Serial Vlogger: Part Thirty-Eight

A horror novel in tiny slices

Betty had run out into the storm.

“My baby…my baby!” she screamed as she ran along the street. She had already called the police; they had already come to her place.  And they had already shown how useless they could be.

They didn’t care about her theories of falling pictures and ghosts, of demons and baby snatchers. They saw no evidence of foul play. They saw no forced entry, nothing. Just an empty crib.

And so there was nothing for them to do but make notes in their little books, stare at her suspiciously, and call it a day.

Betty thought she’d lose her mind. Where was baby Bobby? She had run through the hallways, knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen the baby, heard the baby. A nice lady helped her look for a while but then gave up when the storm hit.

Betty ran down the streets, searching through garbage cans. The idea had hit her from watching so many crime shows. Many bodies were found in garbage bins. The first place she searched had been the large dumpster behind her own building. She had tried to crawl in, but she could see from the surface that garbage had been there for a while. Moldy and undisturbed. No one had moved anything to toss in a baby.

She had dug through other dumpsters in the backs of other neighboring buildings, but as the storm had grown, she couldn’t climb into them anymore. The rain was too severe.

It seemed like the heavens were conspiring against her. Nature conspired against her. The universe with all its mysterious refused to relinquish her baby. The wind and rain slammed her, preventing her search. Her anger and frustration grew. The ache of loss sizzled under her skin. This couldn’t be her story.

Betty stood on the sidewalk and let out a scream. Soon people gathered around her as she screamed and screamed. She felt as if she had lost her mind and could only scream. Her life was now just screaming as the loss of her baby flooded through her bones. Who could help her? Where was he? Would he ever return? Would whoever took him return him?

Betty collapsed to the ground. Several people grabbed her arms to help her up.

“It’s okay, lady. We’ll help you.”

“She’s crazy, probably never had a baby to begin with.”

“No, she has a baby. I’ve seen her with him many times.”

“Fucking junkies in this neighbourhood likely broke in and stole him. Sold him on the black market for drugs.”

“She’s like a junkie, forgot she sold him.”

“Naw, she’s pretty normal. Just stuck living in a shitty building, that’s all. Just like the rest of us.”

Voices swirled around her but they did nothing to assuage her grief. She cried and screamed, the rain beating her relentlessly.

The storm grew worse, with thunder and lightning ripping through the skies.

“The lake is rising,” someone called out. Some of the people scattered to find safe refuge.

Betty collapsed again and lay sobbing on the ground. She turned her head towards the lake. She could see parts of the boardwalk from where she was. Sure enough, the lake was indeed rising. It had taken on the form of an ocean, with huge waves breaking against the shore. The little beach and parkette were overtaken by swirling waves. The park shelter, a structure she’d stood under many times with the carriage in a storm, was crumbling before their eyes. The people who had sheltered under it ran screaming as it collapsed.

Above her, she saw the clouds swirling, darkness as a tornado seemingly formed. She clutched at her own face, her hair, screaming into the wind, crying for her son.

People huddled, trapped by the storm, trapped by amazement at the black clouds, a tornado, a hurricane, something else. Hypnotized, the crowd formed, staring up at the sky.

The storm took on a life of its own. Betty saw a giant eye staring down at her. She screamed again and hid her face.

“No, no such thing. No actual eye in a tornado.” She wanted to get away. She tried to stand up but the wind knocked her back, as it did to the others around her. Everyone hung onto each other as the storm raged. There was no going anywhere. There was no taking shelter.

Betty felt someone grabbing at her arm, her name being shrieked in her ear.

“Betty!” Betty shook out of her stupor.

“Carol!” Betty clung onto the old lady. “Carol, you must take shelter.”

“Same with you,” Carol screamed.

“Bobby! I can’t find Bobby.” Betty cried. Carol hugged her. They stayed on the ground, kneeling as the black eye above stared down.

“Oh, my god, look over there!” Carol screamed and pointed through the people, through the rain, through the gusting winds.

“Oh, my god!” Betty cried. “What the fuck!”

Carol and Betty watched as Lenore walked effortlessly through the people. She wore a hospital gown. She had bare feet. Her hair whipped around her face. Her eyes didn’t seem to be looking at anyone or anything. Around her neck, something red glowed.

“Is that Lenore?” Carol shouted to Betty.

“I think so. But why is she dressed like that?”

Lenore walked through the crowd, walked along the sidewalk. While everyone around her struggled to stand, most were huddled on the ground, Lenore walked down the street like a regular person, except she looked like she was sleepwalking or in a trance. The stone in the necklace not only glowed, but it shot off sparks.

“Lenore!” Betty cried out but Lenore didn’t hear her.

Betty watched as Lenore walked through the wind, Lenore’s hair snapping like snakes, her hospital gown whipping in the wind.