She lived at the edge of the village. The place where the fog lingered, swallowing every spark of light. Her children followed her like the obedient drones they were; children were seen and not heard. They hovered around her skirts like lost little ducklings, their small hands clutching at the faded cotton, their laughter drifting through the trees above. Local villagers used to smile whenever they saw her. The poor widow who had no husband, no family, no future, but somehow always had children following her. Every morning, she opened the scrap of fabric covering the hole in her run-down wooden hut, and every morning, she was greeted by a beautiful chorus of "Mother!" The word always made her smile. She would stand at the rickety table, kneading dough while tiny fingers stole bits from the bowl. She would sing old hymns while the children danced around the hearth. She brushed their tangled hair, wiped dirty cheeks, and kissed scraped knees. By morning, more had always appeared, waiting for attention and a sliver of love. The plague bells used to ring multiple times a day. Dong. Another soul. Dong. Another family just gone. Now, the eerie silence rang louder. Winter arrived carrying death in its frozen breath. The church doors stood open day and night. Black carts rattled through muddy streets. Smoke from funeral pyres suffocated the sky. Yet her cottage remained full of laughter. Full of children. As the months passed, the little girl with chestnut curls stayed the same height year after year. The boy with a splatter of freckles never lost a tooth. Their clothes wore out, but their faces remained unchanged. Some people whispered until the plague came for them. One by one, the remaining villagers vanished. The baker. The blacksmith. The priest. The bell-ringer. Until only she remained with her children. One evening, she sat alone before the fire, dozens of children surrounding her. Tiny hands reaching for her. "My beautiful children, don’t ever leave me." The firelight flickered across their faces. Across the smooth mask-like skin. Across their perfect smiles. She rose and crossed to a worktable hidden deep within the shadows. Reaching for her trusted carving tools, bundles of stolen hair, and scraps of burial cloth. She began to carve. She had shaped every child after the plague had taken her husband and her friends. After it emptied the church pews, leaving her utterly alone. She had begun to build companions from memory. The eyes had always been the hardest part; she could sculpt lips that smiled, hands that held hers with care, and faces that resembled those of the loved ones she had lost. The children stared at her from the darkness, the firelight flickering across their empty glass eyes. Windows to nowhere. Highlighting the absence of a soul.

Her Baby Tried to Eat Me Listen—I need you to believe me. Somebody must. The cops don’t. The mother—if you can call her that—looked at me like I was the monster. But it wasn’t me. It was her baby. Yeah. Her baby. It happened at the Dartmouth Mall. One of the last half-dead malls clinging to life. I like the vibe there. Feels like stepping into 1999, all neon and stale popcorn. I was chewing through an overpriced pretzel when I noticed the stroller parked outside the body lotion store. No mother in sight. I figured she’d be back in a second. Five minutes went by. Ten. I drained my lemonade. Still no sign of her. That’s when my gut told me something was off. I walked over to the stroller. Big mistake. See, I was studying to be an elementary school teacher. I liked kids. Loved them, actually. Past tense. The stroller was draped with a ratty blanket, half-covering whatever was inside. I heard nothing, so I leaned in and tried to be gentle. “Hey there, baby… you okay?” That’s when it growled. Not a coo. Not a whimper. A deep, vibrating growl, like a pit bull warning you to back the hell up. My first thought was: somebody shoved their dog in there. Weird, but not impossible. Still, I had to look. I pulled the blanket back. It lunged. The thing clamped onto my index and middle fingers with jaws like a bear trap. One second they were there, the next… gone. I screamed so hard it felt like I tore something in my throat. The mall froze. Everyone turned. And then she showed up. The mother. She looked like Martha Stewart crossed with Elvira—pearls and menace. “What did you do?” she hissed. “It bit me!” I held up what was left of my hand. Blood poured like ketchup from a squeeze bottle. She didn’t even flinch. “A baby—my baby—wouldn’t bite anyone who didn’t deserve it.” Then she reached into the stroller, through the blanket. I braced myself for a dog, or some mutant thing. Nope. She pulled out a blond, rosy-cheeked baby. A normal damn baby. “Look at my hand!” I shouted. “Something in that stroller bit my fingers off!” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re crazy. Or high. You on meth?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My head was spinning. My hand was a mangled mess. None of this made sense. I tore the blanket away with my good hand. The stroller was empty. Just a bottle. Nothing else. That’s when mall security arrived. “What’s happening here?” “This girl bit her own fingers off and tried to hurt my baby,” she said, calm as ice. “What? Why the hell would I bite my own fingers off?” The guard didn’t care. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me.” “I’m bleeding out!” I screamed. And then it hit me. The blood loss, the shock. The world tilted. Right before I blacked out, I saw the baby’s face again. Its eyes weren’t blue. They weren’t brown. They were solid black. I woke up cuffed to a hospital bed. Cop at my side. They said it was “for my own good” until the mother decided whether to press charges. I told them the story. The same one I just told you. They ordered drug tests. So now I’m down two fingers. And somewhere out there, a black-eyed demon baby is still hungry.

