Young Writers Society

In My Arms, You'll Be Safe...

A mother sat on an oak rocking chair, a book in her lap, a infant in her arms. The infant cooed, and blinked her green eyes.

There was a raging snowstorm outside, it was loud, banging against the tiled roofs. The mother was scared, what if her baby girl died of the cold. She hugged the baby tighter, nothing would hurt her child.

"Sh... baby, Mommy is going to read you a story if you're quiet," the twenty year old mom addressed the baby.

"Once upon a time, there was a girl named Rapunzel. She was trapped in a tower, because of a evil witch. The witch charmed Rapunzel's hair so it would grow, and take up all her time, 'cause Rapunzel was brushing it. So in doing that, Rapunzel didn't have time to escape." the mom smiled. The baby was giggling quietly. "Do you like the story?" the baby girl shook a small fist.

There was a sound from down stairs, it sounded like the father was coming home. The mother sent the book down by the side of the chair. After that she picked up the child and placed it in the oak crib, that was in the dark corner of the room. "Baby, what do we do every night?" She lifted the girl's shirt, and nuzzled the child's stomach. The baby laughed.

"What else do we do?" the mother lifted the girl out of the crib, and hugged her tight. "In my arms, you will be safe..." They did that every single time the infant was put down for a nap. It was their special little thing.

Quickly, she put the child back down. Covering the infant with a red and green teddy bear blanket. "Love you baby, I just have to talk with Daddy."

In the mother's haste to meet the father, she forgot all about the book...

She raced down the rickety stair case, her delicate hand on the cold, hard wood railing. Her small feet were barely making any noise, touching the floor for less than a second at a time.

"Babe! Where a-a-a-are yo-o-u!?" the husband spoke in a slurred tone, probably he got drunk at the local bar, again.

She saw her 'love' at the bottom of the steps. He was facing the kitchen, as if he wanted to get some scotch. "I'm here! You're home! How'd it go?"

He turned around and faced her, his eyes were bloodshot, and there was a yellowish stain on his white t-shirt. "It-t-t was horrible... Everyone going on about, that, that, that, freakishness technology. Oh, and the bar dude, the bar guy, was talking 'bout the new movie... With... princesses and true love... Oh, oh, oh, and magic..." he spat on the floor, "I hate that."

"Yes, love. You hate that..." her husband hated anything abnormal, anything odd, so she was not allowed to have a phone, or a tablet. He also hated fairy tales, they were freakish with the tales of the old times. "Love, the baby needs to sleep, so we have to be.. quiet." the young wife flinched. She was not allowed to tell her spouse what to do, but, if he reprimanded her, she would simply say: 'Oh, it was just a-a-a suggestion...'

The guy grunted, "I'm going to check on... the brat." he pushed her out of the way; she fell to the floor. Her head hits the railing.

She felt him move past her, as if he was actually eager to see the child. She closed her eyes, the back of her head throbbed, her spine hurt. She was used to this abuse. It happened every time he got back from the bar. The woman heard him bumping his head on the walls, and collapsing a few times. He often came home drunk, ranting out the magic movies, and the new electronics.

The mother heard a roar of: "What is this, book? Why is there a fairytale in my house!" he paused then roared, "Babe, come up stairs, now!"

She scrambled up, trying to ignore the pains. The world was dizzy, as usual. The young wife made her way up the steps.

"Don't you ignore me! Get up here!"

The baby girl started to cry, loud wails that a mother could not ignore. She began to pick up her pace. Finally, she was at the top. Her baby's room was all the way in the back, past the stairs to the attic.

She dashed to the room, and threw open the dark green wood door. The husband was standing there, the leather bound book in his arms; the pages were on the carpeted floor. "Why are there tales of monster stuff in my house!"

The wife didn't have time to think up a lie, she just wanted to see if her only child was alright. She maneuvered past him and stepped over the papers.

She ignored her abusive man and ran over to the child. Nothing was truly wrong. The baby's face was scrunched up, eyes shut. "Sh... baby, you'll be okay. Just be quiet."

She picked the baby up, and cuddled it. Not caring that her husband was yelling in rage, not caring that her child's screams were hurting her ears. "In my arms, you will be safe..." she whispered. She kept on repeating that, 'till the child calmed down.

"Babe, you haven't answered my question!" she snapped her head around, the guy was standing there. Seething in anger. He reached her hand out, and grabbed her shoulder forcefully. Making her drop the baby in surprise. The infant hit the floor with a thud.

"N-n-n-now loo-o-o-o-ok what you've done!" he stood there, looking at the ground; where the baby was.

