A collection of flash fiction to raise money

A collection of flash fiction to raise money

for the Duffy Books in Homes charity.

Edited by Dan Rabarts & Lee Murray 2

A Wee Nibble

Welcome to this sample teaser of our collaborative short story collection, Baby Teeth - Bite-sized Tales of Terror.

All proceeds from the sale of this anthology will be donated to the Duffy Books in Homes charity.

The stories in Baby Teeth were all inspired by a Reddit website post about the 'creepy things that kids say'. Here you will find tales of the weird and the macabre, as well as the spine-chilling and heart-warming.

To support this project, please visit https://www.pledgeme.co.nz/1214 before August 10th 2013, and help us get more kids reading books. You might want to sleep with the light on for a while, though...

All stories and illustrations are copyright 2013 their respective owners. The authors declare their right to be identified as the creators of the works represented here. 3

Peter and the Wolf by Lee Murray

The wolf is back. I can hear it when I press my ear to my pillow, its great paws padding and pacing about under my bed, ragged yellowing claws catching on the wooden floor.

Crunch, crunch. Crunch, crunch.

I press my ear against the pillow to block the sound, but still it comes.

Crunch, crunch.

I’m too scared to shout, the sound stalling in my throat. The wolf comes at night, a lone male with yellow gleaming eyes and blood-blackened teeth. The hero on my pillowcase is useless against the wolf. His cape flapping, Superman throws his fist into the sky and does nothing.

The wolf has been visiting me for a long time now. I’ve learned that the more frightened I become, the more frenzied it becomes, the sound of its steps getting faster and faster as it paces under my bed. It’s as if it’s learned to smell my fear. I slow my breathing so the wolf stays calm. But one night soon, the wolf is going to eat me. Perhaps, he’s waiting for me to be fatter, like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. He comes back most nights to see if I’m ready. I think it’ll be soon because he’s getting bolder. I can smell him now, sharp and metallic, like the taste of blood after a paper cut.

The door opens, letting in the shaft of cheery yellow light from the hallway. Dad comes in. I almost weep with relief. The wolf doesn’t show itself. It’s afraid of my parents. It slinks away somewhere. I don’t know where.

“Michael, have you wet the bed again?”

“The wolf is here.”

“Now that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more stories about wolves. I’ve told you, there are no wolves in New Zealand, and there are no wolves under your bed. The bathroom is just across the hall. Just there!” Angry, he throws out his arm. It’s the third time this week. “We expect this kind of thing from Peter. You’re eight; that’s too old to be wetting the bed.” His face softens. “Come on, then.” I scramble to my feet. He picks me up, his hands on either side of my waist, and lifts my feet clear of the wolf’s fangs. My face smooth against his stubble, he carries me to the bathroom. “Paula! He’s wet the bed again.” 4

In their room next door, I hear Mum slap down her book. She comes to the bathroom where Dad is helping me strip off my wet pyjamas and leans against the door. Dad turns the shower on.

Mum asks, “You okay here?” Dad says nothing, but I see the face he pulls. “I’ll strip the bed, then,” she says and she pads away.

Later, when I am clean and dry, I lie on my back and watch the light from the hall. Under my bed, the wolf is still. I strain to hear, but he can be cunning. For the moment, there are no footsteps. The light flickers for an instant. Did the door just move? Open-close. Yes! The wolf has gone! But where? Is it roaming around the house? I imagine the wolf nosing open the door to my brother’s room, where Peter is asleep in his low toddler bed. My blood freezes and I tremble.

Peter!

Instinctively, I know the wolf is in Peter’s room. In my mind, I see it circling Peter’s bed with its yellow teeth and sly eyes. There isn’t enough space under Peter’s bed for a wolf. Mum tried to slide my old train set under there to get it out of the way, but it wouldn’t fit.

I have to do something! Peter’s just a baby with chubby baby fingers and folds of skin at his wrists. He can’t do anything for himself like I can. He needs help to put on his T-shirt or to do up his car seat. I get up. Sliding open the top drawer of my bedside table, I take out my pocketknife Granddad gave me for Christmas and prise it open, my fingers shaking and sweaty.

