INFANT SLAUGHTER
By
Mark Trimeloni
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PUBLISHED BY:
Infant Slaughter
Copyright © 2013 by Mark Trimeloni
Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to download their own copy.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Thank you to my mom and dad. There would be no me without you.
I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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INFANT SLAUGHTER
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Chapter 1
World's Collide
Millions of miles from earth, two moons collided-near Jupiter. Down on our planet, things were much worse.
Lydia took a butcher knife from the shiny block of cutlery on the counter. This particular blade came from her parents-a present on her wedding day. With sharp waving motions, she slashed the weapon back and forth-catching rays of sunlight from an open kitchen window. The sweet smell of roses made her lips curl upward. White teeth against red gums made her look almost insane. Almost.
She heard the baby monitor go off, as her daughter Abby made cooing sounds, upstairs. Only 30 minutes into a one hour nap, her girl would be awakening soon. Lydia moved from the kitchen to the living room, still smiling. Still carrying the razor sharp blade.
She took the stairs one at a time, moving slowly. Each step a deliberate push forward, toward her daughter. Cute visions of Abby playing on the carpet with her favorite toys. Mr. Bumble, a stuffed bee sporting a crown, tucked neatly in her child's arms-as she crawled across the thick shag. At Abby's room, she stopped. The moment of reflection gone.
Lydia felt the coldness of the knob, beneath her fingers. An equal coldness in her right hand, as the knife slipped a bit. Her smile widened with each twist of the shiny metal. She tightened her grip and opened the door.
Slowly, Lydia approached the playpen. Cartoon characters rotated above the crib. With each step, she increased the pressure on the blade. Abby made a soft moaning sound as her mother approached. In seconds, Lydia stood above her daughter.
She raised the knife above her head, holding it steady. Abby rolled over a gentle smile across her tiny lips. Lydia positioned the weapon above her baby girl. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead from the strain.
As Lydia lowered the knife, Abby opened her eyes. A small chill went up Lydia's spine. Her daughter smiled warmly and began to mouth a single word.
"Mom...eeee!" As the knife plunged downward.
Across town, Jessica prepared formula for her son Zach. The one year old played quietly on the kitchen floor, rolling a blue ball between his tiny legs. He can do that for hours. She thought. And he looks so cute doing it. A proud mommy smile formed on her lips, as she stared at her only child.
They tried for years to have a baby. God could be so cruel. Her loving family waiting to embrace an infant, while seed and egg came together-but produced no fruit. Her beautiful husband, William, converted the guest room into a baby's paradise. An ornate crib bought at Lombrado's upscale nursery. Toys littered the corners of the room. From spelling blocks to rattles, all the necessities were covered. A rocking chair for those restless nights when a child needs to find comfort in their parent's arms. Still no birth was imminent.
Then one day. A miracle. Baby Zach came bursting from her womb into this world. He screamed like a demon coming out. But rested, like an angel, when placed in her arms.
An angel. Jessica thought.
The blender whirred to life as she placed fresh fruit into the hopper. A dangerous gamble for sure, but Jessica liked a little excitement with food prep. She reached for the lid; then stopped. Her finger played across the button marked, "Fast Chop". A powerful way to pulverize any item placed inside the spinning blades. Her lips curled in a feline snarl as she brought her digit down hard enough to crack. Food sprayed the kitchen with bits of torn banana and strawberries.
Pain shot through her arm like a lightning bolt. Jessica turned and went over to her son.
"How's Zachy boy today?" She said, picking the tender cherub off the floor.
Zach gave a moment of protest then settled into his mother's arms. Jessica stroked the fine hairs on his head as they made their way back to the spraying monster on the counter. On her chest, Jessica felt her baby begin to shake. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.
"Nothing to worry about Zachy. Mommy's here," Jessica cooed as they approached the whirring appliance.
Jessica placed her, one year old, son on the cool marble beside the blender. Zach let out a series of wailing screams as she rolled back the arm of his shirt. Made even more noise as she raised his hand above the spinning blades.
"Mommy loves you!" Jessica screamed, spraying spit into her only child's face. She plunged their hands into the hopper, sending torrents of blood onto the walls.
Tabitha drew the warm wash cloth over her baby's back, pausing long enough to hear the excited cries coming from beneath her fingers. Sonja wrestled with the fabric as it came across her chest, splashing water everywhere. I love bath time. Tabitha thought. The one time when her daughter seems truly happy.
