Creative Chronicles of a Writing Drummer


Doctor Volodimiir Jethro Frances III stood alone on the balcony, watching the evening birds dive and roll across the cerulean sky.

Behind him, the party continued.  The guests had arrived and were making themselves comfortable; handshakes, kisses on cheeks, smiles and winks.

Jethro glanced again at the birds tumbling into one another, and as they fell into a flowing pattern, his thoughts turned to his wife.

He imagined her gliding through the house, like the starlings, beautiful and free, chatting with the guests before flitting away, and wondered if

she hid her sadness better than him. Her heart, she said, had been broken the loss of the children, and while Jethro had told her they were fine, that moving out didn’t mean their life was over, nothing would offer her comfort, and tonight as the party continued unaware of her depression, he felt defeated.

“Jethro, what are you doing out here alone?” a voice echoed behind him. He turned to face the speaker.

“Ah, Martin, how are you?” he replied, attempting to hide his feelings with a smile.

“Jethro, pardon me for saying, but you don’t look well at all.”

“Oh,” Jethro ran his fingers through his hair, and lowered his gaze, “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“You know, it’s been months since you’ve been to my surgery, Jethro. Let me give you a thorough check-up. Remember what Old Luca said, “‘Just because you’re doctors’, doesn’t mean you’re protected from sickness.'”

“If you have any respect for your profession you will consult a colleague as often as you recommend a patient to return.” Jethro finished the quote of their old professor.

“Come and see me tomorrow, Jethro. Okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he replied, nodding.

“Now,” Martin smiled, “come and get a glass of red wine; Doctor’s orders. Your wife is asking after you.”


Jethro sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the elevated bed while Martin listened to his heartbeat. He stared at Martin’s large oak desk. Beside his telephone a small model skeleton hung on a wooden peg like a limp puppet. Tiny plastic innards sat within the rib cage. Between the red bulbous liver and sausage-like intestines he could see the heart’s atrium, its bright red and blue veins leading to the right ventricle.

Dressed in a three-piece suit, and a business tie, Martin looked less like a doctor than an entrepreneur. Daily running and a healthy eating regime had helped Martin retain a look fifteen years younger than fifty-six. Jethro assumed women found him handsome, in a rugged kind of way.

After testing Jethro’s blood pressure, Martin returned to his desk and motioned for him to sit in front.  He looked at Jethro.

“Well, I’ve performed all the standard tests, and you’re in perfect health.”

“I know, I told you I was just tired,” Jethro said.

“Jethro, we’ve known each other now for what, twenty-”

“-Twenty three years,” Jethro said.

Martin whistled, “A long time. So, tell me, what’s wrong? What is it that’s weighing so heavily on your shoulders?”

Jethro hesitated, “My wife, she’s devastated over the children leaving. All she does is cry, day and night.” Jethro rubbed the back of his neck.

“But she seemed fine last night at the party,” Martin removed the stethoscope and placed it on the desk.

“It was an act,” he said, “did you see how she hung from me all night? It’s like she can’t live without me being away for more than a few minutes.

Martin, I believe she’s suicidal! I’m scared she’s going to do something stupid!” Jethro looked at the floor and wiped away a tear.

Martin stood, walked around the desk, and placed a hand on Jethro’s shoulder.

“I know how to solve your problem,” he whispered, “I know how to make her smile again.”

Martin sat down, and withdrew a small packet of coloured tablets from his top drawer.

“Oh no!” Jethro rubbed his forehead. “Not pills! She won’t be the same person!”

“Jethro,” said Martin, “these are no ordinary tablets.  They, at present, have no familiar name, but the geneticist’s have designated them FD-280.” Martin examined the clear bag and looked into Jethro’s eyes.

“Geneticists? Why? What are they making tablets for?” asked Jethro.

“Well, as I said, they’re not just tablets. Please, Jethro, let me explain.” Martin shifted in his chair.

“In layman’s terms, these tablets will return an organism to their embryonic state.”

Jethro’s mouth hung agape. Martin continued.

“The main reason for its creation is to reduce overcrowding in jail. In reducing prisoners to the embryonic stage, it’s now possible to re-grow them into healthy and moral citizens.”

“Oh, my God!” Jethro said.

“My thought exactly when I first learned of them, but think about it, eternal life is finally within our grasp! With these tablets, any person, at any age, can reduce themselves to their embryonic state to be re-grown in the future. People with medical, physical, or mental disabilities can now be re-born , healthy.