My heart races as I creep into the hall. Peter’s door is open. I was right. The wolf is in there. I grip my knife hard, my knuckles white, and peep around the door. I see its hulking grey shape on the bed, standing over Peter. It opens its mouth, dripping saliva, its yellow eyes gleeful.

No! I won’t let it eat Peter. I won’t! I charge at the bed, my tiny knife held high. I thrust and thrust again. I’m close to it now, inhaling ammonia and milk. My blood pounds. The creature howls in frustration. It wasn’t expecting me but still it fights back, clawing at me. I slice out with my knife, knowing I must throw every bit of my weight behind it. The little blade ploughs deep, touching bone. Grinding. Warm blood runs down my hand. But the wolf isn’t dead. With a whimper, it bounds away. Then, in that instant, the game changes. Suddenly, I am the hunter! I chase it, stabbing at it from behind.

Light floods the room.

Blinded, I don’t see the wolf make its escape.

“Oh, my god!” my mother screams. 5

My eyes adjust. The room is awash with blood: on the bed, on the floor. Peter’s fingerprints streak the walls where he has tried to get away. Now, he lays on the floor in his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas, his body ripped and oozing where the wolf’s teeth have sunk deep into his torso. On her knees, my mother wraps her arms around him and rocks his little body to and fro.

I’m too scared to move. I think my brother may be dead.

My father approaches. Ducking down to my level, he uncurls my fingers and removes the knife. “It’s okay, Michael,” he says. “It’s over now.”

My fingers are sticky with blood. I look at them in surprise.

“The wolf was here,” I whisper.

And this time, Dad nods. 6

Paper Butterfly by Alan Lindsay

One night, on the way home from Grandpa’s, we drove through this huge cloud of moths. Dad reckoned it went on for about ten kilometres. The air was thick with them. They were pale brown and glowed in the headlights, like the snowflakes that time we went skiing. It looked as though they were flying towards the headlights and then suddenly the air would push them aside as we zoomed past.

Or splat!

Dad had the wipers going double speed. When a moth hit the windscreen, the wipers spread this yellow goo in a big arc. Dad used the washers a lot, but after a while we had to stop and he got out and wiped the windscreen clean with an old T-shirt.

When we got home, Dad drove into the garage. I got out of the car and I could smell burning. Some of the moths had got caught up on the hot bits of the engine and been burned to death.

The front of the car was covered in them too; even the headlights. I looked at the grill and there was one of them had its wing caught, but it was still alive. It kept flapping, trying to fly, but it couldn’t. I pulled its other wing off, so its body just twitched back and forward. I watched it for about half an hour. Mum came through and asked what I was doing. I didn’t tell her, but she said it was time for bed anyway. And the moth still hadn’t died when I left.

Awesome.

Butterflies always die much quicker. Once you’ve pulled their wings off, they’re no fun at all. That’s why I like moths better than butterflies.

I told Miss Murray all that but she says I can’t have my scissors back.

Still, I don’t care if she keeps me in over lunch. I’m not colouring in my butterfly. Not unless I can do it brown.

Stupid art class anyway. 7

Winter Feast by Elizabeth Gatens

It’s my turn to feed the baby. Mam won’t, and Nanna, well, she says the weather is changing. Her bones always creak before the snow comes, and they crackle when there’s a storm on the way. We’ve got both tonight. A snowstorm. I hope Dad comes home soon.

Mam made him go hunting, chasing him away from the fire with her tears and shrilling. There’s no hunting to be had, though, and no poaching either, not since the long winter set in. He told me he’d try to look for food in the village, but it’s a bad place. I’m not allowed to go there in case the devil takes me. The villagers are all sick from their sins, bursting with brimstone boils and sweating from the damnation fires. Nanna got sick, too, but Dad said it was head-sick, not the devil, and she’s nearly cured now.

I’m so hungry.