Sonja was a difficult birth, to say the least. Hours spent in labor with pain colliding in her belly, like run-a-way freight trains. Then a huge head tearing the tender flesh of her vagina. Thirty stitches later, Tabitha held her daughter.
With a joyful laugh, Sonja pitched forward-diving her head into the water to make bubbles. This happened every bath and made Tabitha chuckle, along with her infant.
"Why you so crazy?" She said, making the "you" sound like "yoooo" as she lifted her girl's head from the tub.
Sonja giggled and gave a playful wink at her mother.
"You gonna drive your momma mad." This followed by a nose rub for good measure. "Just gonna make me all kinds of nuts, you little bundle of love."
Tabitha lifted the wriggling infant from the warm embrace of the water and wrapped her, little bundle of joy, in a blanket. She hummed as they passed several family photos depicting the three of them in happier times. Tabitha remembered the officer's face clearly as he told her about the fatal accident. Now Kevin was a memory left to hang on the walls, while she coped with raising little Sonja on her own.
With a heavy sigh, she entered the nursery. Approaching the crib, her husband built, she stopped. Sonja wriggled beneath her arms as a coldness creeped along the base of Tabitha's neck. She looked at the window with silent regard.
"Mommy's got a little surprise for her baby girl," Tabitha cooed, softly. Wrapped securely in the fabric, Sonja's eyes began to close.
Tabitha moved closer to the window. Thick wooden framework surrounded the glass pane. The house was old. Built back in a time when plastic and fiberglass were rarely used. Nothing was more secure than the feel of a heavy, sturdy window. Nothing.
Tabitha laid Sonja down, then parted the curtains to get a better view. Jeremy Cobble pushed a lawnmower across her neighbor's grass. She noted the newness of the machine. Lucky bastards. She thought. I never get anything new.
A loud creaking accompanied the opening of the window.
Cool air caressed her sweat covered body. The sensation causing her nipples to tingle. She opened her eyes and noticed Jeremy staring at her. Why is that little brat eye-balling me? She thought. Then realized her blouse had blown open, revealing her chest. She smiled at him, removing her shirt altogether.
Tabitha turned and went back to get her daughter. A warmth erupted against her skin as Sonja's tiny body made contact. With her baby wrapped lovingly in her arms, Tabitha approached the window. Outside Jeremy continued to stare at his bare chested neighbor. His 12 yr. old mind saving each detail for later use when he was alone in his room.
He watched her place the infant's head beneath the heavy wood. Stared in disbelief as she grabbed the window with her spare hand. And screamed as she pulled down crushing both her hand and the small child beneath.
John was outside chopping wood with his son, Timothy. With each fall of the blade, another log split into pieces. Timothy grabbed the next piece of timber, placing it on the huge stump. John brought the axe down hard. Timothy jumped back, feeling the blade whoosh by his fingers.
"Jesus Christ, son!" John held the shaking 9 yr. old tight. "I almost killed you."
"I'm sorry," Timothy squeezed his dad tighter, breaking into tears.
"It's not your fault." John slowly stroked sweaty strands of hair from his son's eyes. "I stopped paying attention. Been so much to think about lately."
Timothy nodded. He pushed against his dad's chest, but the old man held him with an iron grip.
"Dad, what the hell?"
John squeezed even tighter.
"Dad, I can't fucking breath." Timothy struggled, managing to release one arm.
Then John let go. Timothy rolled onto the ground a look of surprise on his face.
"Why'd you do that?"
John smiled and began to laugh.
"Because I fucking love you so much."
The laughter was contagious, making both of them scream to the heavens in joyful relief. Then John stopped.
"Go get your brother," John said, his voice going monotone.
"Why?" Timothy's lips curled upward and his eyes narrowed.
"I want you to get your brother and bring him down here." John walked over to the huge stump and pulled the axe free. "I want him to help us chop."
"But dad he's only 1 yr. old." His voice rising to match his surprise.
"Get him." The same eerie monotone like the life had been taken out of the man.
Timothy debated whether to force the point and decided not to. His dad was acting strange. Very strange.
"I guess I'd better go get the little creep," Timothy said, heading to the house.
