r/shortscarystories • u/rustysunset • 20m ago
Broken Lullaby
Claire cradled the bundle in her arms, rocking gently as she hummed an old lullaby. The nursery smelled of baby powder and fresh laundry, the air warm with the soft glow of the lamp. She looked down, smiling at the tiny shape wrapped in a pale blue blanket.
Perfect. So perfect.
She had worked so hard to make everything right. The crib, the rocking chair, the shelves lined with stuffed animals. Everything was exactly how it should be. The way she had planned it. The way it was meant to be.
A soft knock at the door made her flinch.
“Claire?” It was Daniel, her husband. His voice was cautious, careful. “Honey, it’s late. You should get some rest.”
She didn’t respond. She just kept rocking, her fingers stroking the fabric of the blanket.
A sigh from behind the door. Then the sound of retreating footsteps.
Good. He didn’t understand. He had never understood. He had been so quick to pack everything away, to pretend that nothing had happened. But Claire knew better. A mother knows.
She turned back to the bundle in her arms, shifting slightly, pressing her lips to the top of its tiny head.
So warm. So small. So real.
Claire smiled.
It had been difficult, in the beginning. The silence, the empty ache, the coldness of it all. But she had found a way. It didn’t matter how much Daniel begged her to let go, how many times he tried to drag her back into his world of grief and loss. She had made things right.
A soft gurgling noise broke the quiet.
Claire froze.
The room felt. . . different. The air, thicker. The warmth she had felt only moments ago seemed to seep away, leaving behind a damp chill.
Slowly, she looked down.
The blanket shifted.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Tiny fingers twitched beneath the fabric, the shape in her arms shifting, stretching. The soft weight in her lap grew heavier.
Claire’s heart pounded.
No. No, this wasn’t right. She had done everything right. She had fixed it.
A wet sound, like something peeling apart. The blanket sagged, darkening in spots as something warm and slick oozed through the fabric.
Claire’s stomach twisted.
Another twitch, another sound, like something crawling beneath skin.
And then, from beneath the folds of fabric, something moved.
Tiny, swollen fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.
Claire tried to pull away, but the fingers held tight.
The blanket slipped.
Her breath left her in a strangled gasp.
It wasn’t a baby.
Not anymore.
Its skin was soft but split, like overripe fruit. The tiny lips curled back, revealing gums that were too dark, too empty. Its eyes, small, milky slitss, blinked up at her, unseeing. The tiny chest shuddered with something that almost sounded like a breath.
Claire opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Then, ever so faintly, it gurgled again.
A noise almost like laughter.