Outside, the snow wants to settle but the wind keeps scooping it up again, flinging flakes into the trees all around our home. Nanna stares into the storm, grinning at something I can’t see. I’d better bring her inside before she gets wet. I daren’t stay away from the fire for long, daren’t leave Mam alone with the baby. Dad says Mam is head-sick too, from the hunger, but she won’t eat. Nanna stopped eating long ago.

I carry Nanna back inside, so easy since there’s hardly anything left of her. She used to have more meat on her bones, but now she’s mostly eyes and grin. She creaks as we pass through the doorway, stiff with the cold, and I gently lay her on the floor away from the fire, away from Mam. The baby watches me, balancing on his awkward, fat legs, and he smiles. I smile back. Dad will be home, soon.

The storm comes in with Dad, dressing him in white rags. His hands are empty, empty as my insides. Mam looks up at Dad, at those horrible, empty hands, and she cries. No wonder she can’t feed the baby when she’s weeping herself dry. I don’t cry, even though I’m starving, and the baby doesn’t cry either, only when Mam holds him too tight. Dad stands in front of the fire, but he won’t look at Mam. He looks at me, and I know.

It’s my turn to feed the baby.

I take his hunting knife, broken at the tip from chipping ice out of the river, and cut a thin slice of nearly-cured meat. There’s not much left, and it has to last us until the spring finally comes. Nanna stares at me, grinning, and I pop the meat into my mouth, chewing to soften it for the baby. Hunger bubbles up from inside me. My mouth weeps like Mam’s eyes, 8

juices pooling on my tongue. I swallow the first mouthful. I can’t help myself, and Mam isn’t watching anyway. I steal a second bite, and chew slowly on the third.

I pluck the moist morsel from my mouth and feed it to the baby. He sucks at my fingers, trying to bite me with his one tooth. Greedy little darling. I pull my finger free and, at a nod from Dad, cut another slice of meat. As baby grows, Nanna shrinks. There’ll be nothing left, soon.

Dad hasn’t eaten tonight, and I think he’s getting head-sick, too. He won’t talk to Mam, and he won’t look at me anymore. He takes the knife from me and says he’s going hunting, out into the snowstorm. I know he’s not coming back. He’ll get lost and freeze, or be eaten by wolves. I tell the baby not to worry, that we won’t starve without Dad. Spring can’t be far away now. Don’t worry, I say to him, we still have Mam.

Nanna grins, and the baby smiles. I smile back. Mam cries. 9 10

The Skulkybunking Wurld Champyon Of The Hole Woorld

by Paul Mannering

“I’ll go first,” Jacob said to the shadow in the closet. The shadow did not reply, so Jacob slipped out of bed and collected the heavy book, ‘1001 Bed Time Stories’ from his bookshelf and carried it to the centre of the room. Lifting the book high overhead, he threw it on the floor. It landed with a loud BOOM that echoed to the living room below.

Jacob crumpled on the floor rug, folding himself into a tangled heap. He twisted his head and let his tongue hang out for extra effect.

The sound of footsteps rushing up the stairs vanished under the angry tone of his mother’s voice.

“Jacob Kerney, I swear, if you are not in bed, asleep when I get up there, you are going to get such a hiding.”

The bedroom door spoke with his mother’s voice as it opened and even the shadow in the closet shrank back at the sound. “You’re going to be in big trouble when your father gets ho—” Mother stopped speaking when she saw Jacob lying twisted and still on the bedroom floor.

“Oh my God, Jacob?” She rushed over, dropping to her knees and gingerly shaking his limp form. “Jacob? Honey, are you okay?”

Jacob lay still, every limb and muscle limp and relaxed, hoping the shadow in the closet was paying attention.

“Jacob?” Mother’s voice rose in a terrified screech. She blindly probed his neck for a pulse and ran her hands over his arms and legs, looking for blood or signs of terrible fracture.

Her touch tickled, but Jacob remained resolute in his attention to the details. You did not win by giving up when you were tickled.

“Wait there, baby. Just wait there.” Mother scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room. Jacob cracked one eye open and then stood up.

“Okay,” he said to the shadow in the closet. “Your turn.”