The nursery was on the second floor. A few steps later, Timothy reached in the crib to get his brother.
"How's our favorite little shit-eater today?" He asked.
This one time Billy took a handful of feces out of his diaper and put it in his mouth. The memory made Timothy gag. He could smell the horrible stench even now. He'd be damned if he let his younger brother forget it.
"Let's go, daddy's waiting."
Deep down, he loved him. How could you not with an adorable face like that? Still the crap commando managed to take all the attention from the Parker family's only son. He could forgive the tiny turd for that. He couldn't forgive his brother for making him a ghost in his own house. A few moments later, the baby was wrapped, strapped, and ready to go.
The steps took a while. On the lower landing, Timothy paused. He pulled back the blanket to reveal his bro's smiling face. Why is this kid always so fucking happy? He thought. Is it because all he has to do all day is eat, sleep, and shit? Thinking about it. That would make me pretty happy. But being the oldest meant there were certain responsibilities. I take out the trash. Feed the dog. Wipe my brother's shitty ass. Timothy cringed at the thought of this last chore. Wiping ass was not what he signed up for. Come to think of it-no one even asked me if I wanted someone new to invade our family.
"What the hell." The words hissed from his lips. "I never wanted you, bitch."
Timothy spat in his brother's face. Billy flailed his arms, smacking his chubby cheeks with tiny hands.
"Wipe it off and I'll shoot another." Timothy warned.
Outside he could hear his dad chopping. Energy returned propelling him out the door. Moments later, Timothy stood in front of the huge stump.
John swiped the last log off with his arm and raised the axe over his head.
"Put your brother down."
Timothy placed Billy on the stump. John looked into his older son's eyes and smiled. Timothy smiled back.
Rachel heard the thwack of an axe against wood, in the hospital nursery, where she worked. Five years working in the maternity ward and nothing to show for it. She thought. At least I can take comfort in knowing the babies are properly cared for. She smiled. They were her true purpose in life. She loved caring for the infants. Feeding them. Bathing them. Weighing them. Especially the preemies. Their cute little faces smiling as they slept. Rachel shook with the memory of them all.
She tossed the cigarette out the fourth floor window and headed back to her little bundles of wonderful. Each one a blessing from god. Each one another reason for her to keep fighting the cancer eating away inside her.
She stopped by the utility closet for a gallon of drain opener. No reason why she should be getting it other than a feeling she needed it. A cold chill ran up her spine. Ghosts are moving in these hallways today. She thought. Tiny spirits on tiny legs walking with me.
She made the trip in less than two minutes and stopped outside the large metal door leading to post maternity care. Inside, dozens of babies slept or cried. Her grip on the container tightened. Don't do it! Her mind screamed. Rachel stopped.
Her hand rested on the cool surface of the knob. Sweat broke out on her forehead, sending tiny droplets of moisture down her back. In seconds, her nursing scrubs were soaked. Doesn't seem that hot in here. She thought. I'd better get to work.
With a thumb, she popped the lid off the toxic gallon. She splashed the first five babies in row A, emptying the contents along the way. Horrible screams as the flesh seared off their tiny bodies. Skin bubbled and oozed, melting away to reveal bone beneath. One reached for his momma, before dropping a lifeless arm back into the crib.
Rachel dropped the gallon jug and found a broom resting against one of the preemie incubators. She brought the metal handle down hard enough to crack the glass. Then she smashed harder, shattering her way into the sealed compartment. With each stroke, blood flew spraying the inside red.
Several more got choked to death. Five others tossed from their cribs into the viewing window. Crimson lines marked their descent from the point of impact. More of them wound up crushed beneath her nurse's shoes. The white orthopedic wear covered in gore. She placed one on the weigh station and slowly hacked at the infant's neck with a scalpel, cutting through. With savage intensity, she slammed the head onto the broom handle and carried it like some sick prize.
By the time she was done, thirty infants had died. Only one boy still lived. He screamed as she approached. Her eyes wild with fire, she grabbed the child by the arm and pulled up. Bones cracked, followed by a loud pop, as the arm dislocated. As the bellowing cries continued, the moons tore apart millions of miles from earth.
Rachel stared up at the sky.
My god what have I done. She thought.
Thank you for enjoying my story. For more information about me and my other works, please search my full name Mark Alan Trimeloni.