Replacement

By Zoé Daoust

 The Autumn wind blew through the open window, strong enough to sway the open scissors, tied to the ceiling with a crimson string, suspended over the cradle. A tall shadow hovered outside the window, watching as a mother placed her child into the cradle. She straightened his blankets and checked on her scissors before turning off the lights and leaving the room. 

       Shortly after she left, a small girl in penguin-printed footie pyjamas quietly entered the room. She pushed a small stool over to the cradle by the light of the hall outside the room. Climbing up, she saw the dangling scissors. Overcome by a sudden urge to have them for her crafts she reached up. With a strong tug, they came down, crimson string and all. She grinned and hopped down, prize in hand. She turned to leave the room, pausing in the door frame as she remembered she had wanted to kiss her baby brother goodnight. 

       Soon as she turned to leave, the shadow entered through the window, carefully avoiding rustling the bells hung outside it. He stared at the child sleeping peacefully in his cradle, angelic. And picked him up, tucking him into the crook of his elbow, before gently setting his own bundle into the cradle. This child could not be described as angelic. Sharp teeth glimmered in its mouth, skin sickly, and hair limp and dull. The worst were the eyes though. Eyes as deep and dark as a demon’s, staring up at him. 

       “Shh,” The shadow said, turning away from the thing in the cradle to face the small girl in the doorway. “Wait.”

       Even as he turned away, the child in the cradle shifted. The sickly skin, turning into a healthy pink-cheeked glow. Limp, dull, hair turning bright, fluffy blond. Demon’s eyes fading to a pale blue. 

A replica of the boy in his arms. 

With that the shadow slipped back out the window into the dark night, stolen child in his arms. 

     The little girl stared at the cradle from the doorway. She slowly approached the cradle as the child stared at her, confusion in his gaze. 

      “Mackie?” she whispered to the boy in the cradle. 

       The child in the cradle just stared back, screwing up his face as she finally reached the cradleside. Tears slipped down his face. 

       “Why are you crying?” She asked, following his line of sight to the scissors in her hands. “You don’t like them?” She asked, taking a few steps back, scissors still in hand. His face relaxed a bit. She tossed them to the corner of the room in understanding. 

     “Is that better?” She whispered, reaching out a hand to him, back at the cradle side. 

       She sat at his side all night, holding his tiny hand, and telling him stories. 

By Zoé Daoust