It began one night while I was feeding the baby. It was only 7:00pm but very dark. The only light was from a soft yellow polar bear nightlight and the glow-in-the-dark planets hanging from the ceiling. I sat rocking the baby and feeding him his bottle. It was quiet and peaceful. Kenzie was reading in her room with Daddy.
Suddenly I felt a chill. I looked around. Neptune was slowly rocking back and forth from the ceiling. A moment ago, it was still. I started to get that prickly feeling on the back of my neck. I looked down at Ketch, his breathing slow, the bottle nearly gone. He was asleep.
I stood up and carefully carried him to his crib. I lay him down in between his stuffed Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls. I closed the door silently and decided to shake off the creepy feeling following me out.
Day 1: I woke in the middle of night. I checked the video monitor and the screen was blank. The baby must still be asleep. I looked at the Kenzie's audio monitor, the lights flickered. Hmm... odd. It could just be her sound machine setting it off. I did have it turned up pretty loud to "wave" mode.
There it was again.
I heard a soft groan, barely audible without my hearing aids in. I grabbed the video monitor and switched it to Kenzie's room. I didn't see anything moving. I sat there, not breathing, worried I would miss something. After a minute or two, I switched the video monitor back to the baby's room.
With a final sigh of relief, I checked my phone; midnight. I closed my eyes.
<Click> The video monitor switched on, lighting the dark room. I grabbed for my glasses off the nightstand. The baby was moving. Just barely.
My kids are sleepers. They rarely ever even kick off the monitors. This is weird.
I laid there, wide awake, watching and listening. The video monitor clicked off about two minutes later. At some point I fell back asleep.
2:30am I jolt upright. The baby is crying. Video monitor blazing. I hear another noise, the audio monitor was crackling. I jump up, glasses still on, and stumble down the stairs. I am thrown forward, face first onto the wood floor. I looked back at the culprit. Dan's hockey bag was blocking the entire hallway.
Both kids are crying. The only light on downstairs is a nightlight illuminating the hallway to the bedrooms. I pause outside their rooms, one last hope that they have fallen back asleep in the 10 seconds it took to get downstairs, and the 2 minutes it took to pick myself up off the ground and find my glasses. Silence.
I slowly and quietly open the door to Kenzie's room. I can only see a crumpled blob laying on the bed, that must be her, still asleep. I leave the door ajar and turn to open the baby's door.
His room feels cold. It's quiet. I contemplate finishing the night on the twin mattress on the floor of his room. The glow-in-the-dark planets darkened hours ago. I crept to the edge of his crib and peaked in. It only took a moment to see why he was wailing only moments ago.
I snatched him up, eyes popping open as I lifted. Screams rising from his tiny body. Liquid coming from his nose. I heard a cough behind me and turned. Standing in the doorway was a person no bigger than Kenzie. Hair in a rats nest, faced tipped down, but eyes looking up at me. She was clutching a stuffed bear. Liquid from her nose glistening in the nightlight.
As I started to feel my own scream rising in my throat, she turned and ran toward me, footy pajamas softly squishing the carpet. A cry escaping her mouth. It was Kenzie, but it didn't look like her. Something was different. The baby began to wail in my arms, as Kenzie cried out.
I picked her up and carried both of them to the living room. I was afraid to turn on the light for fear of what I knew to be true. I set both of them down on the couch and reached for the light switch.
They both screamed when the light came on. I looked at them. Eyes red and blotchy, hot to the touch, thick ropes of snot coming from both nostrils. It had them. The virus!
My gut told me to run, but instead I went to work administering Tylenol, sucking snot, and wiping off their faces. By the time we finished they resembled humans but I couldn't be sure. After putting them both back to bed I bathed in sanitizer and said a prayer that I wouldn't be infected. I passed out just before sunrise.
Morning came moments later. 6am to be exact. I rushed downstairs for another round of clean up. The baby lay on his play mat uninterested in his hanging toys. Eyes scanning the room, possibly looking for a victim.
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| <Swat> Not interested. |
Hours later a booming deep voice is calling downstairs. I am getting even more nervous but I am not sure why. He appears in a robe holding a tissue, only he isn't sad. He heads for the medicine cabinet in the kitchen searching for sustenance. He pulls out several pills and swallows them. He turns on me and speaks in his ultra deep voice. For a moment I think I recognize him as my husband. I push those thoughts aside, Dan's voice isn't this deep and he never comes down before a shower and jeans.
Luckily he doesn't wait for an answer and turns and leaves. I grab a Lysol wipe and clean up whatever he touched. They won't get me. I won't let them.
The day is long and lonely. No one seems to be hungry, happy or coherent. I make the best of it, trying to douse the house in sanitizer the best I can. I don't have any protective clothing, snow mittens and a ski mask are the best I can find. I put them on, but it makes me a target, so I put them away in order to blend in. Bedtime comes early for everyone and I can feel a headache coming on. I close my eyes knowing it won't be long before I will be up again.
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| You can't hide Mommy... |
Day 3: I fear the virus has officially taken over. I have lost my will to fight it. I sit with glazed eyes staring at a box with moving pictures. The brainwashing has finally taken hold. I can't get the words "Let it go" out of my head. I can only assume they are talking about my will to live. I can't breathe. My throat is sandpaper. Sleep in impossible although my eyes are heavy. I am officially a Mombie.
