So last night I worked late and got home at about 10:30. Katrina went to bed to read, and I was exhausted, but you can’t just come home and go right to bed. That’s no way to live.
So I played games for a while at the computer, trying to take an undead city with two of my armies in Heroes of Might and Magic V.
To be more accurate, I sort of played. My eyes may have rested for a few moments. I wouldn’t say I dozed, exactly.
That’s when I heard Abby, one door away, saying, "Mommy, Daddy, my bed is messy!"
Great, I sort of thought through the fog in my brain. She’s taken off her night-time diaper and peed her bed.
I stumbled to her door and opened it. She stood quite near the door, and in the dim moonlight I could see that there was, indeed, something dark on her bed.
And on her.
I turned on the light. And took a step back.
Abby’s face from the upper lip to the neck was covered in a slick, glistening slurry of dark blood. It dripped on her nightgown. It dripped on the carpet. Oily, silver-dollar sized patches spotted her bedsheets and pillow and blankie like grisly polka dots.
She raised her arms up to me, extending bloody fingers. "Daaddeeeeeeeeeee!"
And in my addled brain, my first thought was she’s been FEEDING. On the LIVING.
My second was Oh crap. Where’s Evan?
Then I started to wonder how one parents a zombie child. Are there … schools? Special classes? Play group is going to be problematical.
I snapped out of it. Was there a head wound? Did she cut herself?
At this point Katrina arrived, possibly out of maternal instinct but more probably because of my girly scream. She quickly diagnosed a nosebleed and hustled Abby to the bathroom, leaving me to the menial but more suited to my abilities task of stripping the bed.
Abby calmed down and the nosebleed stopped. We put her back to bed in fresh sheets and she drifted off quickly.
So I think everything will be OK.
Though it did occur to me that I have wooden stakes in the garage, just in case
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