The closet door swung open and the shadow slithered out, taking on a new form as it entered the room.

Jacob watched with interest as the thing grew two scaled legs that ended in dark, curving claws. The body forming above the legs was covered in dense fur, with spider legs 11

sprouting from the sides. The spider legs reached out and balanced the swelling form against the bedroom wall.

“Not bad,” Jacob said grudgingly. “Mum doesn’t like spiders.”

With a ripping sound like a sodden paper bag tearing, a head pushed its way up through the top of the furry body. A massive jaw opened to show teeth erupting out from black gums, each fang longer than Jacob’s longest finger. Dripping a clear slime, the head twisted, the long neck extending a foot above its shoulders before tilting forward.

Jacob watched the transformation with awe; this was the master at work.

The spider legs waved as the thing took a shuffling step forward. Bulging eyes sprouted from the gaunt, grey flesh of the monstrous head. The door handle turned under the arachnid's clawed grip. Jacob followed the slime trail as the monster shuffled out of his bedroom, dragging a slug-like tail.

The freshly-formed monster made its way downstairs while Jacob stood at the top. A few seconds passed after the thing vanished from view. The boy waited, hardly daring to breathe.

A piercing scream echoed through the house. Jacob winced, Mum hadn’t screamed that loud when she thought he’d fallen out of bed and broken his neck. The screaming eventually stopped. A crashing sound suggested that perhaps his mother had fainted or was throwing saucepans at the monster?

The shadow appeared at the bottom of the stairs and began to ooze its way up them. Jacob waited until it arrived on the landing next to him.

“That wasn’t bad,” Jacob said.

“She… fainted…” the shadow whispered in a voice like a winter breeze blowing through the branches of a dead tree.

“Well I’m sure I can make her faint too,” Jacob replied.

“Her… hair… turned… white…” the shadow said, a slight trace of smugness in its tone.

“Cool…” Jacob whispered, unable to supress his admiration.

“I… win…” the shadow whispered.

Jacob frowned, there was no denying it. The shadow monster had scared his mother the best.

“Okay,” Jacob turned and led the thing into his bedroom. The shadow morphed into a shape that was almost human, though still made of coiling smoke, and seemed to go down on one knee, the head bowed. 12

Jacob lifted the medallion he’d made in school from a margarine container lid covered with papier-mâché and painted gold. The carefully marked words, Skulkybunking Wurld Champyon of the Hole Woorld stood out on the medallion in letters of silver glitter and glue. A piece of ribbon tied through a hole at the top allowed the medal to be slipped over the head.

Jacob solemnly awarded the prize to the shadow monster.

“Next time, we’ll see who can scare Dad the best,” he said as the creature of shadow and smoke slithered into the closet.

“Of… course…” the dread whisper came back as the closet door swung shut.

Jacob smiled as he climbed into bed. The creature didn’t know that his dad was bald. 13

How They See You by Morgan Davie

Flowers pushing out of vases, petals spread, unblinking. It was that kind of house: two levels, double garage, televisions mounted on the walls of living room and kitchen and playroom. And flowers. It was a sleepover, but not the fun kind, because Jen and I had a major assignment due and the tutor already had us on watch. My crappy flat was a crappy flat but she was paying board with her aunt and uncle, so.

We were in the second lounge, class notes all over the table, vase pushed to the side, blue pen and red pen and yellow highlighter, and nothing was giving in.

‘Are you really doing work all night like boring grown-ups?’ Malcolm asked. He stretched to pull a flower out of the vase. ‘Seriously dumb!’

‘Very dumb,’ I said to him, making a face, but also totally meaning it.

‘You are,’ he said, and waved the flower at my face. ‘Will I see you in the morning? I’ll show you my bike.’ He was four years old and hard to resist.

Jen stalked into the room. ‘Go to bed, Malcolm. Your dad’s waiting up there.’

‘I’ll be here so you can show me your bike, I promise.’

‘I can do tricks,’ he said with pride.

‘Go!’ Jen smacked a kiss on his cheek.

Taking the hint, he presented the other cheek to me and I pecked it. ‘Sweet dreams,’ I said.