“Now, the pills won’t be available to the mass market initially, but you’ve been a close friend for many years, Jethro-”

Jethro nodded. “Thank-you, Martin.”

“The inherent problem with the tablets,” Martin leaned back, “is that they must be adapted to a person’s DNA. For example, if one were to take the tablet which has not been fabricated for them, certain undesirable effects may occur.”

“What kind of undesirable effects?” Jethro asked.

“Abnormalities, mainly. But many tests have been performed, and the successes outweigh the any potential problems.” Martin concluded.

“They’ve been tested on human’s then?” asked Jethro.

“Well, no, only rats and mice at present, but they’re ready for human consumption.” Martin replied.

Jethro’s eyes widened, “And you want me to give these to my wife!”

“No, no. God, no… I want you to give them to your children!”


It took almost a fortnight for Martin to have FD-280 synthesised and combined with the DNA sequences of their children.  While the process from Martin’s end had been relatively straight forward, what had been most difficult had been attaining DNA samples of Danny, Dieter, and Kennidy.  Although their rooms had been left untouched since they left, finding a workable and legitimate DNA sample proved to be much more involved than expected. Daniel’s had been the easiest to find; an old comb had his brown hair caught in the bristles.  Jethro took a sample, placed the hairs in a plastic sealable bag and marked it with his son’s name.

Dieter, who kept his room immaculate and ultra-clean, had left nothing, not even a stray fingernail, or eyelash.  Only after driving three-and-a-half hours to his university and breaking down the door of his dorm room had Jethro been able to do the same.

Kennidy proved impossible; her room remained a mess and on her bed the family cat, Ralphie, had snuggled up to her pillow, contaminating the only strands of hair he could find. Only later that night did he recall Jeanne had saved the first cut locks of all the children’s hair and saved them in her dresser drawer.  He kicked himself for not remembering sooner, particularly when Dieter called to tell him someone had broken into his room and stolen his stereo.

Two days after receiving the synthesized tablets from Martin, Jethro returned home to find Jeanne crying. As he opened the front door, she ran into his arms.  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Darling, oh, honey, what’s…”

“Oh Jethro, I have such wonderful news!” she pressed herself against his chest and wept.

“What is it? Tell me!” Jethro stroked her hair.

Jeanne raised her head. Her brown eyes swollen and puffy.

“The children are coming home!” she glared at him with a crazed grin, wild-eyed.

“Coming home?” Jethro dropped his keys to the floor, bewildered, and struck by the irony that on this night, when the answer to their problem had been provided, Jeanne had lost her mind.

Jeanne let go and whispered, “Yes! They’re all coming to dinner next weekend. Maybe they’ll stay? I’m sure we can convince them?”

“Jeanne, I don’t….”, he stopped, as a frown clouded her face. He couldn’t continue; couldn’t deprive her of hope. He just smiled and wiped her wet cheeks with his thumb.

“Well, we had better get ready to welcome them home!” he replied.

Jeanne kissed him, and skipped into the kitchen.

Jethro put his hand to his face and touched his breast where his inside jacket pocket held the tablets.


“Well, how do I look?” Jeanne stood on the stairs to second floor. Her left hand lay comfortably on the banister as her other rested on her hip. She wore a long red velvet dress, far too impressive for such an occasion.

A high pitched buzz echoed down the hallway.

“Oh,” Jeanne clapped her hands, “the beef is ready!”

She sashayed down the steps, holding the dress before her so not to trip. As she walked past Jethro, she stopped to kiss his cheek and quickly wiped away the lipstick that remained. She smiled as she continued down the hall, her high heels clicking on the pine-tiled floor.


Daniel’s unmistakable knock, signaled his arrival.

Jeanne ran to the door and threw it open.

“Danny! Oh honey! How are you?” she cooed as she held out her hand and guided her son into the foyer.

“I’m great mom, how are you?” he asked as he walked through the door, “You look great!”

Jethro entered from the living area.

“Dad!” cried Daniel. He walked to his father and held out his hand.

Jethro shook it and smiled.

“How are you, son?” he asked as Jeanne came up beside them.

“I’m great, really great!” he beamed.

Slim in build, with short wavy brown hair, and whimsical blue eyes, Daniel exuded joyful ambition, a trait rarely seen in men at such a young age.

He had been undertaking his Doctorate at Oxford University and living on campus for over a year. Although, the highest in his class he lacked the seriousness associated with such an important position. However, Jethro believed great doctors required a wit, if only to help make their patients comfortable. Daniel had the healing power of laughter and Jethro felt it would aid him in the future.

