HER HORRORWEEN - Maternity Leave

[00:00:00] [SPEAKER_02] Listen up, thrillers. A quick note. Tonight's Devious Audio Delight contains adult content and language. Please see the content warnings in the show notes.

[00:00:09] [SPEAKER_05] The baby is the only thing keeping me alive. No, that's not accurate. I must think clearly. I'm alive because I breathe. The stale air of my apartment. I sleep in 10-minute stretches.

[00:00:38] [SPEAKER_05] And I eat the food that'll run out any day now. I must stick to the facts. There's no one but me to steer the ship. My newborn cries constantly and barely sleeps. So we sit alone in the dark on sour-smelling sheets while he sucks fluid from my body. I force myself to stay awake while he nurses himself to sleep. Then I pass out. Minutes later, he wakes up. Repeat.

[00:01:08] [SPEAKER_05] Twenty-four hours a day for three weeks. Time has morphed into a surreal gummy loop. Occasionally, I manage to sneak out of bed to use the bathroom or eat. In the mirror on the closet door is a stranger who looks like me. She's got wild, unbrushed hair, slimy, unwashed skin, and under-eye shadows like thunderclouds. As for my mind, well...

[00:01:38] [SPEAKER_05] I once saw a feature on the Food Network where a chef was preparing pig's brains for frying. While the oil heated in the pan, he sliced up the wavy lumps and squashed them into mush. Nothing is wrong with me. I don't have an infection. I haven't broken a bone. Even my stitches down below have healed. So... Why do I feel like I'm balanced on a blade?

[00:02:08] [SPEAKER_05] Why am I perpetually inches away from screaming? Nothing's wrong with the baby either. Just colic. Just colic. The pediatrician said over the phone. He... Sounded bored. Distracted. When I typed, I have a newborn and I'm losing my mind, and to Google, all that came up was postpartum psychosis. Which is ridiculous. I'm not some psycho running around stabbing people in their showers.

[00:02:38] [SPEAKER_05] The baby is awake again. His wail pierces me like a white-hot spit. The wall behind my head rattles. The neighbor in the next apartment doesn't like noise. I unzip my hoodie and steal myself. My son's tiny mouth opens and he latches on. My nipple burns as if seared with a branding iron. I clamp my lips to stifle my cry.

[00:03:07] [SPEAKER_05] Such pain is normal for new mothers, says the internet. My tears overflow as they often do these days. When I shift him to the other breast, his lips are bloody from the raw red waste he left behind. A human-shaped shadow moves past my bedroom window. I look up sharply, but... there's nobody there. My heart is beating too hard.

[00:03:36] [SPEAKER_05] Thumping in my throat. The wall clock says 7.04. Morning or evening? Impossible to tell from the weak light outside. I glance at my phone, whose battery is at 6% because... I forgot to charge it. 7.04 PM. What was I saying? Oh, right. I'm... I'm not some psycho killer. I'm just...

[00:04:06] [SPEAKER_05] tired. So... tired. Isn't sleep deprivation used in torture? Can it kill me? It wouldn't matter. His cries could wake the dead. Okay, okay. Okay, okay. It's not that funny. Why can't I stop laughing? He's beautiful.

[00:04:35] [SPEAKER_05] My little bug. I never tire of mussing his wispy hair. Tickling his miniature toes. Stroking a finger along his impossibly soft cheeks. For him, I must hold it together. I'm hanging onto sanity by a tether constructed from some blood-deep compulsion to keep him alive. But it's fraying.

[00:05:04] [SPEAKER_05] Exhaustion eats away at it. Corroding it to a thin rope. What if it snaps? How will I keep him safe? When he's finally asleep, I take my pocket knife from the nightstand. Lately, I've become quite skilled at doing things one-handed. I ease the blade open with my teeth.

[00:05:33] [SPEAKER_05] Carefully, I scar the wood of the bedpost. Slashing a diagonal through four vertical scratches. I've survived my 20th day of motherhood. The dream begins the second I close my eyes. White sheep prance through a sunny meadow and jump. One by one, over a white picket fence.

