The SWAMP REVIEW
Drying Quietly
by Allie Page
She was awake. Again. 3:27 AM. Again. The baby was crying. Again. In her fogginess, Cassie had never really considered the sheer precision of her insomnia, as all she could focus on was the stiffness in her limbs each night.
It had been hours since she moved. Cassie loved her baby, of course, but it was a terrible inconvenience ever since it had started rolling out of its open crib and onto her bed. Half asleep, she stood and picked up the child. The room was frighteningly large and hadn’t nearly enough furniture to make it cozy, especially in these deathly cold nights.
The ghostly air of her room certainly wasn’t helped by the disembodied rocking of her nursing chair and the moonlight varnishing each and every sharp corner available. Her joints creaking and her eyes still glazed with sleep, Cassie gripped the baby’s ankles and approached her nightstand. She lifted the baby above her head, preparing to swing like a lumberjack with his axe.
She shot up. 3:29 AM. The baby was still crying. “What kind of animal are you?” she thought. The baby hushed as she rocked it back and forth.
Cassie kissed its forehead and slowly stopped rocking the child. She placed it back in its crib, raising the gate. Her vision blurred, and guilt wrapped around her throat. The taste of tears and snot ran across her lips as she hurried to the bathroom. “Ugh.”
Cassie shut the door and flicked on the light, not disturbing the baby. As she turned, she saw a red face, scrunched eyes, and stretched lips in her reflection. “Ugh.” Her face scrunched even more as she fully realized her lack of dignity.
This was something of a special occasion. Her eyes were the rusty pressure valves for the past months, crusted from disuse. But just as her excitement peaked, her eyes dried and her breath deepened. She was back to the strong, mature woman she was meant to be.
A shatter downstairs snapped her away from her reflection. The crash was loud, although the baby stayed asleep. Cassie was thankful. The stress thumping in her chest would have been much worse if it were accompanied by needless shrieking. She was surprised by her own bravery. Grabbing the blade that she kept beside her bed, Cassie looked at her baby. She turned the doorknob of her door slowly, before stepping out of the refuge of her bedroom.
Cassie could only hear a single voice, if you could call it that. What she really heard was much more of a set of grunts, sniffles, coughs, and, worst of all, giggles. They were airy and wet, like she was being robbed by some giddy, pneumonia-infested child. She thought about what she needed to do, what she wanted to do, to whoever had decided she was weak enough to allow a violation so bold. She wasn’t quite sure who would need to hide from whom. She turned out of the stairwell into her cluttered living room and ran to the broken window. Her car sat quietly, still in the driveway, ignored and untouched. Bold indeed.
The window had been shattered, but the majority of the glass had landed in the grass outside like someone had tried to pull the window out of the wall.
Suddenly, something clattered in the kitchen behind her. It was there that Cassie saw him. Beside the kitchen island squatted a man, short and bony.
Somehow, like they had met before, Cassie knew exactly what the man would look like when he showed his face. His yellow eyes could look at both her ears at once, and his unwashed beard would drop flakes as he twitched. The grey rubber of his skin was stretched tight, as if it was purely decorative, and she could imagine his gnarled teeth blowing like kites as he huffed through them.
She ducked down, thankful he hadn’t already heard her. The man was rummaging through a cupboard by the oven. The baby’s dishes.
She stalked closer, getting angrier and angrier, raising the knife over her head. The man spun around and caught the blade clean through the palm of his hand. The knife slid out and fell to the floor as he struck her across the face. Cassie watched as he stepped up onto the kitchen island. The man raised his arms above his head and let out a cry. Pained, brutal, as if it were coming from some tortured prisoner miles away. The type of noise a thing makes before it kills or dies.
Cassie rolled to her stomach, scrambling for the blood-covered knife to her right. Spinning around again, she pointed the knife at the man, half hoping he would simply jump down and impale himself. But he didn’t. He wasn’t there.
