The Sixteenth of December
When a young Nanny’s rent is due, any job is worth the money.
Submission to Round 3 of the 2022 Flash Fiction Competition for NYC Midnight. Feedback lost.
It was the first time I agreed to tag along with May and her daughters on their monthly getaway to a log cabin up north. In the past, I offered the underpaying single mother a lame excuse for my absence. Five days a week felt like enough time to spend with children that weren’t my own. That month, I needed the money more than ever.
Millie, the youngest of the three, told a disturbing story about a dead pig while her sister, Freya, screamed for her to stop. Sage, the oldest, kept her cool by drowning them out by reading her favorite picture book, The Friendly Ghost. May drove with both hands firmly on the wheel—she was a professional at ignoring the noise her children made. The cactus covered desert transformed into a thick woodland forest the further we traveled. My headphones weren’t loud, they couldn’t be. If anything happened to the girls while I was present I wouldn’t get paid.
Rent is due on the sixteenth of December; I have to stay.
May turned the already quiet radio down as she asked, “Can you repeat the address once more, dear? This stupid phone keeps rerouting me.” That marked the third time I gave her the address to a place she visited twelve times per year. My gaze trailed the fallen deer crossing sign on the side of the secluded road. I tried not to roll my eyes as I mumbled, “1701 Shady Lane, 86336.”
She offered no thanks, not until we pulled into a hidden driveway and needed my help carrying in the bags. One bedroom, one bathroom with a dirty tub, a tattered couch, and a kitchenette fit for the undead. There was mold in four visible places. A large golden tuba sat collecting dust in the corner of the barren living space. A sane family wouldn’t pay to stay there. Sage ran for the shut door coated in layers of gooey grime. Determined, she pried it open and squealed, “Dad!”
Rent is due on the sixteenth of December; I have no choice.
As far as I knew, Sage turned four the winter her dad disappeared. And from what I read online, his clothes were discovered by a biker gang near Route 66, about twenty miles away. Freya and Millie jumped from one broken bed to the other while Sage sat on the floor chatting to the space above her head. “Who is she talking to? I—I thought he died.” May sensed my growing worry and waved me away as she promised, “Kids sometimes say the strangest things. He’s dead and gone.”
The girls settled in on the couch with the coloring books I purchased as May warmed their nightly bath. The dinner I made using the dilapidated gas stove tasted as good as I expected a cup of cold baked beans could. The cabin was freezing too; perfect for the long sleep that beckoned.
The time on my glowing green watch read 1:32. I felt a drop of water move across my bare foot and a small arm touch my leg. Sage hiccupped as she whispered, “I had to do it. Daddy wanted mommy. He said if I killed her we could all stay. He said you would help me join them.” Warning flames engulfed my gut, I felt drunk as an eerie premonition seared through my senses.
Rent is due on the sixteenth of December; I have a good life.
My breath became shallow when I stood from my blanket bundle. “Where is the light switch,” I cried out. It didn’t matter if May heard me because no child should speak like that. My flurry of words fell short as my eyes landed on three lifeless bodies huddled together on one of the beds. How could she? Vomit threatened to surface. “How could you,” I screamed at the confused child. There was no fixing the mess she made. She didn’t understand the magnitude of such a reckless murder. “I had too! Please don’t be mad. Daddy asked for this; you’ll see.”
A spine-chilling cold spread across the home as I yanked on the heavy wooden front door. Sage stood on the other side of the room with a wet rusted knife, aimed in my direction. As I gambled the idea of running into the icy night, May floated through the bedroom door like it was made of mist. She gave me a single, albeit terrifying, glare and bent to her knees to console her distraught daughter. I had no time to register the insanity. The ghost of a man carried the two girls I was paid to nurture for a living into the room. He sat on the ground with his family, smiling at me with translucent teeth. Uncontrollable tears razed the dust coated floor as I realized what the man wanted from me. Sage couldn’t stay here like he wanted, not unless she were dead too.
May rocked against her oldest child as she looked to me with joy in her eyes. “Turn the stove on before you head out. The keys are on the counter in the bedroom, and your paycheck is in my purse. Thank you.” The drive felt longer on the way home.
Rent is due on the sixteenth of December; I have to pay.
Lauren Dee Boskie 