Happy Halloween! I Wrote Something! · 7:26pm Oct 31st, 2016
Happy halloween everybody! I hope everyone has fun tonight whether it's giving out candy, trick or treating, making a sweet costume or staying shoved up in a cubby playing Left 4 Dead 2. Whatever floats your boat, but I everyone has a great time and stays safe. 
Also, as the title suggests, I wrote something!
Now that I have you're attention, let me crush your any enthusiasm you may have had!
It's orginial fiction.
Which means... I can't post it as a story, so that sucks.
But, I can post it here for anyone who's interested in reading it! Enjoy! Any and all feedback is welcomed. And a big thanks to SS&E and Max for helping me out! They're great. 
Viewer Disgression: Contains a wee bit of gore, is pretty... er, disturbing, and a dead infant child. It's kind of messed up... I had to write horror for an assignment. Go big or go home, I guess. It was... hard for me to right this, heh.
Drowsy, I awoke, but I refused to open my eyes. My ears filled with the sound of gurgling, followed by a few whimpers. I winced and my eyes popped open, greeting the darkness then falling tiredly on the baby monitor set atop the nightstand; beside it lay our digital clock, flashing 4:00 in blurry, neon-green numbers.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled. A heavy, damp scent filled my nostrils, tickling the tip of my nose. I twitched, numbness spreading across my face, graceful, and flickering like a wildfire consumes a meadow.
I heard another gurgle, soft and blissful, like an angelic hymn washing over a sinner in harmonious rebirth. A weak smile spread across my face as I nestled my head into my pillow, hoping my bundle of bliss would drift back into slumber. Then, a wail overtook the still room; I cracked open my eyelids, unveiling my orbs to the sweep of red across the meter of the monitor. “Ungh…” I groaned, the tingling in my face coursing down my neck. I must have really not wanted to get up.
Luckily for me, I didn’t have to. The wail was short-lived, countered by a much more soothing voice. “Shhh, shhh, no. Don’t cry,” said my wife, hushing our child with her gentle whispers. “It’s okay; it’s okay, Mama’s here for you.” My smile returned, stretching from ear to ear: God I loved to sleep. But I loved my wife even more. Perhaps I’d have to do something for her tomorrow. Knowing her though, there was a Honey-Do-List half a mile long, so I didn’t have to wonder what that “something” might be.
“Do you want Mommy to sing you a song?” My wife cooed, eliciting a feeble giggle from our child. The static feeling continued to fill my body; it traced down my limbs, back up them, then it oozed into my chest. I began to feel uneasy. My ears perked. I heard scratching above me in the ceiling, and creaking in the walls. Then my wife began to sing.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s going to buy you a mockingbird.” I scrunched my nose, the prickling moving into my stomach. The monitor crackled, distorting my wife's voice as she continued on, “And if that birdie doesn't sing, don't you cry, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. Giggling, petite giggling, calmed my nerves. An exasperated sigh escaped my lips, and I closed my eyes.
I turned over in my bed, at peace, I really had the best wife in the world. Beautiful; inside and out, her nature; nurturing and caring, and even in her sleep; her quiet snore made a smile cross my face. How sweet it was. It was subtle. It was comforting. It was warm across my face. It was cut off by a mind-numbing gargle.
My eyes shot open, and in front of me laid a silhouette of my wife, sound asleep. “Shhh, shhh.” My neck snapped around to the source of the sound; the baby monitor rustled. My limbs turned to trembling gelatin as I began to pant. Tremoring, I stammered breathlessly as the voice resumed. “And if that Diamond ring does break.” A pause. A still pause froze the house, and I gulped, my heart plummeting into my stomach. “And if that diamond ring does break.Mama’s gonna slit your throat.”
The monitor’s meter flounced. Screaming, blood-curdling screaming busted the device, but the screams were echoed through the hall.
I sprang out of bed, leaping through the room and into the hall, my heart pounding, my legs quivering, and sweat trickling from my forehead. The hall appeared narrow, inches wide. It was long, miles long, and my child’s room was at the very end of it.
I sprinted, ignoring the numbness overwhelming my body like the tide takes the beach, in a swoop, rippling away sand from the shore, grain by grain, just as fear pried away at my hope.