“How’s University?” Jethro asked.

“Hard, but I’m coping. Becoming a doctor is a lot more complex than I first thought.”

“Are you enjoying it though, son? Are you happy?” asked Jethro.

“Hey!” Daniel smiled, “do I look like I’m happy?”

Jethro and Jeanne smiled, “I’d say ‘yes’ to that! Now, come and sit down, and tell me more about your life away from us.”

Both father and son drifted into the living room, failing to notice Jeanne trying to hold back the tears and block out the words running through her mind: Your life away from us. Your life away. Away from us. Away… Away.

Minutes later another knock sounded at the door: a regular knock in comparison to Daniel’s.

“I’ll get this,” Daniel stood, “It sounds like Jonah.”

“Very well, I’ll go and see to your mother,” said Jethro.

Daniel opened the door to reveal his twin. Jonah’s matching smile beamed back.

“Hey Bro! How are you?” The brothers shook hands.

“Excellent! Come on in.”

“Where’s mom and dad?” asked Jonah as he removed his coat and hung it on the rack.

“They’re both in the kitchen, cooking,” he replied.

“Ah, I better leave them alone then,” said Jonah, as a stifled cry escaped from the kitchen.

Johah smiled, “You know how they are when they’re cooking together!”

“Yeah, two peas in a pod couldn’t come closer!” said Daniel.

Jonah laughed, put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and whispered, “And, it will give me more time to catch up with my little brother!”

“Yeah, older by a whole six and half minutes!” Daniel laughed at their running joke.

They both walked into the living room, and sunk into the black leather sofa.


Jethro held Jeanne, who sobbed quietly, unable to find the energy for anything louder. Blood dripped from her wrist to the marble tiled floor.

The bloody knife lay in the sink from where he had knocked it from her hands as she chopped at her wrist.

She cried out her lack of self worth, the pain of loneliness, and the final devastating end of anything akin to motherhood with the children now gone.

All Jethro could do was hold her as the droplets of blood splashed on the marble floor.

“I know how to return to the life we once had, when the children were young, and you were the perfect mother,” he whispered in her ear.

“W-what?” Jeanne’s sobbing subsided a little.

“I can make it the way it was. From their birth, potty training, through their schooling, and, and-” he stumbled. Would she ever get used to the loss of their children? Or, would they be apart of a continuous revolution of life, never to grow old? Jeanne let go of him, stepped back and looked him in the eyes. Anger bubbled within her as she glared at Jethro.

“What the Hell do you mean?” she asked.

“Shhh, keep your voice down!” he whispered, before cutting her off and continuing.

“Listen to me, darling, please. What I say is true. I went to see Martin today. I told him you weren’t well!”

Jeanne lowered her head, sobbed and wiped her face with her bloodied arm. The blood mixed with her tears and streaked her face.

Jethro removed the tablets and glanced at Jeanne’s wrist. There was too much blood to see the extent of the wound.

“These tablets,” he said, “can return the human biology to its first incarnation. Namely, a foetus!” Jethro shook the pills.

Jeanne opened her mouth to speak.

“No! Don’t say anything. Just trust me. All we need to do is put these tablets in their food, being careful not to mix them, and wait. It happens in just a few minutes. The cells physically mutate, in reverse!”

Jeanne stared wide-eyed, her mouth hung agape. The blood poured down her hand and dripped to the floor.

“And then what?” she croaked, lowering her head. Jethro knew this was her way of believing. Her attention was captured.

“The tablets contain an enzyme that encases the foetus in a protective sheath. We then have five minutes to impregnate the foetus into the womb.”

“And you can do that? I’d only want you to do that!”

“Of course,” said Jethro.

“And the children? Will they remember?” she asked.

“I-I don’t know, it’s difficult to say,” Jethro half-smiled.

“But, the children will be inside me again? I can give birth to them again?”

“Yes,” he said.

She beamed, “All four of them will be in my womb?”

Jethro nodded, “I’ve spoken to Martin, and he told me if you carry the children for the majority of the term, he could perform a Caesarean and incubate them until they’re ready.”

“Is that safe?” she asked.

“Oh yes, perfectly safe. This happens all the time! Technology has changed throughout the years, darling.” Jethro smiled, catching himself off guard.

He found himself wanting this too. It would be like living again, turning back time.

“And the children won’t be hurt?” she asked.

“No, but we must follow the directions from Martin.”

“And you will be re-inserting the foetus’?” asked Jeanne.

