Lights Out

Child of Mine

I adopted her in the spring. I was never lucky in love but I wanted a child, ever since I could remember. It was the only thing missing from my life so I decided to adopt a child who needed a family. I could provide that and since I work from home I will be able to bond and care for them whatever they may need.

Right away she was different. I suppose all children are in their own little ways, but Morgan was different in all ways. She refused to eat anything I gave her, rather finding enjoyment in a sleeve of crackers or simply not eating. She sleep walks, almost every night and I find her out in our backyard. Sometimes she's digging into the dirt but more often than not she just stares at the big oak tree in the corner. She calls me the best mommy she's ever had, which I suppose isn't too weird; she was in the foster care system for awhile before I found her.

Lately, Morgan has woken me in the middle of the night staring at me. She smiles as she stares but even when I wake and try to talk to her, she stares. She moves so quickly and silently that I find myself scared to walk around a corner, in case Morgan has the same idea. I thought being home would be the best option, but I find myself going to the store two or three times a day, just for a moment alone. I've never known a child as old as Morgan to cling so tightly to a parent. I try telling myself it's because she hasn't had a real family. I try, anyway.

Morgan started walking into empty rooms and just standing there with her gaze to the floor. It went on like that for a week, and then I heard her talking to someone. She kept saying, "No, I like this mommy." I stood outside the door with her clean clothes, listening to her getting more upset each time she had to repeat herself. I peeked in quickly and saw a little boy, much smaller than my girl, who had red eyes and sharp teeth. His mouth moved as if he were shouting and Morgan recoiled from him but not enough to physically step back.

I opened the door then, sweeping Morgan into a hug and sitting her down on the bed. "Morgan, honey, who were you talking to?"

"Lennon. He wanted to play."

"Is he a friend? Because friends don't make you this upset, baby, not if they're really your friends." I rubbed her back but she seemed disinterested in the conversation now. Therapy briefly floated through my mind but I pushed it away; we aren't there yet.

Morgan was back to her happy self by dinner, and this time she ate everything on her plate. She finished her milk without me having to tell her to and then cuddled on the couch with me to watch a movie. My heart soared; maybe she was ready to let me in. She asked for a bedtime story when I tucked her in, and then she took my hand.

"Mommy? You were right. Lennon isn't a very good friend but he's my only friend."

I stroked her cheek, sighing. "Sometimes it's better to not have friends than to have the wrong kind of friends. Friends should never make you feel upset and they should never ask you to do things you don't want to do. Besides, you start school soon so you'll meet lots of new kids who want to be your friend."

Morgan smiled and I thought that would be that. I mentally patted myself on the back as I turned out her light, finally feeling like a good mom. But sleep wouldn't come, no matter how many sheep I counted or how long I stayed still to relax. Something just wouldn't let me drift. I eventually rolled to my other side, my hip having gone numb, and found myself eye to eye with Morgan.

"Hey, honey. Why are you up? Did you have a bad dream?"

She didn't answer, only holding up a piece of rope. It was from the stash I had for winter, packing up the patio furniture. She held it firmly in both little palms, a second pair of hands faintly over hers and red eyes glowing from her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mommy."

Morgan wrapped the rope around my neck and pulled. I put a few fingers under it, getting the pressure off my throat, but Morgan screamed and pulled tighter. The ghost boy helped as the rope tore into my skin. My only instinct was to punch, claw or shove, anything to get her away from me, but how could I hurt my child? She was possessed but she was mine.

It was a slow death, I realized. It looks quick in the movies but it really hurts like hell, between not being able to draw air and the pressure closing my windpipe. But I let Morgan kill me. I let my daughter kill me because I couldn't hurt her to save my own skin. I wondered, my last thought on Earth, if Morgan had killed her other mommies like this or if she changed it up. I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? My eyes closed and I let my child go.