I reached the end of the hall, turned on my heel and stumbled into the room, diving for my child’s crib. Fazed, my eyes blurred in the dark, unable to make out even the hand in front of my face.
I leaned into the cradle, reaching, grabbing for my child. Begging. Pleading, for an innocent cry or gurgle. I picked him up, “Collin,” I muttered. He was cold. And the air stirred a light smell of iron. I held him against my chest, taking his tiny, pulseless hand and wrapping it in my palm, caressing it as I staggered, choking over a thickness constricting my throat. “So-so-son.” The dams of my eyes broken; the river of my tears unable to be held back, and tears streamed down my cheeks, chilling my head, sending shockwaves of pain down my spine.
The T-shirt I was warring dampened; thick and now strongly stained with the smell of iron. I pulled him away from my chest slightly, my glossed gaze falling sullenly on him. Scratches and cuts scattered across his body. His stomach had an abrasion running deep across it, entrails leaking out of the deep gash, gushing with thick crimson. And lastly, my eyes—clouded and obscured—rested on his face.
Pallor as a ghost, sweet as spring air, I thought. A hysterical half-smile flashed across my face, only to fade just as quick as it appeared. Why? Why? Why, the question reverberated in my head, my lips quivering, and I sobbed. I sobbed loudly. A grown man, sobbing over the loss of the quintessence of innocence. My slice of innocence.
My weary orbs traced his features, round and around again. Eventually breaking from the pattern, skimming all the way down to his neck, warily tracing it to the base of his throat. I stopped tracing. My gaze stiffened. There, at the base, blood leaked. It trickled out of the deep gash and down his chest. My arms were noodles, furiously flapping like flags in a storm.
I quit.
I shut my eyes tight. All the power in my legs gave out, and I fell to my knees, still holding my son close to me as I jerked, violently.
I screamed; I screamed like I was in a horror movie. The whole neighborhood could hear as my mind broke, as my heart broke, as I broke. I whispered, frenzied, “th-th-this isn't real; this isn't—i-i-it’s okay, I-i-I'm okay. God. God! God!”
With a great surge of energy my eyelids burst open. And I could see.
I saw.
His eyes.
I saw my son’s eyes.
His beady, blue eyes stared at me, emotionless. All the breath in my lungs left, and once again it was silent. It was just him and I. In the swallowing darkness.
I laid him on my lap and leaned over him. My eyes rested on the wooden floor beneath us. I outstretched my hands, placing my elbows against the floor, arching over him like a bridge, protecting him from what could still be lingering. I positioned myself like a broken man at the altar—I might as well be one.
I stayed in that position—and I wept.
The room turned cold as my body began to shake again. A chilly tickled my spine, then began to circle me. Inside me, I could feel darkness pierce me, like a barrage of needles penetrating my skin. I continued to weep.
“Shhh, shhh don't cry.” The voice returned. “Do you want Mama to sing you a song?”
I shuddered, unanswering the voice.
“There, there daddy.” It paused. The wind whistled, and my cries became louder.
“Hush little Daddy don't you cry.” I winced, shutting my eyes tighter, and tighter.
“Baby’s not here but it’s alright.” Breathless, I panted.
“Hush there, Daddy don't say a word. I'm going buy you a mockingbird.
“If that bird doesn't sing, don't you fret; I'm going to find you a treasure chest.
“And if that chest doesn't open and we can't find the key; it's okay you can stay—with—me.”
Hi again, Chapped!
Nice bit of Halloween-themed fiction, and it's pretty cool that you've written something for it.
A suggestion would be to reference his love for his wife in the later parts of the story, since he takes multiple paragraphs discussing it near the beginning (e.g. "Beautiful; inside and out, her nature; nurturing and caring, and even in her sleep") and this part doesn't seem to go anywhere.
The fear value was really good, though. You've got the horror part nailed, especially where he's at his kid's crib, breaking down. I swear there's some real gems of sentences in there, like this one: Begging. Pleading, for an innocent cry or gurgle. [...] He was cold. And the air stirred a light smell of iron.
Hrm. Sp00ps, but i dont get scared from writing easily.