Nightmare Fuel, Day the Thirteenth - Asleep

This completes a fortnight of daily flash fiction. There were some very, very good responses to this one, my favorite being a poem from Amanda Rachelle Warren. Kary Gaul gave us ritual while Samantha Dunaway Bryant contributed a vampire story.

And as for me? I did something weird today. Enjoy.

Asleep

Day 1
"The baby's asleep. You know what that means,"

She gives  you a smile. A sexy, seductive smile. The kind you really like.

"I don't know... she's just on the other side of the wall. It'll feel weird."

"Come on. She's sleeping."

"It's still too soon. It feels weird."

She turns away, and you know you've made a mistake. A heartbeat later you follower her into the bedroom, but the mood has passed.

Day 3
"Did you wake up last night with the baby?",

"No, did you?"

"My mother always said to let a sleeping baby sleep."

You peek into the nursery. There she is, in the little bassinet, tiny chest rising and falling with low, even breaths. You gently close the door.

"That was my turn. You take care of her next."


Day7
"The baby is sleeping." You look at her, look at the bedroom, expectantly.

"Don't you think she should have woken up by now?"

"I just checked on her. She's sleeping calmly. Like a little angel. Let's go. And remember, it's your turn to check next".


Day 9
You quietly slip into the nursery to check on the baby. Little chest still rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, eyes still behind closed eyelids. Every now and then she makes a little babynoise and flails her chubby arms for just a moment, before again falling still. You stare a long time, ignoring your wife's calls from the living room.

Day 27
"It isn't normal. We need to take her to the doctor."

You roll your eyes. "We've been through this before. You aren't supposed to wake sleeping babies."

"It isn't normal," she repeats. God, you hate it when she repeats herself. "Babies aren't supposed to sleep for four weeks."

"It isn't quite four weeks yet. And babies sleep a lot. THat's what babies do."

"We haven't even fed her. In four weeks. How is she even alive? We need to go to the doctor."

"When she wakes up."


Day 40
You sit in a chair in the nursery, watching the baby sleep. She's no bigger than on day one. Still calm, still at rest, still your angel. You closed the door to block out the sobbing from the living room. Funny that the baby's room is the one place where there aren't any tears.


Day 50
"I can't do this anymore. WE can't do this anymore. Please listen."

You shake your head. "Your mother said never to wake a sleeping "

"You leave my mother out of it," she snaps. "and my mother never said anything about a baby who slept for two months."

You go back into the nursery, close the door behind you.

Thankfully, the slamming of the front door doesn't wake the baby.

Nothing does.