*Italics are voices (in particular, The Wind) that only the narrator can hear*
The Wind howled through the cracks and chips of the old family manor. I wouldn't have liked to call it a manor though; it was a poor excuse for one- rundown and in dire need of renovation. Through the stained window above, I could vaguely make out the rich egg-yolk sun setting in the distance. The TV was on, crackling every now and then from the poor reception and on my swollen belly I had strategically balanced a bowl of popcorn. The rain thrashed against the walls in what seemed to be a pattern of bashes and thrums as if it were Metallica lyrics. The Wind licked my ears and whispered repeatedly in his old, wise voice "It's coming. Be careful.". An advertisement break on the TV silenced The Wind with loud outbursts and big numbers jumped out from the screen. The popcorn had grown cold in my fingers. Large rambunctious clouds rumbled along, obstructing the sun. Slowly, I removed myself from the crusty couch I had been living on for the past God knows how many hours, with a sudden bursting urge for the bathroom. Voices from the TV rose up and down like the shore break on a beach and over the top I could faintly hear The Wind still murmuring indescribable warnings. I hurried along the arched corridor, children's voices laughing at me. You're so useless. Piggy. So slow. When was the last time you exercised? On shutting the toilet door, the taunts and noises came to an abrupt halt and I could finally hear myself think.
Silence. Looking down at my big belly, I smiled to myself. "Only a few more weeks now, my love, and then we can finally meet." I swore I could hear her kick in response. Mum and I had been going through a list of names we liked but Judy, my caseworker, had made me promise to not name her until after she was born. Fucking Judy had been onto me about everything; my baby, my financial situation, my meds: as if she could try and control my entire life.
I had been on the toilet an awfully long time when I felt a stabbing pain in my pelvis. I doubled over but that seemed to magnify the excruciating ache. Looking down I realised in horror, that the toilet bowl was covered in blood. It was happening. As I rose to stand, a force the size of a bowling ball crushed my lower back and slammed me back into the toilet bowl. I lay there, splayed across the grubby seat, immobilised in pain. The cramped room spun around me, coming closer and closer as if the walls were to give way at any moment. Queasy from the motion, I shut my eyes. Flipping myself over, I crawled and felt around aimlessly for the door and pushed it open. An agonising energy inside me began to push against my body, so much that it forced my eyes and mouth to open in a scream. Blood had trailed along in a pool, staining the carpet behind me. Using all the mental strength I had, I tried to trace my mind back to where I left my phone. The kitchen. I scrambled to my hands and knees, weaker and weaker with every metre I gained to the kitchen. In my hazy vision I reached up to the scratched wooden bench and grabbed my phone, dialling the emergency number before another acute wave of pain thrust against my pelvis. I lay there motionless on the stone floor, the blood and life slowly trickling out of me as I waited for an ambulance.
YOU ARE READING
Post-Partum Paranoia
HorrorThe Wind is a dark and cruel man that only some can see. The rules are simple: Do what he says and he disappears. But what if he tells you things you don't want to do and how do you know what you're seeing isn't a figure of your imagination? Nina li...