[00:06:03] [SPEAKER_05] They're fluffy. Cartoonish, like the ones I imagined as a child when I couldn't sleep. Beyond the meadow looms a big, dark forest.

[00:06:13] [SPEAKER_04] Hello. What?

[00:06:14] [SPEAKER_05] Says a sheep. Their face is dark, gray and friendly.

[00:06:18] [SPEAKER_04] Come jump with us.

[00:06:20] [SPEAKER_05] I'd love to. But I'm a bit tied up. Something sticky binds me. I peer through a hole in a grayish white mass of fibers. When I try to push it out of the way, I discover I have no arms. My mind floats in a warm, chunky soup. Sorry. It seems I don't have a body. They nod.

[00:06:45] [SPEAKER_04] Ah, you're in the disintegration stage. I should have guessed when I saw the cocoon. I hate it.

[00:06:52] [SPEAKER_05] It hurts so bad. Is it supposed to feel like this? Dunno. No one's ever told me. Everyone said it would be wonderful, but I'm stuck here. All melted and it's gross and I have no idea what's happening.

[00:07:12] [SPEAKER_04] That sounds excruciating.

[00:07:14] [SPEAKER_05] The sheep tilts its head sympathetically.

[00:07:17] [SPEAKER_04] Well, best of luck.

[00:07:21] [SPEAKER_05] I gaze at the nimble, carefree sheep. One leaps in a double somersault, pausing midair like a comic book panel. Their hoof triumphantly punching the sky. In the forest, just out of sight, dark shapes slink through the trees.

[00:07:50] [SPEAKER_05] My eyelids feel lined with lead. My sun rise and howls on the gritty sheet beside me. Fatigue rings every fiber of my body. My limbs shriek with the weight of it. Please go back to sleep. Begging won't work. Neither will rocking, swaddling, pacifiers, or useless internet advice.

[00:08:21] [SPEAKER_05] I've tried it all. I drag myself into a sitting position. Let him latch onto my breast and flip on the TV. My stomach growls. I recall the lies I swallowed. Babies are bundles of joy. Savor this precious phase. You won't want it to end. These sweet tidbits quickly soured.

[00:08:51] [SPEAKER_05] Now they fester indigestible. Why do people tell such tales? Enjoy your special bonding time, said my boss in an email. Oh, he'd be shocked to see the feral state of his efficient account manager. Millions of women have done it, said my brother-in-law Bob eavesdropping while my sister Ellen had me on speakerphone. He and Ellen are both hotshot lawyers.

[00:09:18] [SPEAKER_05] My sister and I aren't close, but she has three kids and I'd hoped for advice. I was about to confess my fears about my mental state when Bob butted in. I lost my nerve and ended the call. I didn't even try my mother. I'd had enough of her speeches about fornication and sin. Someone's at the window again. My head snaps in that direction just in time to see him scurry off.

[00:09:48] [SPEAKER_05] I reach over and close the shade. The baby has slept for 15 minutes and counting. A new record. On shaky legs, I creep to the bathroom. After peeing for the first time in 12 hours, I nudge the scale out from under the sink with my toe and step on. I've lost my pregnancy weight. Actually, I'm 10 pounds below it. I lift my shirt.

[00:10:17] [SPEAKER_05] I can see my ribs. My baby is literally sucking the life out of me. I picture him with little fangs and a cape. My laughter echoes off the tiles. It's too loud. I cannot stop. Drywall rattles. I've seen my next-door neighbor only in passing.

[00:10:46] [SPEAKER_05] He's tall with a shaved head and a bodybuilder's physique. I return to the bedroom, pick up the baby, walk with him, bounce him. Shhh. It's okay, Buck. He's got my eyes, chin, and thick, dark hair. I say another prayer of thanks that he doesn't look like his father. As if James deserves the word father. At first, James talked a good game about co-parenting.

[00:11:17] [SPEAKER_05] True, he didn't propose nor suggest we move in together, but he bought a few things when we went to the baby superstore. I was in my second trimester. My face flushed with life. My swollen belly round and cute. The bigger I got, the less James came around. Apart from medical personnel, I spent my 32-hour labor alone. Alone. It took four increasingly furious calls to get him to pick me up at the hospital.