His footsteps thumped towards the stairs. The baby. She shot up and ran, swinging around to look up the stairwell. She saw the man walking slowly, reaching for the doorknob purposefully.
Cassie knew she would inflict every pain, every gore she had imagined before he laid eyes on the baby. Just as the thought entered her head, she heard him. “Pain,” the man croaked without turning. She pushed herself up the stairs, knuckles to the ground like a charging animal.
She slashed his hamstring, bringing him to the floor with another brutal scream. His head bumped against the stairs as she dragged him down by his feet, flipping him over so she could see his face again. Straddling the man, she shot her nails upwards through the flesh under his chin and gripped his bottom teeth. His head slammed against the floor as she gripped the handlebar of his jaw.
By now, Cassie couldn’t tell the difference between his screams and hers. She put her free palm on his forehead and pulled with the other, separating his chin from his head with a wet crunch. It was easier than she had expected. It had all been easier than she expected. Up the stairs, a door slammed shut.
Cassie looked up, her heart dropping in her chest before slingshotting back up like it wanted out. She looked down to see nothing. No man, no blood, no revenge.
She charged back upstairs and slammed herself into the door. A crack rang out through the house. She couldn’t tell if it had been made by the door or her shoulder. She was beyond caring. What would she do if her baby was hurt? Where would she go? Who would help her?
She slammed her shoulder into the wood again and tried the doorknob. Shoulder. Doorknob. Shoulder. Doorknob. Shoulder. Doorknob. A crack again. She was sure this time. It’s her shoulder. She slid down the door, allowing herself to ache against the hollow wood.
Cassie knew she should have gotten up. She should have called the police to find her baby. But she always had a strange sense of humor about her. She knocked politely on the door, the joke making her chuckle.
To her surprise, excitement, and terror, the door creaked open, just enough to see. She peered through the crack as she got to her feet. The witch’s eyes looked at each ear as she opened the door more. But now, there was a new person. Its hair short enough to see its ears, stubble scratching its finger tips as it rubbed its face. Cassie could suddenly smell shitty cologne and aftershave as she stepped forward. As much as she hated it, she knew who the thing was. The baby.
“You’ve ruined it,” she said, unable, even now, to raise her voice, “It was mine, and you’ve ruined it.” The invader frowned. He stepped behind the creature, disappearing silently.
“Change back. He did it wrong.” Cassie told the thing, “Please change back. This isn’t right.” It didn’t reply. It couldn’t speak; no one had taught it. Cassie could’ve taught it.
The Thing stepped forward, opening its arms toward her. “No,” she protested, “I didn’t ask for this. This is all wrong.” Grunting, it stepped forward again. Its ankle crumpled beneath it with a crunch, but still it kept a steady crawl towards Cassie. Finally, a tear rolled down her chin as a scream escaped her throat. The witches scream. A perfect replica of the pain and distance.
Her cries were still cut short as the Thing wrapped itself around her waist. Desperately, Cassie tried to shake it. She tried and tried and tried to pry its arms from her body. Just as she felt its grip loosen, her skin began to burn. She looked down to see the Thing melting to her like a bad weld. A green-ish steam rose as it softened and began losing its shape. She gagged as the smell of insides and rot hit her nose, and the sight of the fleshy seam forced her eyes shut.
It stopped. The house was silent besides the sound of liquid skin slapping against the floor. The Thing had relaxed its arms but still clung to her as its gelatinous glue hardened.
The creature fully relaxed itself. Cassie didn’t even try to move forward; she would have tripped over the thing’s slumped-over body. She took a step back, rotating to face away from her bed. Carefully walking backwards, dragging the thing with her, she reached her bed and let herself sit.
She never tried to cut the creature off, there wasn’t much point. Maybe the thing would kill her with it. She sat there, paralyzed, watching it dry.
My name is Allie Page. I love clothing DIY and tend to write scripts, so I thought I’d try a different type of writing. Most of my art is an outlet for anger or a way to work through fear, especially surrounding politics and my trans experience.