Page 80 of Mother Is Watching

“No…you can’t have her,” I whisper. Shaking as I walk backward, toward the door and away from the painting. I’m afraid to look at her; more afraid to take my eyes off of her.

A shocking coldness spreads through my limbs. I can’t feel my fingers, and I’m terrified I’ll lose my grip on Marisol. My legs won’t move faster, even as I’m willing them torun. My watch buzzes continuously on my wrist, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”the Mother says in a singsong voice, smiling as she turns her attention back to the baby. Marisol beams a gummy, nearly toothless grin at the painting, at the woman.

Adrenaline courses through me, and suddenly the feeling comes back to my hands. The electric tingles are painful but reassuring, because I have control over my body again. Clutching the baby against my chest, I shield her as I race to the door.

A sickeningly loud beep, then aclickreverberates just as my hand reaches the handle, which won’t turn. I’m locked in, stabbing at the keypad though I don’t know the code. With one hand, the other holding Marisol tightly to me, I pound on the door and scream for help, but it’s useless. No one can hear me.

Marisol starts crying, reaching over my shoulder towardThe Mother. The skipping sound escalates, the Child’s footfalls louder now. Then, above the baby’s cries, the relentless skipping, and my own ragged breaths, I hear what sounds like cracking ice. A second later, a suctioning sound, as though something is being pulled out of thick mud. The baby shrieks with excitement, hands waving. I refuse to turn around, but my body defies my mind’s order and a moment later I’m facingThe Mother.

Wrapping Marisol in my arms, I have one goal: to protect my child from whatever is now slowly steppingoutof the painting. The figure—the Mother—lumbers toward us, leaving tacky black footprints on the beautiful parquet wood floors. She extends the now-beating heart out, like it’s a gift. Never taking her eyes off Marisol.

The Mother envelops me like a soupy fog. I can no longer draw breath, my vision fading quickly. I’m in excruciating pain. My skin stretches and rips from the inside out. My bones snap like tree branches in a violent storm. Blood vessels burst with hundreds of tiny explosions. I want to fight, but there isn’t enough of me left to do so.

I’m dying, I think, before hearing a voice as clear as my own.

“No, Mathilde. We are reborn.”

The baby laughs, and then the wind-chime voice:“Found you, my darling! Here I come…here I come…”