Dear sweet Hellspawn this spring is the most wretched and anguished bed of misery I have ever lain in. The monsters are mating. The monsters I keep trapped on my mountain so they don’t wreak their destruction on the populace (unless Satan wills it) are engaging in intercourse and there are now strange… children? on my mountain. Determining how this has never happened before and what cursed misalignment of the stars is allowing it to happen now has me buried in dusty old books and star charts written by long dead heretics.
Then again, it could be an invasive plant… something new in the area. The dogs and I will be very busy this spring investigating. And of course reports will have to be made on the nature of the hybrid monster spawn. It’s doubtful Lucifer will want them culled, his monsters are useful to him.
Thus I was engaged in planning a reccy on the spring forest’s flora and fauna when loud sobbing reached my ears. The dogs whined. I probably did, too. Melodrama has a deleterious effect on my cool. We got up, opening the door and peering down the steps. A woman in one of those t-shirts that had a grainy family photo screen printed on the front was walking slowly, step by weary step up the hill with a wad of tissue clutched in her hand. Cradled in her other arm she held a three ring binder. Expensive bag over her shoulder. Trendy boots. I couldn’t see that far, but I knew there was a golden chain around her neck with each of her children’s first initials done in diamond pendants.
She scream sobbed again and the dogs unleashed a klaxon of howls in response. She looked up. I waved.
“Mind the noise, will you? We have sensitive ears.”
Her shoulders slumped. But she did make it the rest of the way without further theatrics. At the door I motioned her in and sat her down.
“Please help me,” she croaked.
“A death in the family?” I teased.
“It may as well be.”
“I’ll need more than that… Susan?”
Her eyes widened. I snort-laughed, her name was etched into her watch band.
“It’s my twins. They’re starting college in the fall. And my youngest will go next year.”
“And? You’re against higher education? Or wait, is it elites? Not elites as in filthy rich, just.. educated people? Had a few of those lately- people against education, not elites, whatever that means. Having lived through very uneducated times- as in leechcraft, wandering uteruses, and drinking piss to cure literally anything that ails you- I can say with certainty that an educated populace benefits everyone.”
One of the cats chuckled from under my reading chair.
“Well, no. None… of that. I just don’t want them to leave. I need them around. What am I going to do without them? I’ll be lost.”
“Have you considered a hobby?” I turned to the dogs, “I feel like I suggest that a lot.” They barked in agreement.
“They are my hobbies.” She plopped a three inch three ring binder down on the table. The cover was plastered with family photos and a banner with the current year. I opened it hesitantly, surely there was some kind of horrid saccharine magic inside. It was very… cute. Many, many pictures of three nearly grown children doing literally everything from brushing their teeth to doing homework. Everything presented as a big, incredible event. She must follow them around all day with her camera. I took a deep breath. I closed the book.
“No. They’re your children. Children are an obligation, a hobby is a choice. Big difference. And it is healthy to have your own interests.”
“Well who has time…”
“You make time. You could stop doing, whatever that is, for example. Because that is way too much.” I indicated the binder.
“Please, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no time. You cook, you clean, you drive them where they need to go, you keep their sports and band uniforms fresh, you keep their homework calendar for them, help perfect their assignments, plan outfits, arrange social schedules-“
“Hang on, your children are teenagers? I’m confused.”
“Yes, they’re teenagers.”
“And you plan their outfits and keep their homework and social schedules?”
“Yes, why are you making that face?”
“Lady, those children are going to be useless out in the real world.”
“Which is fine. I don’t want them out there anyway. I want them with me.”
“You need a therapist.” Another constant refrain.
She huffed, “I need therapy because I love my children?”
“You have let them subsume your identity. You don’t exist apart from them. It’s a codependence. They don’t know how to function without you, you have no personhood outside of them. Not healthy. I don’t know what you want from me anyway. You’ve ensured they’ll fail at college, they’ll be back after a semester.”
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she shook her head. “Last month the twins read an article about helicopter parenting. They showed it to their little sister, all three of them are taking back their schedules, cooking their own meals, they dress themselves and I hate what they choose. My twins did their own taxes this year! Their dad is ‘so proud’! They’ve demanded driver’s licenses!” She collapsed in sobs onto the table.
“You want to die?” My spring murder mood lasts at least until June, it’s got to be pollen related. Or I suppose it could be fungal, I don’t know.
Susan sat up, aghast. “Of course not. I want them to be dependent on me again.”
“They outnumber you, it won’t work.”
“It has to. I can’t live like this. I don’t know what to do. What do I do when they cook their own dinner? Sit and stare in to space? It’s so stupid what they’re doing.”
