Month-Old to Year-Old. A Child To Cherish And To Hold.

“Ugh. I have a bad feeling about this case, George.”

Payton steered the wheel to make a left turn. “Shit, man. I’m gonna have nightmares after watching the thing.”

I would too. The CCTV camera in the Dennings’ backyard caught six-year-old Jessica last night hovering mid-air. Hovering. At first, her back was facing the camera. Then her head turned. 180 degrees. But her body didn’t move. Only her head. There was no audio but you can see in her face that she was in agony. Then she started moving away, still hovering. Her head still turned to the camera. Her mouth still seemingly screaming out of pain.

“Do you think we’ll find her there? I don’t even think she’s still alive.”

I didn’t think either. The parents too. I asked Payton what he thought about them. He shook his head.

“They sound crazy they might even be our suspects.”

Mrs. Dennings was red-eyed this morning when she opened the door for us. She must have been crying after watching the CCTV footage. She told us that Jessica was their only child and before she was born, they’ve been trying to have a child for thirteen years. I empathized with her.

“Can you believe what that woman said to us? She said she regretted giving birth to the girl! What the actual fuck! They’ve been trying to have children and when this happened, they regret it. Irresponsible. You know? I bet they edited the video to get away with murder.”

Mr. Dennings joined us shortly after Mrs. Dennings shared her regret. He told us that they think their daughter is dead and they simply want her body back to give her a proper funeral. Mrs. Dennings murmured something in which her husband said,

It’s not like they didn’t warn us.

I asked him what he meant but he looked away, unwilling to answer. Mrs. Dennings, however, responded to the question.

“Who would believe their story? Aborted children get second chance? It’s ridiculous. Just.. fucking ridiculous.” Payton shook his head again.

Mrs. Dennings’ testimony was indeed ridiculous. She told us that they found a temple of ‘monks’ up north who claimed that they could help Mrs. Dennings give birth. They needed only an aborted fetus. She said it was a peculiar request but she was desperate so she stole one from an abortion clinic. Two months later, the test showed she’s expecting.

Payton pulled over. “Wow. How do you know? A temple does exist here. It looks abandoned though. You think they ac-“

I hushed Payton. The radio was getting something. At first it was static, then..

…someone’s…. here..

Payton looked at me.

… ahh.. Je.. they’re… here… for Jessica…

I opened the car door and got out, hand on my pistol. I shouted a warning. No response. There was only static on the radio. Payton got out of the car too and we slowly entered the temple. There was a foul smell coming from the inside.

“Fuck! What the fuck is that! That’s.. fuck.. I’m gonna throw up.”

On the floor were what seemed like mangled body parts of a small human being. The blue dress Jessica was wearing on the CCTV was torn to pieces, covered with crimson red.

Forensics identified the parts belonged to Jessica Dennings. Her body was most likely torn with medical scissors. The Dennings were questioned afterwards. There were no monks, not a single soul in the abandoned temple or nearby places.

Payton and I were dismissed that night. “Fuck, I hope I didn’t get Risa pregnant. That last transmission was flat-out scary.”

It was. It really was. Back in the temple, after requesting back-up to gather the remains, the radio started acting up again.

…look… it’s.. the.. father of.. the next… one…

I went home after drinking a couple of beers with Payton. My wife Karen was waiting for me in the living room. Her face was painted with joy as she showed me the white tube with two red marks on it.


 

I apologize for the crude language. It was necessary to establish Payton’s character. This won’t be the last you’ll hear from him.

If you’re confused about the story, read the title again and I hope you’ll get the connection.

Hope you enjoyed this story!

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Dead in Seven Days

The grim reaper, whose eyes I can’t see but I dare not imagine, stood on my bed side.

“You’re telling me that I get seven days to live? Why do I get to know when I will die? Is this some sort of a special privilege?” I asked, a little vexed.

The dark figure only stood in silence. I clenched my fist in anger, blood rising through my IV tube.

“You might as well kill me now! What difference would it make if I die today or a week after?!”

The figure spoke in a deathly whisper, “Live in seven days,” and disappeared into ghastly smoke.

Live? What do I do with seven days?! There’s nothing left for me. It’s better to be dead.

I hastily pulled the tube from my arm and walked to the nearest window. Seventeen floors.

I dare you Death!

I jumped out of the window and as I was free falling to my anticipated death, a truck of styroballs parked in my supposed landing area.

The next day, I stole the nurse’s scissors and slit my throat. I woke up in the intensive care unit, my hands and legs bond.

Five days before my presumed end, I tried biting my tongue off to bleed to death. The nurse caught wind of my intention and my mouth got restrained.

Four days. I stopped my breathing. How idiotic of me. I’m in the hospital. Of course the alarm would go off.

Three days. I asked the nurse for a phone, lying that I would call my mom. I hired a killer.

Two days. I waited for my death-bringer. The hospital was thrown into chaos. A wanted criminal entered the premise, about to open my door.

One day left and I stared at the ceiling, feeling lost. The days have gone by after I challenged Death with his due date.

You win, Death.

On my supposed last day, I was counting the seconds pass by when somebody opened the door. She was in a wheelchair, her right arm in a cast and her forehead covered with bandage. She looked at me, tears filling her eyes. Her beautiful face, even though bruised, glowed, and her voice, soft like a whisper, was soothing as always.

“I’m here Jake. It’s alright. I survived the plane crash. You don’t need to die. I’m here.”

My tears ran on my cheeks, down to my pillow, soaking it wet. My mouth was still gagged and I couldn’t tell her I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I thought you died.

I’m sorry I couldn’t imagine living without you.

I’m sorry I tried killing myself.

I’m sorry I bribed the nurse to inject me a lethal dose.

I’m sorry, my love, but the grim reaper is now pointing his scythe on my head.


 

I hope you enjoyed this story. It’s tragic, and it won’t be the only one. As a matter of fact, most of my stories end tragically. I’m not a masochist. I just like the beauty of sad stories because it makes you think of how you live your life.

Regret.

Despair.

Death.

They are realities of life and no matter how much we avoid them, we will always end up meeting them.