Outside “Rivers, Rodriguez, report,” ordered Captain Dwayne T. Watson over his radio. He didn’t like the look of those dark clouds overhead. Inside. Two men in bright orange coveralls echoed down the corridor as their boots splashed through the watery hallway. “Say again, Captain. Bad copy. Over,” answered Rodriguez. Rivers’ face strained to see as his fist-light barely penetrated the void. An overhead light fought for life, then flickered, and died. “Damn these old radios. It’s so much damn fun getting absolute trash to work with,” complained Rodriguez. Outside. “30 meters in now. Coming up on Sections 5 and 6 now, sir,” came the track-scan report. The Captain nodded in response. He never forgave himself for not fighting for those upgraded radios. Inside. A hole in the roof offered a chilling breeze that made the building’s megastructure shiver and moan. They had not heard or seen anyone up to this point. Not even the deceased that had gotten trapped during the deluge. Most of what they heard was their own heavy breathing. They had to find someone, soon, right? “Arriving at our target now. See those markings?,” whispered Rivers, motioning with gloved fingers to his partner. Outside “Status?” inquired the Captain. He winced at what he thought was a flash of lightning and a report of thunder. “Yes sir. Ah, wait. What the? Sir, I just had them, then I…sir, I can’t locate them!” announced the technician. “What? What do you mean? Let me see,” answered the Captain. Inside. “Rodriguez, you see what I’m seeing?” asked Rivers. “Nah, man, I see a hot babe serving me lemonade poolside. What do you think? I’m seeing it. What is it?” joked Rodriguez, smiling. “Are you blind, man? It’s a damn wheelchair,” snapped Rivers, bending down to inspect it. “Nah, man. I mean, like why is it just chilling there, all by itself, looking brand new, and smug like that?” explained Rodriguez, starting to reach for it. “Wait, don’t. Oh, no!” shouted Rivers. “What? What is it?” asked Rodriguez. Both men looked down at their arms. Their alarms were screaming on their sensor readouts. “What? It can’t be!” explained Rodriguez. “It’s coming from the…,” Rivers motioned to the wheelchair. Before he could finish, the wheelchair erupted in a bright light. All sound was muffled around them, too. They instantly found themselves unable to move or speak. Next, a deafening hum overtook their bodies, vibration rattling their bones. The wheelchair appeared molten, now. It shook violently and fast. It appeared to be shifting between being there and not. A fever pitch of brightening light and a high-frequency whine crescendoed into a thunderclap. KRAKAKAK! Outside “I’m sorry sir. They’re just gone, sir,” cried the young technician. “How?” was all the Captain could manage, looking up at the clouds. Inside Sections 5 and 6 were now dark and silent. The echoes of chaos now subsided. Two man-sized smoke clouds vanished quickly through the roof. Only the wheelchair remains, alone. Unmoving, cold. Glow fading. Insatiable.