Cursed [Book 1] ✔

Chapter 5.2: And What Shall We Call You, Little One?

If I hadn't previously been suffering from morning sickness, the excess enthusiasm everyone displayed for the baby would have made me sick anyway. An essential wrongness was rooting inside of me, although the rational part of my brain rallied against such insanity. Even so, a supernatural spark drove my visions, thus I was convinced I could perceive a supernatural element in my pregnancy.

At the doctor's office, the sonogram displayed a normal nine-week old fetus, though I'd been expecting to see a monster grinning back at me in black and white. Rafe and my mother oooed and ahhed over the pixilated mutant on the screen. Both of them excitedly discussed different names, while I turned away so they couldn't see my expression.

Given his pragmatic nature, Rafe's reaction to the pregnancy hadn't amazed me. He was under archaic impression that I'd marry him since I carried his child. My first instinct was to say no, followed by a quick escape. Yet, a marriage and a baby would symbolize continuity for my mother. Losing two daughters couldn't have been easy, and I wanted Estelle happy. Quelling my fears, I accepted the proposal.

In five months, we would be wed. In seven months, we would be parents, possibly to a devil child.

I put down the book I'd been reading. Peeing was taking up more of my time these days, an urge I knew would only increase as the baby grew. On the way to the bathroom, I passed a large hallway mirror, sighing at the hard pot-belly. Goodbye skinny jeans and size small t-shirts.

Ahhhhhh. A feeling of immeasurable relief warmed me as I emptied my bladder. An entirely different sensation stole over me once I noticed blood streaking my underwear. I was no doctor, but pregnant women weren't supposed to have heavy bleeding of any kind until they were in labor.

Instantly alarmed, I yanked up my pants. My mother would know what to do.

I washed my hands quickly, reaching for the doorknob with wet fingers. My hand stopped midway. The doorknob was covered with a bright red smear. What the....

On the floor,a crimson trail stained the bathroom rug, continuing out the door. I followed the blood trail unbelieving. Another glance in the hallway mirror showed blood on my face from when I had tucked my hair behind my ears, but that wasn't as bad as the blood-soaked pants clinging to my legs. During my haste, I failed to notice the image of my distended belly in the mirror undulating in a most unnatural fashion.

As soon as I got back to the chair, a huge blood clot came into focus. The gelatinous red fist on the cushions stared at me, mocking me.

A sob tore from my throat, with fear for my unborn child blooming in my heart. Where there had been doubt for the possible mutation, there was now complete love awash in fresh despair.

"Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Each call for my mother raised my voice an octave higher. My bare feet clapped against the tile as I ran to the hall closet to find a towel.

In horror, I felt another large blood clot pass from my body. I swayed, ready to faint.

Two sturdy arms caught me, dragging me to the living room sofa.

"What? What?" Estelle checked me over.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" I snapped, on the verge of a full-scale panic attack.

My mother took my face in her hands. "Honey, what's wrong? Tell me. I'm not a mind reader, unlike..." She trailed off, and I was glad. I could only focus on one disaster at a time.

"Mom, I'm bleeding. There's blood all over!" I pointed at the expanse of the living room and hallway.

She scoped about, face remaining neutral. "From where?"