It was dark.

God, it was so, so dark. Cramped into a spandrel with his wife, or-was-soon-to-be-ex-wife, his twins- a daughter and a son- the pounding on the door and the howling of a creature that was once human deafening. It knew they were there- it could smell them, hear the blood pumping from their drumbeat hearts.

The wood groaned and creaked. The children winced and cried, sniffling, but trying, God were they trying to be quiet. In barely above a whisper, his soon-to-be-ex-wife says “This is your fault, Tom.”

Was it his fault? Maybe. “Not now,” He whispers back.

The children whimper, curled against them; his daughter with him, his son with his mother.

She scoffs. Dust falls like a mist shower over them. It coated their skin and hair like a second layer of clothing.

“This is your fault Tom,” she repeated, louder, her voice swollen with anger and blame.

The children cried, trying to mask the sounds with hands and clothing. The girl hid her face in her father's side, the boy stony faced, pale, staring ahead. The wood door creaked, splintering, the monster outside the door loud, hungry, its fists striking the door, bleeding into the cracks.

“Will you just shut up?” He yelled through gritted teeth. His daughter flinched, pressing into him harder, the sound of her sobs breaking through the fractures of her hands. A tear escaped the boy's eye, leaking through the fissures in the dam he had built. You have to be strong, his dad would say. Boys don’t cry. But he did.

Stolen story; please report.

The wood was snapping, breaking apart, as the man and his soon-to-be-ex-wife bickered about the past, the reason for the divorce, the fault of the situation. The girl, through shaking sobs, raised her voice above her parents in song:

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word

Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”

Stunned, Tom trailed off mid-sentence, looking down at the young child curled against him. And though it was too dark to see her, if he had been able too, he would have seen the tear streaks and the snotty nose, the pink rimmed eyes and the rosy cheeks. The way her hair curls stuck to the wetness of her face.

Opposite of her, the boys voice lifted with his sisters. Quiet at first, but building with strength like a tornado touching down. The boy let the tears fall now, the pain reflected in his eyes, resolute and sure.

“And if that mocking bird don’t sing

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

The next verse he sang with his children, ignoring his soon-to-be-ex-wife, ignoring the creature tearing the door down.

“And if that diamond ring is brass,

Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.”

His voice shook, trembling with fear, with sorrow, with tremendous loss. But hiding underneath the soft baritone sat a stunned wonderment; maybe this was his fault, maybe it wasn’t. Was it worth it?

He pulled his daughter close to him as the mother of his children joined her voice with theirs.

“And if that looking glass gets broke

Papa’s gonna buy you a Billy goat.”

Light filtered in through the cracks as the family sang, ignoring the monster on the other side. The wood groaned and cracked and split, hands reaching through, tangling in clothing and hair and whatever it could grasp onto and pulling-

Then a burst of sound like a firecracker. The monster crumpled like a sack of potatoes, limp hand unfurling from a shirt and sliding back through the broken door.

“And if that horse and cart turn around,

You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”