The Murdering Hour
by Charlie Kondek She was in bed, the sky behind the curtains still gray, when one of them spoke to her, the one that claimed to be a child she’d miscarried. “Mother. We want blood.” She complained, “First of all, don’t call me mother. Second, it’s too early for this. Third, you’ll get paid when I get paid.” Lucy couldn’t fall back asleep now, not with that feeling like they were all on the bed with her, so she cast the quilt aside and set her feet in socks on the cold wooden floor. Stepping tenderly and slowly on legs like uncurled pipe cleaners, she made her way to the kitchen in the empty house permeated by rainy morning light though it was not raining. The spirits moved alongside her, underfoot, and congregated expectantly in a corner while she made coffee. “We want a child,” said the voice like a hysterical old lady. “We want a pregnant woman!” said another, one of the hissers. With the coffee beginning to burble, Lucy went in search of the toilet and her toothbrush, reminding...
