Melvin Burgess Stuff

You're pushing a pram down the road. An old lady looks inside and says fearfully, "Your babies are not human." Then, she runs off.

Her words strike you like cold iron inside. Is it just anxiety you feel? But something inside whispers, “No. There is a memory here.”

You go home and examine the babies from top to toe for defects and clues.

Nothing. They are both perfect.

You make tea, prepare the twins for bed. The old woman must be mad.

Relaxing with a glass of wine, you become angry at her – and at yourself for your foolishness.

And yet …

You drink more wine and begin to reminisce about the twin’s father.

You are not really sure who it was. Probably Davo, your ex – that bastard. You’re well rid of him.

But there was one other possibility. Davo was away – god knows where …No one could blame you for having a fling.

That night - it remains a blur. Not just the wine, surely? You've had nothing like it since. Can reality be just another drug, after all?

He danced like quick silver. In your mind his features won’t stay still.

Later, his shape inside you was … odd.

You go to bed drunk. You’re lonely. You weep. You despise your self for your weakness.

In the morning, the babies cry for attention. You feed them. How greedy they are!

… how alien …

Over the next few days, you try to put your fears behind you, babies are babies, hardly people yet. You must be patient with them.

But you keep catching them glancing at you. They are only weeks old. Can they focus already.

Later that week, standing outside the bedroom door, you hear them whispering together in a strange language.

It’s then that you decide you must find the old woman and ask her what she knows.

You start to hang out around the Mall where you saw her. During the evenings, you check out local networks on Facebook and MySpace.

Meanwhile, your usual life goes on, as if unaware. On Friday, you have a visit from your Health Worker.

On Friday, your Health visitor comes. She asks questions. How do you feel? How often have you been out? Have you spoken to anyone else since you last saw her.

You tell her, truthfully, how much you love your babies. You would love to add that they are inhuman, but you know she will not understand.

When she leaves, you hear them laughing at you from the bath.

How much do they know? It’s so important they believe you are still fooled.

What if they can read your mind?

Your search for the old lady continues. One day, you find her on Facebook. She has no friends.

Her name is Mary Duggan. She lists her occupation as fantasist and a seeker after truth. Just what you want.

The tag on her website reads, “Do you know anyone who has no soul?”

You send her an email and go to sleep. In the morning there is a note on the fridge -
“Your life is in danger.”

All the doors are locked from the inside.

Even the bolts are on. But you're alone with the babies. Are you going mad? You didn't lock them, did you? Surely you'd remember that.

You examine the note more carefully. It is written on the back of an old envelope, addressed to Mary Duggan. There is also a phone number on it.

You ring her. Mary tells you she didn't lock the doors – it was them.

She warns you that the babies are not human. They will devour you when they are old enough. They must die.

Horrified you put down the phone. This is unbearable. You try to forget it and get on with your day.

That look in their eyes – is it love, or hunger? Later, suckling the twins, you cannot control your fear.

Then at bedtime, sticky and smelling faintly of milk and pee, you find the house keys hidden in the cot.

Alicia, seizes hold of you with a terrible strength. You shrug her off and run.

At the door you pause and glance back. Ellena appears to be choking. She turns blue.

Another trick ..

You seize the door, it’s locked. You grab a chair and hurl it at the window. The glass shatters. The babies cry.

You climb through, cutting yourself on the glass. You run.

It’s getting very very late. The babies have to die. It’s you or them – but you cannot do it yourself.

Mary Duggan is your only hope.

You email her from a cafe in town. She replies at once. “It is vital,” she says. “That you you are never left on your own with the twins.”

The twins are at home. You have no intention of going home again.

You arrange to meet Mary at her home in a suburb on the edges of Manchester later that evening.

You spend the hours in between in a frantic state. Despite everyting you now know, you are worried about the babies.

Despite their terrible malevolence, they are still so helpless. They are, after all, at least half human. And they are still yours.

You cannot tell what you fear most - the babies welfare, or the fear of how they reward you if you help them

At last, you cannot bear it any more. You go home. The babies have been on their own for five hours. The house is filled with their screams.

You clean them up and give them a bottle, you cannot bear them at your breast. Then you dress them and take them with you to visit Mary.

She will know what to do.

When you arrive at the house, you see there have been visitors before you – the police. The place is crawling with them.

You know without having to ask that Mary is dead.

You go home, you feed the twins, you put them to bed. You run the bath. They have not tasted the vodka in the milk. They sleep like angels.

When you are sure they are asleep, you carry them to the bathroom. This is breaking your heart.

Gently you place them into the water, one at a time, and hold them down.

Tears drop from your eyes and ring the water above their anxious faces.

You cannot watch. You close your eyes. Therefore, you miss them smiling at something over your shoulder.

You did not see it creep down the wall.

You do not see it stand upright and fold back its wings.

You did not see it turn itself inside out to put on its disguise.

Someone touches you on the arm. Turning you see – the father. It is the dancer after all.

The twins remain on the bottom of the bath, underwater, serene, while he strokes your hair.

His touch is silken. You sigh with pleasure.

Gently he touches you on the neck and stings you. You fall to floor, paralysed.

No need to hide now. Her iridescent wings brush the ceiling. The splendid architecture of her legs towers around you.

She has their father’s face.

Gently, she lifts you up from the floor and carries you to the bedroom, using her mouthparts and back legs.

Not human of course. Not even male.

There was never any loving. That occurred long before you met. All she was doing with you was laying her eggs.

She leaves and a minute later, flies back in with the babies.

She places them at your breast.