The mother looked at her child on the floor, then at her drunk spouse. Quickly, she bent over and snatched up the girl. Burying the girl into her jacket, she ran out the door. Three doors were in the dark hallway, and if she went downstairs, there would be the option of going outside. However, if she went outside her and the infant would die of hypothermia.

She decided to run up into the attic. The mother ran up the stairs, trying to sooth her wailing child. "Sh... baby... sh... Daddy can't know where we are..." The fact that the father might not make it up the stairs, due too falling down the side, comforted her. The image of him hitting his head on the floor with a crack made her giggle.

The attic was dark, spider webs in the corners. An old, broken down, oak crib was in the corner with the biggest spider web. A frayed red blanket was on the floor, in a pile. The air smelled of dust and muck. There was a pile of snow outside the window, giving a dim light.

Small knickknacks lay on a forgotten, on a dust covered wooden shelf.

Next to the red blanket, was a single piece of parchment. The woman could barely make out a face, in the dim lighting.

She didn't notice that her baby had stopped crying, 'till she actually listened, to the air. "Good baby, thank you for being quiet. Just be quiet a bit longer, then Mommy will have everything planned." Mommy did not have everything planned, she just tried to calm down her child.

The infant grasped the mom's black hair, tugging on it. The mother didn't mind, she was with her child. Her precious, beautiful infant.

She went over, and sat down on the floor, next to the blanket and the paper. And set the child in her lap. She leaned over, and grabbed the red flimsy blanket. They just needed to be warm, that's all the mom and her baby needed.

Wrapping the cloth around herself, she coughed. Dust was stirred, rising up from its undisturbed grave. Her mind most have been afraid. It almost looked like a monster. With its hollow eyes, and pointy teeth. The eyes bore into the mother's very soul. She could just imagine it saying: "Your time has come, dearest. Soon, soon, your time is almost up." It dissolved, right in front of the young woman's eyes.

She blinked, and then sneezed, turning her head away so she wouldn't make the baby sick.

She grasped for the paper, that was in her reach. It felt... soft, like her daughter's skin. No, no, no softer than her daughter's skin. It had the feel of being used several times, like an old dollar bill. Yet, it wasn't ripped, so used with great care. But what was it used for? It was simply a piece of paper...

The young mom flipped it upside down, so she could see the back.

Big mistake.

The paper glowed so bright. On the back was a horned man that resembled her husband. The same intense blue eyes, and the smirk on the face. She shuddered, its resemblance was terrifying. Suddenly, she heard a voice in her head, "You can't escape me, I'll never go away... Never..." The ink began to drip off the page, onto her daughter's face.

She moved the paper, so the ink was dripping onto the wooden floor. But, it didn't leak. It stopped. She flung the paper so it was on the other side of the room.

Then she picked up her child, seeing if the fluids got on her face. Thankfully, the baby's face was clean of anything odd. She hugged the girl close to the mother's chest, "In my arms, you will be safe..."

She nuzzled her infant's stomach, making the child laugh. The young mother smiled.

"I'm going to tell you another story, while we wait for the storm to calm down, and Daddy to calm down." she often told stories, whether allowed to or not. She loved books, and anything wordy.

She took a deep breath, "Once upon a time... There was a baby girl. She had beautiful blonde hair and green eyes. The mother and father didn't think they could have children, so when she appeared on the castle's door step, the were surprised! Quickly, the King and Queen, who were the mother and father, took her in, and named her Rose. Now, on Rose's birthday, the Queen invited everyone in the whole entire kingdom. Except for the evil witch."

The mom closed her eyes in remembrance of the story her mother told her. "The witch got so... mad that she cursed the young child, with death. No one was able to save the unfortunate princess, all of the... faeries had cast their wish. The king looked at his adopted child in disgust. 'No child of mine will be cursed.' he said, 'Throw her out in the cold!' Unwillingly, a guard took the child and set her outside. Hoping, that the stork would take her back to where she came from."

The baby gurgled, spit dripping down her chin. The woman lovingly wiped the spit off her daughter's face.

"You liked that story, huh?" the story was not the real version, just the version the wife was told. If she had the actual story book she might have been able to tell a better version. Then again, the 'better' version was not that good.

Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk, that was the sound of her husband moving around. His boots dragging on the floor.

"I'll find them... They-ey-ey couldn't-t-t have gott-t-t-en far..." the door from down stairs was slammed. It had appeared that her spouse had gone on a hunt for them.

She carefully took the blanket off, and laid her baby on it. "Sh... sh... Mommy is going to look around this attic... It seems, cool."

