30 Reasons To Read

Episode 6: A Children Story

It was eight at night, and I was on my way to the Jacksons' house for a babysitting job. The couple had a night shift and needed someone to watch their kids. I arrived on time, just as they were ready to leave. Standing by the door, they hurriedly said their goodbyes, leaving me with their five-year-old twins- a boy and a girl.

Helen and Steve were adorable and well-behaved, making the evening smooth. Dinner was easy, and afterward, we played games. Every now and then, the Jacksons called to check in, but there wasn't much to report. The kids were perfect angels, or so I thought.

Everything seemed fine until bedtime.

As I placed a stack of goodnight stories on their bed, the kids sat upright, their big, curious eyes following my every move. I grabbed a few books at random and started reading. But after a couple of stories, they looked bored and unimpressed.

"These are so boring!" Helen huffed, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Can you tell us a story of your own?"

I gave her a playful frown. "Oh no, I'm terrible at making up stories."

Steve shuffled closer, grinning. "That's okay! I'm great at telling stories. Let me tell you one!"

I chuckled, relaxing a little. "Alright, Steve. Let's hear it."

Helen nudged him eagerly. "What story?"

Steve leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Her eyes widened with excitement and she nodded eagerly in a mixture of anticipation and approval.

"There was another babysitter before you. She came last week. But we didn't like her. She wasn't nice like you. She ate all the food, didn't share, and got mad at us for no reason. She even hit us when we didn't listen."

My heart sank. "That's awful," I murmured. "What happened next?"

Steve sighed dramatically. "Well, we got really mad. So, before our parents came home, we stabbed her with a kitchen knife. She died, and we buried her in the backyard. We even put a rose plant on top of her so no one would find her." He glanced at Helen, who nodded proudly. "When our parents asked where she went, we just told them she left early."

I froze, forcing a weak smile as my pulse quickened. "That's...quite the story."

Helen's face lit up with pride. "It's real! Not made up! She's still out there, under the rose plant."

My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't tell if they were playing a twisted joke or if there was something darker going on. Trying to keep my voice steady, I tucked them under their blankets and mumbled a quick goodnight.

As soon as I was downstairs, I bolted to the kitchen, grabbing the nearest water bottle and gulping it down. My hands were trembling as I stared at the backyard through the window. And there it was, a small rose plant in a pot, just like they said.

My throat tightened. Kids don't usually lie... right?

My heart raced as I immediately dialed their parents. If what the kids had said was true, they needed serious help at the earliest. The phone barely rang once before Mrs. Jackson answered.

"Was there a babysitter last week who left before you got home?" I blurted out, my voice shaky.

There was a pause. "Yes... why do you ask?" Mrs. Jackson's voice was laced with confusion.

"Your kids didn't tell you the truth!" I exclaimed, barely able to control the panic in my voice. "They said they killed her- stabbed her, buried her in the backyard, and put a rose plant over her grave! You need to come home right now!"

I was rambling, barely giving her a chance to respond. I could hear her trying to interrupt, her voice cutting in but failing to calm me down.

"Wait, wait! Did they tell you this?" she asked, surprisingly calm compared to the chaos spinning in my head.

"Yes!" I nearly shouted, the fear rising in my chest.

She sighed on the other end, a long, tired sigh. "You know what they told the last babysitter? They said there was a 'scary pink rag doll' in their room and begged her to take it out. She freaked out when she couldn't find the doll and called us in a panic, convinced something was wrong. The kids love pulling these pranks. We've warned them over and over, but they never listen. The poor woman must've been so rattled that she left before we got home."

A wave of relief crashed over me. I exhaled slowly, feeling my body finally begin to calm. "I'm so sorry," I mumbled, embarrassed now. "I overreacted..."

Mrs. Jackson chuckled lightly. "No worries. The kids just have overactive imaginations. They're harmless. Thanks for calling."

After apologizing again, I hung up. My pulse was finally slowing, but I still felt uneasy. Sleep was out of the question, so I decided to watch some TV to settle my nerves. An hour later, I turned it off and stood up, ready to call it a night.

But as I moved to leave the couch, my foot caught on something. I glanced down, frowning, and saw a small leather strap peeking out from under the couch. Curious, I crouched and pulled it out.

My heart stopped.

Attached to the strap was a small leather sling bag and tangled in it was a bloody finger.

My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I stared at the gruesome sight. The finger was cold, pale, with a ruby ring still looped around it. I froze, too horrified to move.

Without a second thought, I bolted up, ready to flee the house. But just as I turned, a sudden pain exploded at the back of my head. I staggered, collapsing onto the cold floor, vision swimming. My last conscious sight was Steve standing over me, gripping a shovel, while Helen calmly looked on.

Helen knelt down, plucking the finger from my limp hand. She examined the ruby ring with a satisfied smile. "Why did we have to kill this one? She was sweet. Mom didn't believe her anyway."

Steve shook his head, grimacing. "She found the finger. What if she showed it to our parents? We couldn't let that happen. Imagine them finding out our little secret."

Helen nodded, twirling the ring on her finger. "So, which plant this time?"

Steve grinned. "Lily."

Helen squealed in delight. "Perfect!"

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