[00:11:47] [SPEAKER_05] I hissed into my phone, trying to stay out of earshot of the whispering nurses. Damn it, James. They won't discharge me until someone comes to get me. And bring the car seat from my apartment. When James pulled his dented Ford into the hospital driveway, he stared slack-jawed at the squealing bundle in my arms. While I fumbled with the car seat's buckles, James remained behind the wheel. I could see the whites of his eyes in the rearview mirror.

[00:12:16] [SPEAKER_05] He pulled up to the curb next to my apartment building. So, uh, guess I'll be going. You're leaving. My stomach roiled with bewilderment, rage, and panic. This is your kid too, James. He wouldn't meet my eyes. I'll call you. Envisioning James' death is one of my favorite ways to pass the endless hours.

[00:12:46] [SPEAKER_05] Sometimes I drive a bus over it. Watch his guts splay across the pavement like glistening worms. Often, I shove him off the subway platform. He falls six feet onto the tracks. Claws at the concrete walls. Pleads for help. Rats chew on his ankles and crawl up his legs. His eyes bug out, reflecting the headlights of the oncoming train.

[00:13:19] [SPEAKER_05] My neighbor is hollering. Can't make out his words, but the message comes through. When I dial James' number, it goes straight to voicemail. I hold the phone to my infant's lips and send his father a dispatch. The sheep cluster at the edge of the meadow. A fat cloud smothers the sun. How's it going?

[00:13:49] [SPEAKER_05] No jumping today? I try to wave, but... I can't. My body is chowder.

[00:13:57] [SPEAKER_04] Not today. Looks like foul weather.

[00:14:02] [SPEAKER_05] They open little black umbrellas. The dust blows several of them inside out. In the forest, something gleams. Peering from the shadows. Our two bright, predatory eyes.

[00:14:33] [SPEAKER_05] Someone is whispering my name. The baby. Of course. Smart boy. That's silly. It can't be him. He'd be calling me mom. I open my eyes. He's asleep. Next to me. There's nobody else in the room. My heart leaps at the familiar sound. I go to the bedroom door and peer out. Coco?

[00:15:03] [SPEAKER_05] Is that you, girl? The living room is empty. Coco used to make that sound when someone was at the door. She died when I was 13. I'm just... lonely. That's all. I'm imagining sounds to comfort myself. Maybe my neighbor isn't real either. Oh well. I can't dwell on that. The fridge, freezer, and cabinets are empty.

[00:15:33] [SPEAKER_05] I find paper on the counter and make a grocery list. It's ridiculous because I'm out of everything. But feeling in control is nice. My purse is on the chair. The stroller is by the door. I can do this. Something is sitting on the kitchen table. I approach. It's a folded piece of paper. I open it. It's covered in messy handwriting.

[00:16:04] [SPEAKER_05] Filed third noise complaint with landlord. Quiet that baby or next time I call the cops. I hurry down the hall, grab the baby, and run. The sun is too bright. I squint like a bear emerging from hibernation. My son gazes wide-eyed at clouds and trees.

[00:16:31] [SPEAKER_05] Parked cars' windows reflect a hollow-eyed zombie in grimy, disheveled clothes pushing a stroller down the sidewalk. I don't want to think about how I smell. Inside the fluorescent supermarket, I maneuver a cart with one hand and the stroller with the other. A wobbly exercise in avoiding collisions. The produce section is a success.

[00:17:02] [SPEAKER_05] I shove vegetables into bags, keeping one eye on the baby, who stares up at the lights and signs above. In the pasta aisle, he begins to fuss. I toss jarred sauce and box spaghetti into the cart. Two young women wearing false eyelashes make a show of squeezing through the gap between my stroller and the shelves.

[00:17:22] [SPEAKER_01] Gotta block the whole aisle with the big-ass stroller. Who knew squeezing out crotch fruit made you forget how to use a hairbrush?

[00:17:31] [SPEAKER_05] I laugh like hyenas. I feel tears prick my eyes, followed by a shocking surge of fury. The baby's fussing is turning into sobs. I press a pacifier to his lips. Please take the pacifug. I can't feed you right now. He spits it out and whams. I racewalk the cart and stroller into the next aisle. The motion quiets him a little. I throw a box of diapers into the cart

[00:18:01] [SPEAKER_05] and pause at the big, round canisters of baby formula. Maybe he'll sleep more if he eats more.