“Of course,” Jethro said, “Of course,” He kissed her stained cheek.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up!” he whispered.

Jeanne smiled, and pulled him close to her, being sure to turn her bloodied face away from his jacket.


Just as the last droplets of blood had been wiped away, and a bandage wrapped around Jeanne’s wrist, their remaining two children entered the kitchen.

“Oh, my darlings!” cried Jeanne as she hurried to her only daughter, Kennidy.

She looked like her mother; petite, long dark wavy hair, and a generous smile. Since leaving school Kennidy had become a journalist for ‘The Times’, and like many of the great news columnists before her she had gained a fan following.

“Hello, son!” Jethro held out his hand to the tall, solid looking man before him. His oldest son, Dieter had become one of the most respected lawyers’ in London. Blessed with strong cheekbones, a small upturned nose, and a strong jaw, he looked similar to Jethro.

Jethro felt pride swell within him.

“Hi dad!” said Dieter as he grabbed his father’s hand.

“How, are you darling?” asked Jeanne as she looked into Kennidy’s blue eyes.

“I’m great mum! You look wonderful!” returned Kennidy.

“Okay, that’s enough of the mushy stuff! Where my daughter?” joked Jethro as he looked around the room.

Kennidy laughed as she released her mother’s hand and hugged her father.

“Hi mum,” said Dieter as he took her in his arms.

“Hello, honey,” she whispered as she held him.

Jeanne turned to Jethro, “Darling, go and get the kids a drink, then come back and help me with dishing up.”

“No, problem,” said Jethro smiling as he put his arms around Dieter and Kennidy and walked them into the living room.


Jeanne dished up the peas and carrots when Jethro returned.

“Do you have the tablets?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jethro pulled out the plastic bag from inside his jacket pocket.

“Are you ready? Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jeanne said, without a pause.

Jethro stood above the four plates and opened the small clear plastic bag.

“Which plate is Kennidy’s?” he asked.

“Second from the left,” Jeanne replied.

Jethro removed the red tablet from the plastic bag, and dropped the tablet onto Kennidy’s plate. It sat in the bed of mashed potatoes for several seconds before melting into the food.

He did the same with the other tablets, ensuring he didn’t drop two pills in together: to follow the rules.

At the same time, the door to the kitchen opened and the telephone rang.

Kennidy, who had just entered, removed the telephone from its cradle beside the kitchen door.

“Hello?” she spoke into the receiver.

“Yes, of course, hold on a second,” she said.

She turned to Jethro, “It’s for you, dad.”

“Jethro took the cordless telephone from Kennidy, and smiled, “Thank you, darling.”

“Mum, is their anything I can do?” asked Kennidy.

“Hello?” he spoke into the receiver.

Jeanne picked up two plates from the counter and passed them to Kennidy.

“Jethro, its Martin. How are you?”

“You can take these to the dinner table,” said Jeanne, “The one on the left is Daniel’s and the one on the right is Jonah’s.”

Jethro turned to Jeanne and Kennidy, covered the handset with his hand and whispered, “Excuse me, I’ve got to take this upstairs.”

As Kennidy grabbed the plates and began to walk towards the entrance to the dining room, Jeanne said:

“Be sure not to mix them up; Jonah has peas on his plate, and Daniel doesn’t.”


Jethro’s heart banged against the inside of his chest as he climbed the stairs to the second floor; the dull thunk of the plates being placed on the dining table fightened him.

He whispered into the telephone, “Martin, we’re going to use the pills.”

“You are?” Martin asked, “When? When are you going to use them?”

“Now. Right now,” said Jethro as he closed the bedroom door shut behind him.

“Do the kids know?” Martin asked.

“No, no, we’re going to-” Jethro had half finished his sentence when Jeanne burst into the bedroom.

“It’s done, they’re eating!”

“Come down, quickly, come down,” she turned and bounded down the steps.

“Jethro? Jethro? Listen to me before you go! Remember the rules! The rules, Jethro! Don’t mix the pills. Don’t mix the p-.”

“Okay, Martin, I’ve got to go now.”

“Jethro! Don’t mix the-”

Jethro pushed the little red button on the phone and dropped the handset on the bed.


“Oh, I don’t like peas!” said Daniel under his breath.

“I know, and I’ve not got any!” answered Jonah.

“Swap plates?” asked Daniel.

“No, just move the peas over from yours to mine.”

Kennidy smiled and shook her head.

“I think you should all stop talking and start eating!” said Dieter as he playfully grabbed a carrot from Kennidy’s plate.

