Dreams of Innocence and Death
Little Thomas Bedford sits patiently at the table while his mother works diligently at the counter, her back to him. He can smell the fragrance of homemade pie, fresh from the oven, and can hear her serene voice as she humms gently along with the rhythm of her work. It is perfect. Tommy can't remember the last time it was like this...before daddy left and mommy got her job, never having time to bake pies any more. She turns to him, a perfect smile upon her face, "Who would like a slice of pie?"
"Oh, I would! Please!" He holds out his hands eagerly to take the plate of piping hot, fresh baked pie.
"You WORTHLESS, FILTHY ANIMAL! YOU EXPECT TO GET ANYTHING WITH HANDS LIKE THOSE?!" She throws the hot pie in his face, causing searing burns. Screaming in pain, he quickly attempts to wipe it away.
"I'm sorry...I...I forgot to wash my hands. I'm sorry, mommy." Though she may have yelled once or twice, Tommy's mother has never acted like this. He is confused and scared. Something is very wrong. In fact, he begins to realize this isn't even their kitchen or their house...not anymore. They haven't lived in this house for a long time...
"You filthy bastard! How can any mother love such a disgusting and putrid creature like you? You expect sorry to be enough when you're trying to kill me and every one else with the germs from your filthy hands??!!" Her face twists into a horrible mockery of his mother, with long sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes, "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson, now. This is going to hurt...but children don't learn unless mommies teach them."
She reaches out for his hand and grabs it tight. Though he pulls against her with all his strength, he cannot begin to resist her unearthly strength as she drags him across the floor and shoves him into the tiny black closet under the steps, "You spend some time with the spiders and bugs under there, you dirty little wretch. THEN you'll learn." Her voice is laced with false sweetness as she slams the door, leaving him in pitch darkness...
...and he can feel the bugs crawling over him. In his shirt. Across his face. On his hands and through his fingers. He cries and cries but waking never comes. The nightmare just goes on and on...