[00:18:10] [SPEAKER_02] I hope you're not buying that stuff. It's poison.

[00:18:14] [SPEAKER_05] She regards me over thick-rimmed glasses.

[00:18:17] [SPEAKER_02] Don't look at me that way. I'm just telling you the truth. Big Pharma puts drugs in formula. Everyone knows that.

[00:18:25] [SPEAKER_05] The full weight of my fatigue drags at my mind. I summon my last droplets of politeness. Ma'am, I just need him to sleep. Selfish. Rest is best. The baby's shrieks echo against the high ceilings. I cringe. Nosy Nelly recoils.

[00:18:44] [SPEAKER_02] That child is hungry. He needs to be fed. No shit, Sherlock.

[00:18:52] [SPEAKER_05] That voice doesn't sound like mine. I feel something slip. Some cog in the machinery coming loose. The woman's jaw drops. What kind of mother talks that way in front of her baby? A bad mom. I feel hysterical laughter bubbling up. What happens next happens fast. Nosy Nelly rockets upward as if shot from a cannon.

[00:19:23] [SPEAKER_05] Her head smashes into a light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Her body jerks like a cartoon character being electrocuted. Sparks fizz and pop. The air fills with the scent of fried hair, scorched clothing. Charred flesh. Her legs wriggle. I watch it all and laugh wickedly. Grinning from ear to ear.

[00:19:54] [SPEAKER_05] I blink. And shake my head. The woman stands before me unharmed. Her face a picture of shock and alarm. I'm a bad mom. I lunge at her verinthesis. Everyone knows that. She flees down the aisle, knocking cereal boxes off an end cap. There's no time to think about the vision I've just seen. The baby is now red-faced. Eyes screwed shut.

[00:20:24] [SPEAKER_05] Screeching his head off. Shoppers glare at us. I abandon the cart, grab the stroller, and sprint for the exit. My abandoned groceries were delivered with exorbitant fees to my credit card. When they arrived, I tore open a box and stuffed fistfuls of cereal straight into my face.

[00:20:53] [SPEAKER_05] Now, we're back on the bed. The baby is feeding again. My nipple throbs like it's being twisted in a vice. But my stomach has stopped snarling. I check my phone. No texts. No notifications. Nothing but the dim light of my lamp and the profound silence of 2am. The TV picture blurs.

[00:21:22] [SPEAKER_05] I see Nosy Nelly again. Frying on the light fixture. Body twitching. I shake my head, grab the phone, and type a question into Google. Does sleep deprivation cause hallucinations? The National Library of Medicine says yes. Perceptual distortions. Gradual progression towards psychosis.

[00:21:50] [SPEAKER_05] I giggle and rub my baby's fuzzy head.

[00:21:54] [SPEAKER_04] Your mom's crazy bug. Isn't that nice?

[00:21:59] [SPEAKER_05] The room fades away. I'm on a high cliff. And I'm running toward the edge. I hurl my baby over and watch his little body sail in an arc toward the ocean below. Oh my god. I shake my head violently and wipe my hands over my face. Nosey Nelly and her frown lines reappear in front of me.

[00:22:29] [SPEAKER_05] What kind of mother fantasizes about throwing her baby off a cone? No. I would never. She leans in. Her breath is rancid. Are you sure? Are you sure? I hug my baby close and squeeze my eyes shut. It's not real. It's not real. None of this is real. Go away. Trembling. I open my eyes.

[00:22:59] [SPEAKER_05] The visions have gone. The empty room is quiet as a tomb. He's sleeping. I scoot across the mattress and gently place him in the portable crib. Praying my trembling arms won't shake him awake. His chubby face is peaceful. His eyeballs move back and forth beneath closed lids.

[00:23:34] [SPEAKER_05] You'd be better off without me. The tears burst forth like a flood. Sobs rack my body. My abs spasm painfully. I straighten up. Take a deep breath. Knuckle the tears away and open Google again. Is it true you can leave a baby at a fire station, no questions asked? This answer is murkier.