He looked me straight in the eyes, and nodded carefully. Then he hopped away up the stairs to bed.

‘Sorry,’ Jen said, grimacing. ‘Argh.’

I had been grateful for the distraction, actually. I tapped my pen against the side of the vase, a nervous pulse. It felt like I’d need a noose to drag my head back down into the books.

At the top of the stairs, Malcolm had stopped. He squatted down so he could see us. Behind and above him, a light bulb flickered. His hair needed a comb. He tilted his head. I could see his lips moving gently, like he was whispering to himself.

Jane noticed him. ‘Malcolm, go!’

He was looking right at me as he straightened. Then with a curling little voice he said: ‘I'll control your dreams, and make them nightmares.’

Then just bare feet on the stairs, then nothing at all. 14

The lingering trace of his attention, like a scraping on the skin.

‘Sorry,’ Jen said. ‘Let’s get this done. Have you finished your half?’

I swallowed, trying to focus. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Warning you, if we have to use plan B, I’m not doing the seducing.’

‘Knowing Kenneth, he’d probably fail us even harder just to make a point.’ I tried to look at the pages of notes but they might as well have been written by aliens. I couldn’t even focus on the words. ‘Oh my God, I need a break.’

Jen went to make hot chocolates. I went to the window. It was pitch dark outside. I couldn’t tell how late it was. This was a foolish idea. I wasn’t even sure how we’d ended up agreeing to do it this way. I remembered Kenneth staring at me, how exactly that felt, exposed and ashamed.

Jen’s notes were cleaner and tidier than mine. I knelt down to look at them properly but I couldn’t quite get the sense of what she’d written. References to a paper I didn’t know –was it in the course readings? And marginal notes, Kenneth’s name with some strange spiral around it (positive or negative?) and then on the very last page clearly on the ruled blue lines, ‘that is how they see you/they need to see you/that is how they feed’ and

–something landing on my arm –

I jerked my elbow. It connected with the vase, which spun and fell. Flowers spilled. Water didn’t need to make a sound as it swam over my notes and Jen’s, darkening them, the ink diffusing. I couldn’t move fast enough. Water collecting at the edge of the table, droplets bulging and releasing hold.

‘No!’ Jen said from the door. She ran over to stand up the vase. ‘Oh!’

It had been a petal, on my arm. ‘I’ll get a towel,’ I said, but Jen had already gone. This wasn’t even her house. I worked the switch but the light wouldn’t come on. I could hear the water dripping on the carpet, soft impacts in series.

I remembered Kenneth, furious. It made me dizzy. The house was vast and empty around me. I had always hated this house, hated the way they looked at me, like they knew I wasn’t good enough to be there but they didn’t want the mess of telling me.

The light was flickering again as I climbed the stairs. I was heavy-footed, unsteady. The door to Malcolm’s room was open and in each dull flash I saw the shape of him curled up on the bed. ‘I already did all of this,’ I said into the darkness. ‘This was a long time ago.’

His voice from within: ‘They like it.’

I could no longer stand. I crawled over to the bed, hoping the door would not close behind me again. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’ 15

But Malcolm was fast asleep, a crushed stem dangling from his closed hand, and within the cage of his fingers, staring hungrily, was the flower. 16

The Dead Way by JC Hart

It was awfully quiet – too quiet for life with my child. I padded down the hallway and poked my head into Sadie’s room to find her staring out the window.

“Hey, what’s up?” I crossed the room when she didn’t turn and knelt beside her on the bed, my swollen belly coming between us. “Sadie?”

She shook her head, making her dark hair shimmer, then she shuddered and unlatched her gaze from the street before turning towards me. “I’m sorry, Mummy.”

I frowned and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “What for?”

A line of tears marched single file down her cheek, but she wiped them away before they reached her chin. “It’s Hugo. He’s gone.”

A flutter of panic beat in my chest. Hugo had been my closest companion since before I met Sadie’s dad, before she’d been born. The dog was getting old now, but still… “What do you mean, ‘he’s gone’?”

