[ WP ] Make me love you , make me hate you , then make me mourn your passing .

I sat there looking at my sleeping little boy. His soft tuft of hair curled over his eyes. Laying on his side, thumb in his mouth, his left hand over his face as if he fell asleep with the weight of the world on his shoulders. As if an 8 month old boy could have any worry at all! He is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. As long as I could remember I wanted to be a mother. From the first moment the doctor told me I would have a boy, I have been completely in love. Every little kick melted my heart. Since the first time I laid eyes on him, my world had new purpose. His smile fills me with a sense of joy and meaning. I know that without a second thought, I would sacrifice my happiness just to make my boy smile one time. That is what a true parent does. They fight to make the world a better place, if only to give their child a chance at a happier life. Even if only for a moment. I think about my perfect boy, watching him grow and learn. I think about all the times I stood staring at him as he sits and just plays with his feet. Watching him discover the world with every new stroke of his hand or tap of his foot. Then when he looks up at me and he immediately smiles, that one tooth gummy grin, I can ’ t tell you how that feels! I am his mommy, and he loves me. 
 
 He sleeps now as I watch over him. Despite everything, I am thankful he could get some sleep. I gently wisp his hair aside, and kiss his forehead. “ Mommy loves you, Emmett. ” I whisper. And I do. I love him more than you may understand. But you don ’ t know what I know. A mother knows that their only goal in life is to protect their children. Sometimes maybe it isn ’ t clear what it means to protect. What I do is with love in my heart and tears in my eyes. I slowly push the pillow over his head. It covers his whole little body. I feel him wake up. He is a heavy sleeper, and I thought maybe he wouldn ’ t wake right away. But I feel him kick and move beneath the pillow. A soft moaning and maybe a cry. Not a cry like I had ever heard before. But I think maybe he can ’ t cry. He is stronger than I remember, but I hold firm. It seems like hours pass. I didn ’ t realize how long it would take. I hope this was the right thing to do. A hundred times I have to force myself to keep going. But stillness now. He is sleeping again. This time he won ’ t wake up. He will remain my perfect little boy. Forever holding in my memory as the perfect embodiment of my love. And I have protected him from this world. The world if filled with evil, and my boy is protected now. 
 
 I walk downstairs. My husband is gone. I always told him that I would not allow guns in the house. They do more harm then good. You are more likely to shoot a family member than an intruder. I guess hindsight is a bitch. Doesn ’ t matter now anyways. Maybe a gun wouldn ’ t have made any difference. I saw what they did to my husband. I would never let that happen to my son. What has happened to us can only be described as a horror. An infection maybe? Or some kind of parasite? I ’ m not a scientist, but I have never seen anything like that. The creatures attacked us without warning. Three of them, I think. Maybe more. What could the possibly be? Not sure how to describe them. Like spiders with long snake-like tails. The size of a dog, and so fast. Once they were on my husband, I knew he was dead. I thought he was dead. They attacked so viciously. I barely got the door closed before they came for me. But I knew they wouldn ’ t get through. Not this door. I looked out the window, the creatures were gone and my husband lay on the ground. His body began to twist and contort. Long hairy things grew from his sides. Like legs? His head flew back and his neck opened. And those eyes, those black monstrous eyes. They looked at me as if both in fear and rage. I can not truly describe here what I saw. Maybe I am writing this in vain. But if someone finds this letter, my name is Laura Ashland. My husband Clark was killed by the… Things. I am safe right now, but not for long. I can hear him scraping at the windows. I think one might be on the roof. My son Emmett was spared the gruesome death that met my husband. And I will spare myself as well. I hope someone finds this letter. I hope there is someone left to find it. 