[00:24:03] [SPEAKER_05] State laws vary. Approved locations only. Infant must be younger than 14 days of age. I pick up my pocket knife and open the blade. What does it take to bleed to death? I touch its point to the thin skin of my wrist. Nausea threatens to evict my dinner. I set the knife back on the nightstand.

[00:24:34] [SPEAKER_05] Leaving the blade open in case I... change my mind. The vortex of fatigue sucks at my body. My eyelids droop. I fumble for my phone. Its battery is a 2%, but really what does it matter? Then text James just before sleep pulls me under. If something happens to me...

[00:25:04] [SPEAKER_05] You'd better take care of him. The field and the picket fence look the same. The grass is a bit brown in patches as if autumn nears. A single sheep crosses the meadow. It glances left and right. As if on alert.

[00:25:32] [SPEAKER_05] It jumps the fence and hurries away.

[00:25:35] [SPEAKER_04] Hello there. Still tied up I see. Just hanging out.

[00:25:41] [SPEAKER_05] My body is still missing, but... It feels like something is forming. Arms, maybe. But there are too many.

[00:25:50] [SPEAKER_04] No matter. You'll soon be out.

[00:25:54] [SPEAKER_05] Will I?

[00:25:55] [SPEAKER_04] The season's changing. Can't you smell it? Where are your friends?

[00:26:01] [SPEAKER_05] Their head droops.

[00:26:03] [SPEAKER_04] The wolf. Oh, no. How awful.

[00:26:08] [SPEAKER_05] A scraggly lamb peeks out from behind a shrub. With a youthful burst of speed, they gallop toward the fence. The lamb is mid-leap when a massive gray creature springs from the woods. Its yellow eyes flash. The lamb hits the ground, pivots, and sprints out of sight. Saliva trips from its bared fangs.

[00:26:35] [SPEAKER_05] It turns away from its lost prey and fixes its eyes. On me.

[00:26:42] [SPEAKER_04] Oh dear.

[00:26:46] [SPEAKER_05] They run. But the wolf is faster. Frozen, I watch the gray giant bound forward. Then pin my friend beneath its enormous paws. Jaws lunge. Flesh rends. Scarlet blood splatters the sheep's white wool. There's nothing I can do.

[00:27:19] [SPEAKER_05] His limbs strain stiffly. Beyond the crib, there is movement. I see several things in a single second. My bodybuilder neighbor standing in my bedroom doorway. The man's face half disgusted, half leering at my bare breasts. Exposed beneath my unzipped hoodie. My front door ajar, which I forgot to lock after the grocery delivery.

[00:27:48] [SPEAKER_05] Called the cops. My heart thumps, madly. Flooding my veins with adrenaline muddied by fatigue. I cannot tell if I'm terrified or furious. I feel myself shifting, gathering my legs beneath me.

[00:28:04] [SPEAKER_00] You know what they told me. They don't come out for crying babies. I'm sure they have better things to do. Look, bitch. I can't get any goddamn sleep around here.

[00:28:14] [SPEAKER_05] You can't get any sleep? His jowly face darkens.

[00:28:22] [SPEAKER_00] It ain't funny. No. It's terrible. Fuck you! You won't shut that baby up!

[00:28:34] [SPEAKER_05] His trunk-like legs flash as he moves toward the crib. A single thought blazes through my mind and obliterates everything else. He's going to kill my baby. I lunge for the nightstand. Snatch the open pocket knife. Leap across the mattress and slash at the man's thick neck.

[00:28:57] Ow!

[00:28:58] [SPEAKER_05] Blood sprays the crib with crimson droplets.

[00:29:01] [SPEAKER_04] You cut me, bitch! Fucking bitch!

[00:29:04] [SPEAKER_05] A red stain spreads rapidly down his white t-shirt. With a face of utter hatred, he grabs for me. I scuttle backwards across the bed. Lose the knife in the sheets and seize the lamp. Its shade flies off and smacks the wall. Get away from me! Leave us alone! He is an enraged bull, charging at me. You're gonna fucking die! I heave the lamp down onto his bald head once. Twice. Three times.

