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Mommy-Girl: Horror Flash Fiction by Cam

Updated on March 15, 2020
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Chris has written more than 300 flash fiction/short stories. Working Vacation was 21st out of 6,700 in the 2016 Writer's Digest competition.


Baby Amy slept peacefully in her crib, safe in the house of her adoptive parents. Deborah tiptoed across the carpet to the doorway. It was hard to believe that just a few weeks before, a young girl had given birth to this baby in a dark alley and bled to death on the grimy pavement. Tenants in the apartments along the alley had called 911 when the heard the baby crying. Deborah looked over her shoulder at Amy one more time and pulled the light switch down.

She flipped it back up and spun around to face the crib. When the light went out, she had seen someone standing at the foot of the crib. It was impossible. No one else had been in the room. Deborah checked the baby. She turned around and pressed her back into the side of the crib. Her hands gripped the top rail like vices. The walk-in closet was the only hiding place. Music from the television drifted into the room through the open door. She sucked air into her asthma scarred lungs and opened her mouth to cry out to Randal. But no sound came from her constricted throat.


Terror glued her to the rail, but protecting her baby from harm crowded fear, along with caution and reason, out of her head. She inched toward the closet door with her hand outstretched toward the knob.

“Deborah?” Randall stood in the doorway.

She swung her head toward him. The whites of her eyes formed perfect rings around blue irises. She pointed toward the closet door. “Somebody,” she managed to squeak. The baby slept on.

Randall crossed the room and held Deborah’s arm to steady her. “My gun,” he whispered. Deborah pulled away and headed for the door.

“I’ll get it,” she croaked as she stumbled from the room.

With his feet set wide and arms held out as if to challenge the intruder to a wrestling match, Randall waited. Deborah charged into the room and pointed the handgun toward the closet. Randal had taught her how to use the weapon, and she was actually quite good. He nodded his agreement, then crept forward. Deborah’s asthmatic wheezing located her directly behind him. He gripped the door knob and jerked his hand away. “Cold,” he whispered.

Deborah wrinkled her forehead, but she grabbed a disposable diaper from the box under the crib and tossed it to her husband. He wrapped the diaper around the doorknob, twisted and pulled until the door opened with the sound of air being sucked from the room. An icy haze hung suspended in the closet, which flowed out across the floor of the nursery.


Movement in the mist caused them both to gasp. Deborah fired the gun, and Randal fell to the floor. The form of a girl stepped forward. Frosty billows rose around her matted hair. A pale face with dark circles under bloodshot eyes tilted toward the man lying in a pool of blood. Deborah screamed and fired again, this time hitting the creature in the chest, but with no effect.

“I’ve changed my mind,” came the raspy voice. “I want my baby back.”

“But, but, you’re….dead,” said Deborah.

The mommy-girl bolted toward the woman who had taken her baby. Deborah’s scream was cut short by a jolt of pain that shot through the front of her skull. She collapsed, unconscious, onto the carpet.



Deborah sat on the cold, concrete floor picking at a loose thread on her orange jumpsuit. No one had bought the ghost story, not the Judge, not the jury, not even her own attorney. What they had no trouble believing was the evidence of the dead body of her husband with a bullet hole in the back of his head. No one had an explanation for the disappearance of the baby, but theories would eventually lead to charges, she had no doubt.

Deborah had few friends among the female inmates. Nobody seemed to care for a baby killer. Someone else dressed in orange sat down next to her, but Deborah wasn’t in the mood for visiting. She pulled her legs in close and rested her forehead on her knees.

“Want to see my baby again?” said the raspy voice.

Deborah’s head snapped back and bounced off the concrete wall. The mommy-girl held the naked infant up. Its neck twisted. Its head turned. Red sunken eyes looked into Deborah’s eyes. The creature pulled its lips back to reveal tiny pointed teeth, and it hissed like an angry cat.

Blinding pain erupted in Deborah’s forehead, but this time the bulging blood vessel ruptured.

The woman’s shoulders slumped and her head fell forward. The mommy-girl and her baby sank into the floor and laughed as they disappeared from sight.


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