“Hey! Get off!” she laughed as she swiped a small roast potato from his.

Jethro and Jeanne entered the room silently from the foyer. Without a word or an upward glance they sank into their seats and began to eat.

“Mum, are you okay?” asked Kennidy. She placed her knife and fork on the plate before her.

“I’m fine. Keep eating honey,” replied Jeanne as she looked around the table at the children. Suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind. Something looked odd.

“How’s the food?” asked Jethro.

“Excellent!” said Daniel.

“Yes, very nice,” said Dieter.

“The best! I’ve really missed your home cooking,” said Kennidy with a croak in her voice.

“Same, s-same h-here,” Jonah dropped his fork and lifted his shaking hand to his face.

Daniel fell face first into his plate of food as Kennidy screamed and Dieter coughed a green mucus-like substance onto the table.

At that moment, Jeanne realised what her strange feeling meant.

Kennidy and Dieter had swapped seats!


Daniel lay face first in his plate, convulsing. Jethro jumped up and lifted his son back to rest against the chair.

Dieter sat upright, with foam flowing down his chin like white lava and red and blue veins in his temples bulging.

Kennidy’s pupils had dilated and filled with blood. Her blue and swollen tongue lolled from her mouth leaving her saliva to drip onto the plate below her.

Suddenly, the same white foam flowing from Dieter’s mouth began to spew from Daniel’s.

The froth shot across the table towards Jeanne. She jumped from her seat, knocking it over behind her, too shocked to notice the yellow white bile covering her red velvet dress.

And then the screaming began.

First Jeanne, then the children in unison. The shrill, wailing, ear splitting screams sounded like a wolf’s howl and a whale call. As the cries reached their pinnacle, Jethro and Jeanne covered their ears and shut their eyes.

Yet, as suddenly as the piercing screams had started, so they ceased.

The children sat erect in their chairs, their blood filled eyes staring ahead as the white foam sputtered and bubbled from their mouths.

Jethro and Jeanne stared back at their children in their nightmarish trance and watched as their skin darkened to grey, their bodies shrivelled, arms and legs shortened and their heads shrank into their torsos. In minutes they were reduced to a pulsating amniotic sac where each of the children’s feautus’ could be seen shrinking and curling forward in the foetal position.

Soon, the pods had shrunk to the size of a peanut and sat, covered in brown sticky fluid on the chairs.

Jethro and Jeanne stared at the empty seats before them.

“Well, we need to get them inside you,” said Jethro with his head lowered.

Jeanne shook her head, “No, no, I can’t.”

“You have to! Or the children will die!” he shouted.

Jeanne covered her face with her hands and wept; Jethro pulled her hands apart and looked her in the eyes.

“We only have a few minutes,” he said, “before it’s too late. What do you want to do?” he asked.

Jeanne paused between the sobs racking her slight frame, and whispered, “Put them in. Do it.”


Jethro ran into the kitchen, returning moments later wearing rubber gloves.

Jeanne lay on the couch, naked, her ruined dress in a heap beside her. Jethro could feel the amniotic sac’s pulsing in his hands as he placed them gently on the sofa beside Jeanne.

He knelt down beside her and began inserting the first featus.  This one, he knew, had been Dieter.

Like a black heart the pod began to throb and palpitate in his hand. As he squeezed tighter for a better grip, several sinuous blood encrusted tendrils shot out towards Jeanne’s opening. Four of them snagged her thighs and pried them apart as a single tendril with a snake-like head and black teeth slithered inside her.

She screamed as the tendril entered her. Jethro attempted to tear it out, but the remaining three pods in his hand suddenly came to life. Like the other, they shot out bloody tendrils which encircled Jeanne’s waist as another two snaked around both their necks. They both choked out scream while the tendril’s forced Jethro back. Whichever direction he moved the tendril counteracted. There was nothing he could do as the pulsating pods were forced inside Jeanne.

And, within a minute and a half, it was over and the house returned to silence.


Twenty years later:

Jeanne withdrew into herself throughout the nine months of pregnancy. On occasion, she considered abortion, but Jethro talked her out of it, instead prescribing anti-depressive drugs for her and turned his fear for his wife to his unborn children.  But, all he could do was wait, and hope.

Jethro told Martin everything had gone well; how he and Jeanne were looking forward to the re-birth. But, throughout the pregnancy, he refused to bring Jeanne in for examination. If Martin discovered the tablets had been mixed, he feared he too would recommend abortion.

After seven months, Martin discovered Jeanne’s blood pressure to be too low and a caesarean section had been performed.