The twenty year old stood up, her legs felt sleepy and tingly. Walking around, she went over to the shelf. It looked cool. One of the knickknacks was a knife, the blood was dry. She didn't dare touch it. The next thing was a crumpled note, the words illegible, and it was hard to see correctly. It looked like a list of some sorts. She tucked it in her pocket to read later.

There was nothing else of interest on the shelf. A few notebooks, two green pens, and a blue glove.

It was the perfect opportunity to leave, her husband was not home. She could steal enough money to use a bus. But, she had no where to go.

Her parents had 'disowned' her, when she had told them she was marrying her spouse. Her dad had grabbed her by her green collar, got up in her face, and explained to her, "You will not throw your life away, for that scoundrel. I promise you, he will break your heart. And can't come crying to me, when he does."

Then, he showed her to the door. Later, when she was reading the local newspaper, it had said her parents had died in a crash. She didn't feel that bad, they had abandoned her at a big time in her life.

The child started screaming again. She raced over to the kid, and picked the baby up.

"Sh... sh... sh... it's okay. It's okay,"

The mother had no idea what to do, her child was wailing, her husband was hunting for them. She just wanted to roll up into a ball and cry. The bitter cold bit her nose. Stupid winter...

The mother sat down again, and reached for the blanket. Her child was cold, the mom could not let that happened. Her infant could not be cold. Wrapping the child in the blanket, she listened to the infant's screams get quieter, and quieter, 'till suddenly, they stopped.

"You wanna play peek a boo?" the young mom slowly put her hands on her face. "Where and I? Where am I?" she removed her hands, "Here I am!"

The door from downstairs opened and slammed shut. "Where are the darned brats!" He marched up the stairs. This time she didn't hear him fail to climb up the stairs. He was no longer stumbling.

She began to panic, he was going to come upstairs and hit her. The child was next. There would be scars on her face and arms. The baby would be starved. She knew it.

The mother looked at the window, the snow was melting a bit. Maybe the storm had worn off, maybe that's why her spouse could go outside.

"Babe! I know you're up there! Maybe in the attic!" his voice was gruff and irritated.

Her breath quickened, the room began to spin. She stood up and grabbed the child. The only way to escape was to jump. She held the baby tight in her left arm. "You'll be safe."

The mommy heard her husband come up the stairs to the dark, murky attic. Her right hand was on the latch to open the window, she fumbled a bit. He couldn't hurt her and her child. It was not right. She had a way to escape. She could be free, for once. For the first time in a three months she could go outside.

"Don't move!" her significant other was standing in the doorway, "I'll shoot. Prom-m-mise." he didn't sound so sure about it.

Her hand already opened the window. The cold air blowing on her face. The bright light shone in her green eyes.

She lifted up her leg, and climbed out the window, her right hand stabling her.

"I'm gunna shot, lady. Stop it!"

Next she lifted her next leg. Her whole body was out the window. And the baby was still with her. The infant was crying, loud and annoying.

She heard a gunshot, her head snapped around. He had accidentally shot the floor. "See... I can shoot, now stop."

The lady didn't stop. I'm almost free, she thought, just one jump... "In my arms, you will be safe..." She closed her eyes, hugged her child with both arms. Then she leaned forward. Her body fell to the ground, with a crack. Her back was broken, it hurt to move.

The snow was freezing... Biting against her clothed arms. Her hair was splayed across the snow. The black hair being buried in the snow.

"Good, thing I gave you a blanket." She said to her child, "Very good thing..." spots began to cloud her vision. The night was closing in... She gripped onto the child harder, like the baby was the only life line.

"I want to tell you one last story... okay baby? Just one more..." the girl responded with a ear splitting shriek. "Okay, baby...

"Once upon a time, there was a mother. She was sick, so it was hard for her to have children. One day, she sat outside, looking at the snow. A single red rose was in her hand..." the woman stopped, took a shaky breath, and continued, "She wished for a daughter, whose eyes were red as the rose, and lips as pale as the snow. Within the next few months a baby was found on the doorstep. The baby's eyes were closed. But when they snapped open, the mother was... was... was... pleased, she had gotten her wish...She named the child, Blood Red, but some of the men call her Snow White because the color of her lips..." the mom couldn't finish the story, it was too much.

Tears ran down the mother's face onto the child's blanket, "I'm so, so, sorry for what you have been through. I wish I could make it, it, it, better. I'm sorry for... Daddy always coming home drunk, I'm sorry for... jumping out the window, I'm sorry you're gonna die of coldness." she swallowed back some tears.

Snow began to fall, not like the storm before. It fell in a soothing manner, falling on the twenty year old's face. Probably falling on the infant's face, as well

She gasped for her last breath, "In my arms, you will be safe..." Then, the last thing she saw in the real world was the frightening darkness.