Attempted entry for a flash-fiction contest
| I looked at my daughter as she lay sleeping in the hospital bed. She looked almost angelic despite being surrounded by all of the various wires and tubes.
My baby! That’s all I could think. 13 years ago she was taken away from me. She ran out of the house when her mother and I were fighting. I searched all night but never found her. My wife blamed me. Hell, I blamed myself. The only person that I held dear in my life and she was gone.
Then she came back. The night of the big storm. I heard the scratching and an odd mewling at the front door. I opened it, expecting to see some sick animal and there she was. My little girl. She still looked 8 years old. I held her in my arms and cried. She seemed too weak to even respond. She lay there in my arms, her breathing shallow, her skin covered in some goo that I couldn’t identify.
When she went unconscious, I ran her to the ER. I didn’t tell the doctor’s anything about her missing. I just told them she’s been sick. There would be too many questions I didn’t want to answer.
As she lay there in the bed, I caressed her face and ran my fingers through her hair. I felt something scratchy in her scalp and turned her head to look. There were scales, like a reptile’s, running into her hairline. She stirred and licked her lips, a long pink forked tongue darted out. I withdrew my hand quickly.
Her eyes shot open. Not human eyes, I couldn’t tell what they were. She stood up in the bed and leaned forward, like an animal. Her mouth opened wide, wider then it should have. Her mouth was lined with long fangs, that tongue testing the air.
She lunged at me and bit my neck. I suddenly became weak and collapsed to the floor without a fight. She nuzzled my neck, making sucking noises as she did. It was calming. I stroked the back of her head whispering to her, “My baby, my baby...”