trying to protect the kid instead of trying to get as far away as possible.
Prudence made it to her feet and stood beside me, out of arm’s reach. I stopped crawling and looked up at her. When I turned my head my vision swam. Without her teeth Prudence looked like a withered jack-o-lantern when she smiled at me.
She bent down to me and said, “I win.” A spec of spittle flew from her lips when she spoke.
The grandma yelled, “You stay back! You keep your filthy hands off him!” She swung her oversized purse back and forth to ward off Prudence, but the violent action almost caused her frail body to topple each time she flung her purse.
I heard several hurried footfalls. The dizziness started to subside but I still stayed on my hands and knees. Prudence and I both looked back the way we’d come. A group of six teenage girls from the coffee shop ran toward us. Their nearly uniform outfits and hairstyles made them hard to distinguish from one another. I noticed two were blonde and the other four had varying shades of brown hair with thick blonde highlights.
The grandma called, “Help! This woman’s trying to hit my grandson!”
Prudence bolted toward the stroller but the girls were quicker.
A couple of the brunettes grabbed Prudence and squealed, “Oh my god! The Baby Hater!”
Prudence swatted at them and yelled toothlessly, “Let go of me you little idiots!”
A blonde held up a phone and said, “I gotta record this. Go ahead, Baby Hater, punch the baby.”
Another girl snapped photos and said, “None of my friends are gonna believe this.”
The grandmother realized the girls weren’t there to help her and began to bawl.
The other blonde pushed the grandmother down and said, “Get out of the way! I’m punching this baby!”
The grandmother shrieked when she hit the ground.
Prudence howled and lunged at the girl who now claimed the assault. The brunettes who’d been star struck by Prudence grabbed her arms and restrained her. She thrashed about until the blonde recording the chaos punched her in the stomach and laughed when she doubled over.
I began to crawl backwards, afraid the girls would turn on me next. They seemed oblivious or unconcerned with my presence at the moment. I hid behind a trash can on the walkway. The blonde moved in front of the stroller and reared back her hand to strike.
“Freeze!”
All of us stopped and looked in the direction the grandmother came from.
11
Two overweight security guards jogged toward the group. They were armed with pepper spray.
The guards’ view of the blonde posed to strike was shielded by the group of girls. She quickly gave the infant a weak-handed slap. The baby started squealing. The grandmother grabbed at the blonde’s leg. The girl kicked her and the grandmother tumbled onto her side and cried.
The triumphant blonde turned to the other who still held her recording cellphone up but was staring at the security guards and said, “Did you get that? I’m the Baby Hater!” She danced around and yelled, “Let’s get out of here!”
The brunettes punched Prudence in the stomach again and pushed her down.
The girl recording everything pocketed her phone, pointed at Prudence, and yelled at the guards, “We caught the Baby Hater! She punched this kid!”
“Liar!” the grandmother screamed.
“Let’s go!” one of the brunettes commanded.
The group laughed as they fled past me. None of them noticed me behind the trash can. The two old women lay on the cold ground moaning. The baby’s cries increased in volume.
The guards reached the women and began shouting at them to stay on the ground. The guards held their pepper spray at arm’s length and threatened them with it. One guard yelled at the other to catch the group of girls. He jogged past me and didn’t see me.
Prudence got to her hands and knees and the guard shouted at her to stay down and she was under arrest. She continued to stand up and he sprayed her in the face. She let out an ungodly scream, clawed at her face, and crumpled back to the ground. The guard walked around her. When his back was to me his radio went off and he stopped pacing. The crying grandmother was looking at her assaulted grandson and sobbing.
I took the opportunity to slip back out of my hiding spot and walk back to the theater. I strolled down the path casually, checking over my shoulder to see if the guard or grandmother noticed me. Both were too preoccupied to be bothered by someone on their way to see a show. I picked up my pace and hunched my shoulders against the icy wind.
The guard who went after the group of girls jogged toward me with two police officers. I thought I was busted and I stopped on the walk. But the men only had eyes for the group of teenagers and didn’t acknowledge me. I checked the time to see if the movie had started and walked into the theater.
12
After the movie I scanned the area of the assault. There was no sign anything had happened. I checked the parking lot as I walked to my car but didn’t see any police cars or security.
When I got home I watched the late night news.
Pictures of a red-eyed Prudence flashed on the screen as the reporter recounted the story. They mentioned a female who tried to stop the Original Baby Hater before a group of unruly teenagers showed up and attacked the infant instead. The police were searching for a nondescript female, possible in her late thirties. They didn’t have any leads on her whereabouts and wanted to reward the unnamed hero for attempting to stop the situation before it got out of control. The reporter noted the Good Samaritan may have been scared off by the sheer number of attackers.
The newscaster rushed through the story before turning to a new disturbing phenomenon. Teen girls were now punching children in the face, recording it, and posting the videos on YouTube. More than a thousand videos had appeared online since the arrest of the Original Baby Hater. Authorities were unsure if the trend was part of a hazing ritual or if it was an internet phenomenon gone horribly wrong.
I turned off the television and sat down at my computer. I opened the browser, went to YouTube, and typed ‘punching babies’ in the search box. I clicked on the first one and watched it. I was engrossed in the beaming triumph on the girl’s face after she’d punched her first baby. I paused the video and backed it up a few seconds so I could see it again.
I read through the titles of the suggested videos sidebar. I clicked on another baby punching video and watched it. I rewound the clip to those few crucial seconds to witness the first time reaction again.
I watched another video. And another one. And another one. And another one.
C.V. Hunt is the author of How To Kill Yourself, Zombieville, Thanks For Ruining My Life, Other People’s Shit, and some other books you’ve never heard of. She lives in Yellow Springs, Ohio.
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