And Hope To Die

By Marcelle Creak

My scalpel taps against the shapeshifter’s eggshell but doesn’t crack the surface as expected. I press harder, but the blade slides down the surface, piercing the table with a thump.

Could my researchers have grabbed something else instead of the eggs?

No, I’d seen the mother. She swiftly switched from bird, to monkey, to a simple house cat before curling up with her marble sized eggs. The cat was always her resting form, leaving me to assume the creature had first imitated a cat and learned to shift into other forms from there.

Hypothetically, it could do the same with a human. We can’t be certain until they hatch. We can’t begin running tests until then.

My research team sought out the shapeshifter’s eggs to study their development, but the mother had run away before she could hatch her babies. This left us to hatch them ourselves. We tried using the sounds of cooing from mothers of various animal classes, but they would not budge. At a dead end, I’d brought the four eggs home for further experimentation and haven’t stopped working since.

Those taps of shell and thumps of blade have been my only company, echoing throughout the laboratory. My eyes grow heavy with sleep as my hands drag, sloppily scraping down the eggshell. I stretch my fingers, sore from gripping the egg for so long.

The doorknob jiggles, startling me as I press the knife down. The blade slices my thumb. I clench my hand to my chest, gritting my teeth.

“Daddy?” Blood pounds in my ears, dampening little Madeline’s voice. I grind my teeth against the searing pain.

I tuck the blood-covered egg and bleeding thumb away in my fist as I turn to face her.

“The nightmares came back.” Her voice quivers gently, shaking me out of my pain.

I bite my tongue, nodding to myself like I’m piecing together a solution to her problem. “I’ll make sure there are no nightmares in the hallway,” I say carefully, not wanting to scare her. “Get ready for me to tuck you back in, okay?”

She darts to her room. I follow—still gripping the egg and bleeding thumb in my fist, keeping the blood out of her sight—kiss her goodnight, and promise, cross my heart, the nightmares won’t come for her again. I rub her shoulder and slip out quietly.

My slipper crushes something solid with a light crunch. I step aside to see broken bits of a shell.

What?

I scour the floor for any life the baby could have attached itself to. Nothing. I swear the egg was clenched in my fist, but my hand is empty no matter how long I stare into my palm and grasp at the air.

As I sweep up the bits of eggshell, I realize there’s one place I haven’t checked.

I can’t work up the nerve to walk into her room.

A soft thrumming grows louder as I return to my laboratory. Maybe it’s the three embryonic hearts beating on the other side of my door. I lean against the wall and sink to the floor.

The thought nudges at me carefully at first, as if trying not to wake me. But I feel it prying at my brain, wrenching to the forefront of my mind. The need to hug my daughter gnaws at my insides.

I creep into her room, aware of her every breath as I kneel at her bedside. From her hair to the position she’s sleeping in, everything is just as I had left her. But I am confident she is false in every way. Her breathing sounds wrong, like she’s learning how to inhale.

Unless the gasping is mine.

I grip the bed sheets and take deep breaths. I must calm myself, resist the urge to choke whatever is inside of her.

If I give in to this, I won’t stop squeezing until its last breath is stolen from her lungs. I should do that, if only to know my daughter is in a safer place where she can roam free. The suggestion prodding my brain is absurd, but I have to save my baby. I can’t choke the body-stealing monster inside of her without hurting her.

I will save Madeline, no matter what.

I retrieve the scalpel from my lab and find myself standing over her body. If I injure her in a manner that triggers a fight or flight response in the shapeshifter, it will flee her body. Madeline will be free.

I cover her face with the blanket to suppress her screaming, preventing her from seeing me. She thrashes as I grip my scalpel. Her persistent muffled yells must mean the monster is fighting to escape her body.

Then she goes limp.

I yank back the blanket. Her eyes flicker in my direction before falling shut.

Madeline was never the monster.

As her heart slows, I pull my hands away, run to my laboratory, and grab an egg. My head spins as I stagger back into her room, catching myself on her bedpost. Everything becomes saturated and blurry. Unless the spots in my vision are blood.

Focus.

I gaze at my thumb, turning the egg in my palm, and pull the sticky sheets off her small frame. The shapeshifter had invaded my body through an open cut. Placing the egg near her wound would cause the same.

I fight for consciousness, needing to hold her close. I want to rest knowing she’s okay.

“Good morning, Daddy,” Madeline says, yawning.

I twist in my bed, returning her kind smile. Her voice is shaky, like a toddler learning to speak, but she’s here. Too weak to hold her, I sink into the pillows and settle for stroking her cheek.

I only regret not keeping my promise. If I couldn’t protect my dear Madeline from nightmares, I will stay with her for as long as I can.

Cross my heart.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marcelle Creak is an aspiring author of many stories to come, starting with And Hope to Die. A reader with questionable ideas, a stellar baker of cookies, and a writer who never wants to stop creating characters with twisted paths. Creak is thrilled to be an honorary Havok wreaker and is excited to publish more in the future!