She was tucking the baby in when she saw his face at the
window. Every night it was the same. He would stare at the crib, his gaze never
straying.
Mary stood next to the bed, guarding her baby, and pressed
the silent alarm without taking her eyes off him. In less than five minutes,
police sirens could be heard in the distance. As they got closer, the man
disappeared from the window.
The door bell rang. Mary scooped up the baby and hurried to
the door. She pulled it up and the man was standing there.
He held out his arms and her baby flew to him. Abby reached
out to try to take her baby back as the man said, "At last."
With a wave of his hand she was frozen in place then he
disappeared in a flash of light. When the police arrived she came out of her
trance and dropped to the floor.
"He got my baby. He ... he just came in, and took him.
Please ... please find my baby! Find my baby boy!" Mary said hysterically.
The police fanned out to search for the baby. After several hours of looking
they called it off and said they would resume in the morning. After weeks of searching
it was called off and he was never found.
* * * * *
Mary was sitting in the rocking chair, watching the window.
It was the 63th anniversary of her son's disappearance. She was about to head
to bed after covering the doll in the crib when she saw a face in the window.
The window opened and the man climbed inside.
"What ... what do you want? Don't take my baby!"
she screamed as she reached for the silent alarm and scooped up the doll.
"It is time to go," he said.
"Get away from my baby! Help! Somebody! Help!"
The man reached out and waved his hand towards her. She fell
quiet as she stared into his eyes.
"Its time to go," he said softly. “Please come
with me.”
He reached out for her hand as he pulled his scythe out with
his other hand.
“No … I’m not ready,” she pleaded. “I need to find my baby.”
“Take my hand and I will take you to him,” he whispered.
“Where … where is he?” she asked.
He answered by holding out his hand again. She was
transfixed as she put her hand in his.
The man raised the scythe and her mind was filled with the
image of her baby as he grew up, tears running down her face. When they reached
the teen years she realized he was her son. Her soul soared and grew warm,
warming him, too. Then she pulled away as the Grim Reaper took his life on his
18th birthday.
“No! My baby!” she wept.
“It’s okay Mom. It was meant to be,” he replied then wrapped
his around her. He drained her life force and breathed it into his body. Her
lifeless human form fell to the floor then he breathed out and her spirit
floated next to him.
“Let’s go home,” he said and they slipped out the window.