[00:29:34] [SPEAKER_05] Squinting against the sprays of blood and broken glass. When I raise it again, it slips out of my bloodied hand. I leap to my feet on top of the mattress, ready to jump over him. But his eyes have lost focus. His huge body slumps against the bed. Streaks the pale sheet with crimson. My chest heaves.

[00:30:04] [SPEAKER_05] But I don't stop to catch my breath. I crawl across the bed and lift my baby from the crib. Come here, bug. I cuddle him against my shoulder. It's okay. You're okay. Slowly, my frantic heart and the baby's sobs calm down. I laugh and hug him. His tiny fingers squeeze my thumb.

[00:30:34] [SPEAKER_05] I will never let anything bad happen to you, bug. My voice is strange. Too high.

[00:30:44] [SPEAKER_04] Never. Ever.

[00:30:49] [SPEAKER_05] The adrenaline recedes like floodwaters, leaving behind a sloppy wreckage. I'm not sure what parts of me can be salvaged. I lay my infant down on the bed. Surely no child was ever so adorable. His blood-splattered onesie is like one of those art projects where you spatter paint with a toothbrush.

[00:31:16] [SPEAKER_05] A crafty dusting of cadmium red. I glance down at my hoodie.

[00:31:24] [SPEAKER_04] I'll look back. We match.

[00:31:27] [SPEAKER_05] My own project is... more artistic, I'd say. Large ruby splotches provide variety within the field of spatters. Who knew I was the matching outfits type of mom? I giggle uncontrollably. My son licks me in the eyes and gurgles happily. I sit and pull him close. His hungry mouth seeks my breast.

[00:31:57] [SPEAKER_05] It still hurts, but... that's alright. Light streams through the window. And I might have just killed a man, but... my baby is safe. A mother can do anything. Even a wolf is no match for a hunter. A magnificent.

[00:32:30] [SPEAKER_05] He's drifting off now. Sleepy. Satiated. Something drips from my hair and lands on his forehead with a wet... and such a gorgeous, vivid color. I draw it across his forehead with my thumb. Then... I draw a matching stripe across my own forehead. And I laugh. And laugh.

[00:33:01] [SPEAKER_06] And laugh.

[00:33:06] [SPEAKER_05] My sister. A visitor. How nice. Footsteps cross the living room.

[00:33:20] [SPEAKER_03] Sooner, but... I had court every day and... then all three kids had the flu. I'm dying to meet my nephew.

[00:33:27] [SPEAKER_05] Ellen appears in the bedroom doorway. Her steps come to an abrupt halt at the blood-soaked rug. Her cell phone and pocketbook crash to the floor. My grin. I lift my blood-covered infant toward my sister.

[00:34:07] [SPEAKER_00] Maternity Leave. Written by Jen Mearish. Performed by Chelsea Krause. With Cherie Wichard as Nosy Nelly. Raven Morales as The Shoppers. Jeff Schmidt as The Angry Neighbor. Erika Dawson as Ellen. You've been listening to Ominous Thrill, Her Horrorween. It's created, produced, directed, and sound designed by myself, Jeff Schmidt. If this is your first Ominous Thrill episode, please look back in the feed to find other stories you might enjoy.

[00:34:38] [SPEAKER_00] There's plenty of devious audio delights to choose from. The best way to help support making more Ominous Thrill is to subscribe to the ad-free feed, The Red Room, on Patreon and Apple Podcasts. Find links in the show notes. It's greatly appreciated. Next best is to share this story with everyone you think might enjoy it. Help spread the word. Use the share icon in your listening app of choice. And the easiest way is to leave a five-star rating and a positive review.

[00:35:05] [SPEAKER_00] It doesn't do much for the algorithms, but it helps other listeners decide if they'll listen. Thank you. This has been Ominous Thrill, Her Horrorween. And until next time. Thrill you later.

[00:35:18] [SPEAKER_01] The Fable and Folly Network. Where fiction producers flourish. I really wish they were lucky to love their neighbors. The Fable is what is the most wonderful, child or whatever. Today's the Fable is the most famous actor that you're famous.

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