Grandma slept as the elderly do. She appeared to be already dead. Her artifacts sat patiently on her bedside table. Perfect white dentures soaking in a glass of water, two hearing aids and a worn black bible await their morning installation. It would only be a few more hours until she would rise and make her way down the stairs to the kitchen. Morning coffee and a country breakfast summed up her family duties. The rest of the time was spent sewing, watching the girls, and visiting the Nilbogs down the road. After the coffee began brewing, she would sit at the kitchen table and read her favorite passages from the bible. The old yellow pages were earmarked and tattered. Some pages had been altered with black marker. There were certain words and phrases she could not bear to read. Most of Revelations had been blacked out. She had read them and understood them, but did not wish to repeat them again. Her dark room crackled and hissed, drowning out all other sounds. Lying on her back with her mouth agape, she was startled awake by the sudden removal of her blanket that now lay at the foot of her bed. The hissing stopped abruptly. Surprised and still waking from the premature consciousness, she sat up on her elbows and scanned the room. Her gaze stopped on the silhouettes of Sophie and Amanda standing just outside her bedroom door. The bathroom light providing just enough illumination to make out their shapes.
“Sweethearts? You startled Grandma.” She slowly rolled over to turn on the lamp next to the bed. The girls stood motionless in the dark of the hallway.
Sophie’s voice, frail and soft, asked the question.
“Why does God hate us?”
“What? Why would you ask such a thing?” Grandma turned on the light and grabbed one of her hearing aids. Placing it in her ear, she replied.
“Why would you ask such a question, dear?” With her aid now in place, Grandma turned her head back towards the door. The girls now stood at the foot of the bed. Eyes now black holes. Tiny mouths bloodied and sliced from ear to ear. Gaping wounds upon their necks, chests and bellies. The horror rose up within Grandma. Her breathing deepened quickly as one would draw breath to swim underwater. Her trembling hands moved to cover her eyes, but the shaking appendages did little to hide the vision of horror. From behind the girls, a figure began to rise. The bloodied corpse, now completely standing, removed the knives from the back of the little girls heads. They tumbled to the ground like discarded ragdolls, blood and grey matter dripping from silver knives and curled dead fingers. Grandma shrieked and clutched her chest. The rotting dead visage floated closer, stained knives now raised above its head.
“PSALMS 137:9 HAPPY SHALL HE BE, THAT TAKETH AND DASHETH THY TINY LITTLE ONES AGAINST THE STONES”
Its voice was gravel and fire. Bloodied toes dragged the ground as the thing moved around the bed. Its’ arms began to twitch wildly as the bones began to snap and bend in unfamiliar places. Held together with dead tissue and muscle, the disjointed extremities began slashing and stabbing at Grandma. Its’ cold dead features grinned at her behind the silver fury being unleashed upon her upper body, hands and face. Grandma was becoming unrecognizable. Flesh and blood now stained the walls and mattress. The assault would continue well after the screaming stopped, until all of her had been liberated from one another.