Though born at the same time, there were no noticeable differences in the children.  Like new-borns, they cried at night, soiled their nappies, and burped white vomit down Jethro’s back. For awhile both Jethro and Jeanne felt there fears were unfounded; and Jeanne ended her dependence on ant-depresensts.

But, as time would tell, the truth was very different.

In time, a distinct anger affected each child. From an early age Jeanne and Jethro had to keep the children in separate cots, and later rooms, to stop them fighting.

They also noticed, though each child had been born on the same day, the eldest – Kennidy and Deiter – were growing at a faster rate than Jonah and Daniel, the twins.

Jethro believed by the time twenty years had passed they would end up the same age they were in their first life.

All the children had left home for various reasons at a young age.

Deiter had been sent to a maximum-security prison for child rape. Kennidy, though living at home, awaited her court hearing after deportation from Singapore for drug running and prostitution. Jonah became the ‘Midland Demon’, terrorising the midland highroads, mudering his victims with a crowbar. After being the first person in Britain, in almost two-hundred years to be hanged, he lay in the cold earth.

Daniel remains in a Sussex mental ward for starting the Great London fire. Over three-hundred people burned to death, trapped in buildings dotted throughout the city. Now, a scarred monster, he waits in the dungeon-like rooms of the hospital, hoping to steal the lighter from an orderly just to feel the flames heat on his palm.

Now, Jeanne sat in a wheelchair staring into the empty realm of her broken heart and mind. She had not spoken in five years. For a long time she tried to kill herself, a thought which Jethro also considered. After slicing her wrists in the bathtub, she died, leaving her brain oxygen deprived for too long.  Reviving her had been a risk, as Jethro didn’t know how long she had been underwater, but only after she awoke in hospital did the extent of her injuries become apparent.

Years before, Jethro had begged Martin for more tablets, hoping he could re-use them, but after Dieter’s death, he hid the tablets in an old box in the attic. Only now, two decades later, did Jethro hold them in his hand. Tears welled in his eyes.

He stared down at the piece of paper in his hand; a letter from himself to the Government; A confession; an attempt at stopping the authorities from putting the tablets on the mass market.

Jethro wrapped the letter around the tablet bottle and placed it on the chest of drawers. As he turned to leave the bedroom, he wiped dry his eyes.


She picked up the bottle of tablets, slipped the letter into her pocket and walked into the spare room.

Jeanne sat in her wheelchair staring through the window. Jethro had placed her there so the sun could warm her face. A drip hung from a stand attached to the right handle of the chair. She no longer ate solid food.

Kennidy shook the bottle of tablets and sang, “Mummy, don’t forget to take your pills!”

Moments later she made her way to the kitchen, poured a tall glass of water and placed a red and blue tablet into the glass.

“Dad,” she called, “would you like drink?”

“From the living room he returned, “Yes, please; a glass of water would be nice.”


9 months later:

A London Maternity ward

“That’s it honey, push!” The nurse held the woman’s hand, and wiped her forehead with a damp cloth.

“Push!” coaxed the doctor, “just a little bit more. That’s it-”

She clenched her teeth, breathing short sharp gusts of air. Shh, shh, shh, shh.

“You’re nearly there, I see a-a-a head?” the doctor’s eyes widened before a burst of blood splattered his face.

“Ugh!” he jumped backwards, and knocked over the medical instruments tray.

A hand stretched itself from the opening of the woman, followed by a bloody arm which reached out with talon-like fingers opening and closing; clutching at the air. It scratched at the thighs of the woman, attempting to drag itself out from inside her. It grunted like a rabid animal.

The doctor stood horrified as the nurse backed away further.

Then the woman began to laugh. Beginning as just a chuckle which grew and grew, into an insane guffaw.

The woman leaned forward, held the hand of the thing, and pulled it out further. A bald bloodied head appeared. It moaned and cried like a dead dog, grunting, and heaving. And, then a second arm followed, this one shorter, covered with hair, and encrusted in blood, and another, similar, and another, like the one before. The talons tore at the woman’s thighs, as she laughed and screamed.

And then a second head appeared, screaming like a bat, and between those screams, growls, grunts, and hisses. This one was half covered in hair and reptilian skin. A snakes tongue darted out of the mouth and licked the blood pouring out of the woman.

“Welcome home, mummy! Welcome home, Daddy!” the woman screamed.

The nurse fainted, and the doctor turned and ran. The spine chilling sound of Kennidy’s laughter and the monster’s screams echoed down the corridor after him.

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