“Did I already mention a hobby?”
“I can’t even imagine what I would do. There’s nothing I enjoy outside of taking care of my kids.”
In a way I felt sorry for her. They were young and still had very plastic brains, their frontal lobes were still developing. It’s easy to learn a new way of life then. Susan on the other hand, well she could of course learn to live happily as an empty-nester, but it was going to be harder on her. It’s hard to step out of a cage you’ve built for yourself. You built it for a reason after all. That and my plan would kill her and free the children. It seemed like the right thing to do.
“I don’t think you’re going to survive this. Do you still want to proceed?”
“I won’t die, my children love me.”
They probably did, but they were still definitely going to kill her. I stood and went to my freezer. I keep spider plant rhizomes for just this kind of situation. Think of rhizomes as plant umbilical chords, connecting a mother plant to its babies and you’ll see why. I pulled one out of the bunch and turned back to her.
“This is Chlorophytum comosum, if you eat it, it’ll cause an umbilical chord to grow from you to each of your children, maybe also your husband if you treat him the same way you do them. Pets seems to be exempt, fortunately. Still want to do this?”
“You mean a metaphorical umbilical cord?”
“Oh no, I mean a real fleshy thing. They aren’t going to be able to leave the house unless you do, even then it’s going to be tricky. People will definitely stare. You’re all going to have to wear button up shirts all the time… But, they’ll also be permanently, physically tethered to you, which is why I said they’re going to kill you.”
“I want it. I want it right now.” She grabbed for the frozen bundle in my hand. I pulled it back.
“Three-hundred dollars.”
“Oh right, of course.” She pulled out the cash and we exchanged goods. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough, bless her.
Over the next few days we watched things play out in the obsidian ball. Susan gobbled the rhizome on her way down the mountain. By the time she got home there were four little umbilical nubs poking out of her belly. I was right, I guess, that she treats her husband the same way as her kids. She managed to keep the growing umbilical chords hidden under baggy clothes by wrapping them around her and taping them down. At least for a few days. But they needed to attach, it’s their entire purpose. And hers too. It happened on Saturday morning, the family was all sitting around the breakfast table eating and discussing the day’s intended activities. Susan had her arm wrapped tightly around her stomach as she ate.
“Mom, are you ok?” Her daughter asked, sipping her coffee. Which Susan definitely hated.
Susan grinned and began to laugh. “I have a surprise for you all. I think you’re going to love it.” She lifted her shirt up.
“Mom!” Her twin boys shouted in unison. Four slithery wet flesh snakes lept out from her belly toward their intended victims. The twins were fast and dodged. Her husband was less lucky, still sitting in his chair in horror as the umbilical chord meant for him ripped through his shirt and into his skin with a single sharp tooth at its tip. Latching was instant. His eyes were wide.
“Susan, what is this?”
“So none of you can leave me.”
The umbilicals had already located and latched onto the kids by this point. Her family stood around her in the kitchen like little plant babies tethered to their mum.
“Now let’s all sit down and finish breakfast. This doesn’t have to be such a big deal.”
“We can’t leave the house!” Her sons yelled.
“How am I supposed to shower? I have a date tonight!”
“Oh kids, don’t you see? You’ll be so much happier without school and dates, when it’s just us and no stress or drama from the outside world.”
“Susan, I have to work…”
Susan looked over at her husband. There may have been some logistics she overlooked, but they would find ways to overcome any challenges, they had love. But looking around at her family now, it wasn’t love she saw in their eyes, it was horror.
“Please, just sit and eat breakfast,” she begged. “I promise this will be a good thing for us.” The wet, pink umbilicals, wormy and twitchy, stretched out across the kitchen. The family stood, eyes moving silently from one to another. Susan’s daughter acted first. With one swift movement she grabbed the meat cleaver from the the knife rack and chopped her umbilical, freeing herself. She slid the knife over to her brothers who were free in a matter of seconds. Susan screamed. Wailing as the vermiculate tethers writhed on the tiled floor, clear jelly oozing out everywhere. She dropped to her knees and caught the knife as the boys slid it to her husband. She stood and slashed at him in rage, he dodged, but came up hard against the refrigerator, threatening to topple the precarious stack of baking pans atop it. She swung again, her daughter rushed forward, thrusting her dad’s umbilical in the path of the knife while her bothers pulled him to safety. Susan stood with the cleaver in her hands, her daughter held the severed flesh leash.
“You killed me,” she whispered hoarsely and dropped to her knees. The umbilicals shriveled and shrank back into her body, leaving only a small scar on her belly.
An autopsy determined her cause of death was an aneurysm. And the kids are alright, by the way.
