The Woman
As I neared the ruinous building, soft chanting reached my ears. It was a lullaby I knew since childhood. Out of an unfathomable reason I had to know who the singer was.
So I entered the house.
The interior was far worse than you might expect from its outer appearance: Something had torn a giant hole in the first floor hence I was able to see right up to the roof. Dust coated the ground and little furniture that was left, telling the story of a house being forgotten for about decades. There were some drawn footprints, indicating someone's presence not long ago. I couldn't hear anything but the mysterious chanting – not even the traffic from outside. It seemed like the eternal world avoided this place by every cost. The scent of moldy wood and urine filled the air… and something else I couldn't quite put on a finger. Being noxiously sweet, it was hard to bear. Putridity.
I wanted to turn back immediately but something drew me deeper into the building. I don't know what it was till the present day. Slowly I ascended the stairs. Every single step creaking under my weight. The smell intensified. Reaching the top I found myself in front of a gap which had to have been a door in former times. And then I saw her.
In the completely empty room stood a cradle, its legs nearly sawed to the ground. Next to it was a kneeling woman. She had greasy filthy hair and wore ragged clothes. Noticing me she stopped singing and lifted one mutilated hand to her lips.
"Shush," she whispered. "We shall not wake her up."
Her eyes glistened like a lunatic's. Slowly I crept closer until I could sneak a peek into the cradle. The baby inside was awfully putrid. It lacked its limbs and dried body liquids stained the moth-eaten blankets. I gagged. The woman was watching me avidly before she arose and hopped over to me on one leg, the other one being nothing but a stump.
"Isn't she gorgeous?" she asked with madness in her voice. "Don't you wanna stay with us? You look well-fed."
She reached for my hand. I wanted to retreat but incredibly fast she'd bitten off the first phalanx of my middle finger. Screaming I wrested my hand away. As she positioned for another leap I smacked her as hard as I could. The force sent her tumbling back to her original spot next to the cradle. Angst-ridden I escaped the house. Only when I was at the street again I consciously took in my surroundings. The woman screamed. There were no other sounds. No cars driving by.
Five years have passed and I haven't been in the house once. Sometimes, though, I passed it. Shortly after my 'visit' the chanting subsided. Since then there was never a sound to be heard.
A knocking on my office door rouses me to my thoughts. Before I have the chance to answer, the door opens. I'm confronted with a glance at a woman with only one leg. She wears a torn dress and filthy hair frames her smudgy face. With mutilated hands she carries a child in her arms. It has neither arms nor legs and has a heavily putrid smell on it. She takes me in with lunatic eyes.
"Shush," she whispers. "We shall not wake her up."