“He got out the gate. He went down the Dead Way and he’s not coming back.” Sadie bit her lip and gave another little shudder.

I sighed in relief. “It’s a dead end, sweetie, because it doesn’t go anywhere. Remember?”

“But it does go somewhere.” The depth of her eyes spoke of things I was unable to grasp. I shook off the finger of fear that was tracing my spine and stood.

“Daddy’s going to be home soon, and then I’m going to go look for him. He won’t have gone far.”

“No! No, Mummy! You can’t!” She sprang from the bed and latched onto my legs, her head buried in my side.

“I won’t be gone long. I’ll take his treats and he’ll come back. Don’t worry.”

“You can’t go down the Dead Way, Mummy. They want you to.” At least, that’s what I thought she said. I tried to prise her off but she was doing a perfect impression of a limpet.

The door slammed downstairs and I sighed, tugging her up my body until she was nestled against my shoulder, her leg hooked over the curve of my bump.

“Come on, Daddy’s home.” I headed to the stairs but when we got to the top Sadie grasped my head in her hands and forced me to stop.

“You can’t go down the Dead Way,” she whispered. 17

“I have to find Hugo, honey.” I shook my head, trying to be patient. “I keep telling you, there's nothing scary about a dead end.”

“I’ll stop you, Mummy. Sorry.” She kissed my cheek, her eyelashes tickling my forehead as she did, before slipping down. She looked at me one more time, eyes as dark as her hair, and then she jumped.

“Sadie!” The scream tore from my lungs and I charged down the stairs, trying to stop her tumble. She was always just out of reach, a million miles away.

She hit the landing below and I swallowed back the bile in my throat at the sight – eyes closed, bruises blooming on her body, arm bent awkwardly. “Nathan! Nathan quick, get an ambulance!”

He entered the hall, his face blanching. “What? Oh my…” He grabbed the phone and hit speed dial, pacing frantically, his footfalls echoing the patter of my heart.

“Sadie, can you hear me? Honey, Mummy’s here.” I touched her neck, leaned down to feel the tickle of her breath on my cheek. “She’s breathing, Nathan, but tell them to hurry!” I wanted to pull her into my arms, but I couldn’t move her for fear of making it worse. My tears splashed on her forehead, but still she didn’t stir. “Come on… come on…”

Later, after we were all home, I lay on the couch against Nathan’s chest, a glass of wine in my hand. Twin sorrows ate at me: the missing dog, and the child who was so desperate to stop me from looking for that dog that she would throw herself down the stairs.

“Something’s wrong with her. You have to admit it now. She’s always been a little…quirky…but this… I don’t even…” I closed my eyes but the image of her face, her eyes, before she jumped was there, burned into my brain. “It’s the baby. She’s already jealous.”

“Are you sure she didn’t just trip? I mean, it could have been an accident.”

I pushed myself up and glared at him, the warmth of his chest no longer comforting. “You weren’t there. I saw the look on her face, Nathan. She apologised before she jumped.”

“She’s only six, Megan. I just…” He shrugged, not willing to admit there could be a problem.

I shook my head, trying not to feel disgusted with him. “I’m going to go find Hugo. Keep an eye on her? I just… I need some fresh air.” I grabbed my coat and the dog lead before heading out the door. I didn’t want to see her right now. There were too many bruises on her face and the cast looked too big for her small body to support. And heaven forbid if she woke. Who knew what she might do to stop me this time? 18

The night air bit into my skin and I winced, focusing on the task ahead. Hugo needed me now. What on earth had forced him off the property was beyond me, as he’d never wandered before.

“Hugo!” I called as I crossed the street and headed down the dead end. Dead Way, if Sadie were to be believed. She’d always had an amazing imagination, but this was beyond weird.

The streetlight above me sputtered and fizzed out, leaving me in a pool of darkness. I glanced back at the house. All the lights were on, which gave me some comfort, until I turned back to the dead end and found that it was now pitch black. I shuddered, unable to quell the feeling that something definitely wasn’t right.

