The Funhouse Read Free Page A

now glaring at her from the bassinet.
        But the Roman Catholic Church did not condone mercy killing. Even the highest motives would not save her from Hell. And she knew that her motives were not pure, ridding herself of this burden was, in part, a selfish act.
        The creature continued to stare at her, and she had the unsettling feeling that its strange eyes were not merely looking at her but through her, into her mind and soul, past all pretension. It knew what she was contemplating, and it hated her for that.
        Its pale, speckled tongue slowly licked its dark, dark lips.
        It hissed defiantly at her.
        Whether or not this thing was human, whether or not killing it would be a sin, she knew that it was evil. It was not simply a deformed baby. It was something else. Something worse. It was dangerous, both less and more than human. Evil.
        She felt the truth of that in her heart and bones.
        Or am I crazy? she wondered. No. She couldn't allow doubt to creep in. She was not out of her mind. Grief-stricken, deeply depressed, frightened, horrified, confused-she was all of those things. But she was not crazy. She perceived that the child was evil, and in that regard her perception was not askew.
         Kill it.
        The infant screamed. Its gravelly, strident voice grated on Ellen's nerves. She winced.
        Wind-driven sheets of rain drummed noisily against the trailer. Thunder picked up the night and vigorously rattled it again.
        The child squirmed, thrashed, and managed to push aside the thin blanket that had been draped across it. Hooking its bony hands on the edges of the bassinet, gripping with its wicked claws, it strained forward and sat up.
        Ellen gasped. It was too young to sit up on its own with such assurance.
        It hissed at her.
        The thing was growing at a frightening rate, it was always hungry, and she fed it more than twice as much as she would have fed an ordinary child, week by week she could see the amazing changes in it. With surprising, disquieting swiftness it was learning how to use its body. Before long it would be able to crawl, then walk.
        And then what? How big and how mobile would it have to get before she would no longer have any control over it?
        Her mouth was dry and sour. She tried to work up some saliva, but there was none.
        A trickle of cold sweat broke from her hairline and wriggled down her forehead, into the corner of one eye. She blinked away the salty fluid.
        If she could place the child in an institution, where it belonged, she would not have to murder it. But Conrad would never agree to giving up his baby. He was not the least bit revolted by it. He was not frightened of it, either. He actually seemed to cherish it more than he might have done a healthy child. He took considerable pride in having fathered the creature, and to Ellen his pride was a sign of madness.
        Even if she could commit the thing to an institution, that solution would not be final. The evil would still exist. She knew the child was evil, knew it beyond the slightest doubt, and she felt responsible for bringing such a creature into the world. She could not simply turn her back and walk away and let someone else deal with it.
        What if, grown larger, it killed someone? Wouldn't the responsibility for that death rest on her shoulders?
        The air coming through the open windows was much cooler than it had been before the rain had begun to fall. A chilly draft brushed the back of Ellen's neck.
        The child began trying to get out of the bassinet.
        Finally summoning all of her bourbon-inspired courage, her teeth chattering, her hands trembling as if she were afflicted by palsy, she took hold of the baby. No. The thing . She must not think of it as a baby. She could not allow herself the luxury of sentiment. She must act. She must be cold, unmoved, implacable,