and she had no choice but to slow down. She was crying now and panting, looking around to get her bearings. “The train station,” she thought desperately, “which way?” She looked to the left—straining in the dusk—but the empty street was unfamiliar. 

Then she heard it. “Give us the Child, Marilyn.” At first, she froze. Then she reeled, swept around. Nothing. She swung back the other way. “You know you need to give us the Child, Marilyn.” She saw them now. All neatly dressed, encircling her. “But how?” she thought. “Where did they come from?”

“Give us the Child, Marilyn.” That voice again. It engulfed her as if they were all speaking at once. But none of them were speaking.

“NOOOO!” she screamed. Her voice piercing the air. “YOU CAN’T HAVE HER!”

“Oh, come now, Marilyn, you know we need her. Give us the Child now,” the voice said, it’s tone at once soothing and menacing.

They were on her now, ripping at her with invisible limbs. She struggled to hold on to the child, but they peeled back her arms and pulled the child from her. She screamed again. “YOU CAN’T HAVE HER!”

But it was too late. The child seemed to float away and then she was in the arms of one of them. She tried to get up—she flailed and pushed unsuccessfully against a force she couldn’t see. 

“It’s over, Marilyn,” the voice said. “We’ve got her now. We’ll take good care of her.”

“NOOOO!” She screamed again. Her voice broke now as the sobs took hold. She laid there writhing and crying. “My baby, my baby, you can’t have her…why did you take her from me?” Until darkness overcame her. 

She woke up slowly as if swimming up a great distance up towards the surface of the ocean. She finally opened her eyes, looking first at the ceiling and then quickly around the room. “What the…?”, she said to no one. Her mind began to race. “Home? How can I be home?”, she thought. “Where is…” 

She jumped off the bed and hurried down the hall to the child’s room. “Oh darling,” she gushed, “you’re OK, you’re OK.” The child was sitting on the floor playing with her toys.

Marilyn reached down and scooped up the child. She held her tightly and swung her feet from side to side. “My precious baby,” she said, “I have you back.” The child giggled and wrapped her arms around Marilyn’s neck.  Marilyn pulled her away so that she could look into her eyes—the eyes that had been so vacant the last time she’d seen her. “Oh God, my sweet girl, you’re really back.” She was crying now and looking into the child’s beautiful, happy eyes.

The next few days were as good as they’d ever been for Marilyn and the child. They went to the beach, made sandcastles, and ate French fries and ice cream at the local shops. The child seemed happy, and this made Marilyn happy. But she couldn’t stop thinking back to those days—when she was sure that someone—something—was after her child. “It never happened” she thought finally one afternoon sitting on a towel watching the child play in the sand. “I must have dreamed it,” she thought finally. “Yes, only a silly dream,” she repeated to herself over and over.

Then one day she was cleaning the child’s room. She liked to keep the place tidy the way her mother always did. As she was finishing up with the vacuum cleaner, she decided to run it under the bed—it had been a while since she cleaned under there. She moved the vacuum back and forth.  On one of the passes the machine suddenly started making a high-pitched whine—it was stuck to something. She figured she must have caught the blanket from the other side so pulling it back out wasn’t going to work. Instead, she shut off the motor and slid the vacuum out from under the bed.  

As she started moving towards the door, a feeling edged its way up her spine stopping just short of becoming a conscious thought. It was like a tickle or a twinge at the edge of her mind. She looked back at the bed. Then, getting down onto her knees, she reached under the bed, stretching to find whatever had stuck in the vacuum. At first, she felt nothing. Then she swept her arm back and forth until the back of her hand brushed up against something. It was soft, like...fur? Revulsion overcame her and she yanked her arm out so fast that she hit the bed frame. “Damn!”, she thought. “What was that?” 

She ran down the hall and came back with a broom. She took a deep breath, then gently used the handle to sweep the soft thing out. What she saw made her knees buckle: a small, dark, curly wig.