Never Touch the Baby Carriage

This week, for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55, our tale explores what might’ve happened (or not) during a tour of an abandoned NYC mansion.
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“Don’t touch it.”

“Why?”

Tourists. “Hunger. The baby’s eternally… No!”

But I wasn’t fast enough, the tourist’s face was already in the stroller, feeding noises filling the room.

“Never touch the baby carriage,” I whispered, as my brain fought to forget the wet popping sound an eyeball makes when it’s sucked out of its socket.

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a wee note…
– this is a work of fiction. Yes, I know babies can be outrageously creepy, but… I’ve never heard of a toothless youngster feeding on the eyeballs of NYC tourists who can’t follow rules. But one can still hope… Anyhoo, this flash was inspired by a picture in Bryan Sansivero’s article, “Exploring an Abandoned New York Mansion with a Secret Past”, in Atlas Obscura.

by Bryan Sansivero

Not for Girls

Fridays at the cyber-home of the Hedgewitch are unruly. All right, so that is a bit of a lie. In truth, they are filled with poetry and prose (55 words) ruled by none but the wild muses and wilder wants of the writers birthing them. Since my muse and I adore freedom-kissed tales with words in them, we wrote one.
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“Not for Girls”

“The eyeballs are the windows to the brain,” she said.

Science and conviction weren’t made for girls, I thought. “You’re wrong, dearie, they are the windows to the soul.”

She shrugged. “I went through the eyes, touched the back of his skull, ran into plenty of yuck and bits of brain, sir, but no soul.”

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