Still, Hugo needed me, and being afraid of the dark was childish. I walked on, keeping my stride long, aiming to look more confident than I felt. The air got chillier as I went, numbness seeping into my fingers. I tucked them under my armpits.

“Hugo, come on boy. Time to come home.” I cast one more look back at the window. I could see a small silhouette in Sadie’s room. The hand of her unbroken arm was pressed against the window and though I couldn’t hear her, I knew she was screaming for me.

“Quit being stupid, Megan. Don’t let her get to you.” I took a deep breath, the chill dusting my lungs. “Hugo! Come on. This is stupid.” I kicked at the pavement, annoyed at my dog, and my daughter, but mostly myself for letting her creep me out like this.

A low whimper sounded from a bush ahead. “Hugo, is that you?” I called, keeping my voice steady.

He shot out toward me, his belly concave and his teeth bared like he’d been wild for a week, not a few hours. A low growl hung on the air as he snapped at my outreached hand. Bewildered, I snatched it back, shrinking in on myself.

“What’s gotten into you, boy? It’s me.” I reached out slowly, gauging his movements. He sniffed at the air and whimpered again, his face drooping into puppy melancholy for just a moment before he grabbed my hand between his teeth and bit down.

My scream frightened him and he let go, running back from where he had come.

“Hugo!”

Laughter drifted from the same direction – or was it just in my head? – I couldn’t tell. I glanced back, but I couldn’t see the house, in fact, not a single light shone. It was as though the entire street, the whole city, had disappeared.

Looking for something? 19

This time, I knew, it was definitely inside my head. Mist rose from the ground, clouding the air and making it impossible to see the way back home.

Your daughter bargained for you, and yet here you are…

“Who’s there? I’m not speaking to you until you come out.”

We don’t need to talk. You’ve kindly provided the vessel.

I felt it then, something wet, creeping up my leg. At least it felt wet, and it felt real but when I felt for it there was nothing there, nothing but the sensation of something moving on my skin, through my skin, settling inside me. I doubled over, my belly cramping, the baby kicking, and I knew why it wanted me. I knew why Sadie had let the dog out, and why she’d tried to stop me.

“MUMMY!”

“Sadie?” Her voice pulled me to my feet and I stumbled toward it. “Sadie!”

“Mummy, come home!”

“Sadie!” I ran. My legs were awkward beneath me but I ran, feeling her draw me back from the Dead Way. Suddenly the lights were back on and the house was across the street, and Nathan was there with Sadie in his arms, both looking fearful.

“Oh Sadie.” I gathered her up, not caring about the wound to my hand, forcing my mind from the heaviness in my womb, and nuzzled my head into her neck. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen.”

“It’s OK, Mummy,” she whispered. “You came back.”

“I did.”

“Where’s Hugo?” Nathan asked.

“He’s gone.” I shook my head, not wanting to speak of him, or anything else. “Let’s go inside.”

Nathan nodded and headed across the road to the house. I looked back at the Dead Way and shivered.

Sadie pulled my face to hers and kissed me on the cheek. “You brought a bad thing back,” she whispered.

“I know, honey.” I bit my lip, trying not to cry.

“We’re going to have to kill it.”

“I know.” 20

Summary

Thank you for taking the time to read these stories. We hope you liked them, and will consider supporting Baby Teeth as we raise money for the Duffy Books in Homes charity (http://www.booksinhomes.org.nz/). The anthology contains 36 brand new stories from award-winning Kiwi and international authors. Contributors include:

Alan Lindsay Alicia Ponder Anna Caro Celine Murray Dan Rabarts Darian Smith Debbie Cowens Elizabeth Gatens Grant Stone

Jack Newhouse Jake Bible Jan Goldie JC Hart Jean Gilbert Jenni Sands Kevin G. Maclean Lee Murray Lewis Morgan

M. Darusha Wehm Matt Cowens Matthew Sanborn Smith Michael J Parry Morgan Davie Paul Mannering Piper Mejia Sally McLennan

To support our PledgeMe campaign (running until August 10th, 2013), please visit https://www.pledgeme.co.nz/1214.

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