She stared at the crib. A thin ray of moonlight was playing on it; right now it looked like the pale finger of some unseen monster reaching out to its own kind.
Yes, own kind.
She shuddered as a chill ran down her spine.
“Don’t be a jerk! It must be the effect of the drugs and lack of sleep. You must have been half asleep and half drugged!” she scolded herself.
The occupant of the crib, her new born son was absolutely silent, like he was supposed to be. He was only a week old; he was not supposed to recite poems right now, was he?
Well, that’s what he was doing, or at least she thought she heard him doing.
That’s what snapped her out of her sleep, the strange sound in room. She heard it as her senses struggled to come out of the haze created by tiredness and drugs.
It was not the voice of a baby, it was an ominous voice, it sounded cruel, cold and centuries old- hollow. It was babbling something in an unknown language. But that was talking, not senseless cooing of a small baby. She could feel the sentences forming and the punctuations used.
She sat up on her bed, trying to grasp what was going on.
The sound was coming from her son’s crib. The nurse was not in the room, she quickly went to the crib, as quickly as her groggy senses allowed her to go; she has been drugged heavily by the doctor because the pregnancy and the delivery was a hellish experience. \
========= to be continued =================