Farrago

    "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water," Orlock was singing, his voice whispering with menace even when he sounded pleased. The moon was heavy and full outside, pregnant with meaning, patient as the dwellers of the night wandered under her cool light. Orlock was singing. His voice was actually rather good, as singing voices went."Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after." He had a high singing voice for a man, probably a tenor, and he handled the notes masterfully. Even in a nursery rhyme, Orlock plainly possessed practiced powerful plenipotentiary pacing- Orlock was singing, and Jack was huddled in the corner.
    "You should join in, Jack." There were several things Jack wanted to say, but one look at Orlock made him forget those words. A thing like Orlock felt wrong, even to his vampire senses. He was practically a visible swell in the power tides in the room, a lump of power that was fat and swollen with bile and plasma and pus and it made Jack sick. He wanted the power to defeat that foulness in the air, the ability to lance the boil of energy that was Orlock's only true supporter. When Jack was younger he had considered being a doctor. If he had listened to his father and become one, would he be able to stand up and fight Orlock?
    "I doubt it. Even if you stuck me with a dozen pins, Jack, I'd just put even more into you." Jack curled up into himself again. His hair was brushing the dirty floor. If Emily were here, she would scold him. 'Jack, you of all people know what has happened on that floor! Get up off your tush and help me with the baby. And wash your hair! What should we make for dinner?' He could practically hear her, see her.
    "What about hamburgers? We haven't had them in a while. Summer's come, too, so we could get some watermelon at the store. You'll have to help me carry it, though, Jack- it's so heavy." Jack stood. She was right in front of him. Right there! He reached out and felt a sleeve, a thin cloth over a thin arm

    that arm was lying across the room and that white-haired freak baby killer had just

    "Emily?" He swayed a little. Had it all been some sort of horrible- horrible-
    "Jack? What do you think about hamburgers?"
    "It sounds..." He could hear the baby cooing in her crib. There in front of his eyes was his wife, and his ugly old wallpaper that his father-in-law had helped to put in. "It sounds like a good idea. Hamburgers. And watermelon." Emily smiled and her eyes squinched slightly

    eye on the floor staring at him it was her eye it should be in her head where it belonged where was the baby where was the baby where was his wife the blood everywhere was someone else's not hers not his not his child's not

    "How about orange juice, too? We've run out. We'll have to get some more at the store." Jack stepped closer to her. He could smell her, a little peppermint from the natural makeup she used and a touch of chocolate from her shampoo. She was just right- she fit to him perfectly. Arms and bellies and mouths and a giggle- "What brings this on, mister?" The baby

    weak whisper weaker whimper and that freak-eyed demon was on him, no shoving away from this- get thee behind me, devil but it didn't work and there was a pain in his throat that made him buck and howl- agony-

    "Yeah." Her forehead and his were pressed together. He could feel her arm under his hand, soft and comforting. "Yeah. Let's go to the store."
    "Okay. Which one should we use to make the hamburger?" There was something he was missing.
    "Which what?" The baby was howling suddenly. He turned to go to her but he was jerked to Emily again. There was something wrong here. She had gotten too strong, suddenly. What?
    "Which human? I've got a couple down in the basement. We have some muscle from that old man left over, but it may be too lean to make into hamburger." He couldn't be hearing her right. The baby was screaming and why couldn't she just let him see what was wrong?
    "You mean cow. Hamburgers are made from cows." Emily led him to the door of the cellar. The baby had stopped crying.
    "No, silly. Which one should we kill? I always feel so bad for them, but waste not want not, right Jack?" She was opening the door, still curled up close to him, hip to hip, belly to belly, and
    people in the basement. One was missing an eye and another was missing the flesh on her ribs and crying about it. The third was lying too still to be good, and the first was missing half of each arm too, showing corded muscle and white bones and stringy clean tendons as he reached for Jack's leg, pleading.
    Jack recoiled, fighting to be free of Not-Emily.
    "Play nicely, Jack. We don't want tenderized hamburger, after all." Orlock's sleeve under his arm and Orlock's feminine curves (feminine curves? What the hell? Wondered a strong part of Jack, the only solid piece left, the bit protected by little shards of himself) and Orlock's basement. He was laughing at Jack again, watching Jack stumble back with blood on his pants from the humans in the dungeon and-

    "Jack?" Emily's voice.
    "Yeah?"
    "....Let's have a baby."
    "....So suddenly?"
    "Let's try." She sounded tearful.
    "Why not? I hope she has your eyes."
    "And your nose, mister. Mine looks like a ski jump."
    "If you hadn't played hockey all those years, it probably wouldn't." Emily's head, soft and silky, on his shoulder.
    "Still. My eyes and your hair and nose."
    "...All right. Sounds good." A brief pause. A kiss. Then, "Wait, 'she'?"
    "What, you want a boy?"
    "....No, I guess a girl is good."
    "Watch a boy be born with your eyes, my nose, and my hair."