“The ghost baby lives in a cup and instead of legs it has a tail,” says Del. “Don’t be scared. I keep her in my room.” Del’s innocence is dark but pure. Our friends with tiny, speaking children say his morbid fantasies are normal, and that it’s time for us to get a beagle or a guinea pig or have another baby. We go two outta three, but beagle Louise kills Paris the G-pig. In a dramatic turn of events.
We bury what is left of Paris in the garden. Louise howls behind patio doors, tossing garlands of saliva up on the glass. Del is grim, consigned. The boy and the beagle are existential warriors. Is that sentimental? Over the year and a half that we own her, Louise kills squirrels, moles, pigeons. Eats pizza with ants on it. Wounds a cat and loves life itself.
Del draws pictures, over and over until he gets it right:
“This is the mommy and the daddy on the boat. The boat is on fire.”
“That’s the baby. The daddy threw her over the side. Those are sharks.”
Our friends promise that girls are easier and wish us luck. We’re picking names from mythology just in case.
Laura Ellen Scott’s recent fiction has appeared/is forthcoming in Storyglossia, Wigleaf, JMWW, and Writer’s Bloc, and at the moment she is trying to write many, many little ghost stories like “37 lbs” for a possible collection. She blogs at “Probably Just a Story” (http://probablyjustastory.blogspot.com) and curates “Vips on vsf” (http://vipsonvsf.blogspot.com/).