The Wail - by Tioluwani Aina

The news he had watched the other day broke him: it reported that a frustrated woman had left her baby inside of a disposable bag, being unable to care for it as economic conditions worsened across the country. The image of the child, now found, crying ceaselessly for a mother who can't give care to it anymore, wrapped in rags with cuts and bruises all over its body, turned John's stomach into a knot as the wails permeated the TV screen. He tried to reconcile his feelings of understanding the tough position the lady was in and that of a child that didn't ask to be born but was basically left to die.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000394601.jpg"/>Weeks went by and he couldn't still get over the story. In his melancholy one day, the young man decided to clear his head of this horrible situation by taking a walk across the trail in the countryside. He knew that he couldn't venture too far off as evening was near. So he made a waypoint mentally to start going back once he gets to the house where the Parker family lived in the outskirts. Ah, the Parkers, they are a reserved bunch, he thought, always keeping to themselves. He heard from a friend the other day that they had a baby recently as well. That baby must be lucky eh? To have a family that would still be with you even in these harsh conditions. It was crazy to think that what was once duty is now luxury, a privilege even. The economy surely had a way of perverting beautiful things. <img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000394611.jpg"/>He got closer to the house and saw their fairly used Sedan parked outside but noticed there was no sign of activity within the house. Strange, maybe they took a walk as well, they'd better be back before nightfall though. He had already covered a little distance from the Parker's on his way back home when he heard a baby cry with a piercing sharpness. It came from the Parker's. How come, he thought, they didn't take their baby with them? As he got closer to the location where the cry came from, he began to feel uneasy. He wondered if what he ruminated on days before was beginning to take its toll on his psyche and the baby's cries triggered what he tried to suppress. It seems I may be hallucinating. No, I can't be, this cry felt very real, very potent. Why is this even up for debate, of course it was, they just had a baby for goodness sake!Its like his ears were shot and he began to lose balance. The trees around weren't doing enough to keep him steady, everytime he would sit on the grass to steady himself, it was like the wail intensified or so it seemed. He needed a proper place to sit and catch his breath. Why is this happening now? Was I sick before but unaware? He glanced ahead and saw that he was close to the house, he thought to find the baby, then rest inside for a bit. The room the wail led him to inside the house was spinning now. His stomach braced for him to retch when he saw a stool and stumbled on his way towards it. Reaching the seat had felt like forever when he noticed that the former feeling had almost vanished as he slowly began to get himself. There was a stillness in his mind, and this clarity allowed nothing but the simple thought of taking a seat to steady himself echoed quietly within. I mean of course but where is the baby?The lad stumbled across the room: opening drawers, pulling curtains, checking the cupboards and anywhere he could, really. He tried leaving the room to continue the search in others but it was like all the rooms led to a room like this one. The Parkers have... interesting design tastes. Whatever happened to those cries by the way? So weird. The spinning hadn't completely left him so he scurried to take a seat on the stool to have a breather. It was like a weighted jacket got lifted off of him for the duration he was sat. Now that he was at ease, his stomach emptied its stress-induced content from his mouth on the floor. After all that had happened and drained his energy, it was only right for him to doze off. When he came to, he tried to get up but realised he couldn't. The main door he had taken to enter the house was heard creaking and closed slowly. "Hello? Is anyone there?" His voice echoed from the room to across the hall. "Mrs. Parker is that you? I heard your baby crying and thought to check up on her. Sorry for barging in like this". Silence. That's very odd.He held the sides of the flat of the stool and tried to force himself up but instead of rising, he felt a puncture and sharp tear in his abdomen. Blood soaked his t shirt immediately as sweat also found its way out of the pores across his forehead. Confused, he looked at where he sat on and saw the flatness of the stool begin to resemble the fabric of his trousers, like it was absorbing the very thing. The sweating was intense now, every crevice of him was drenched as his eyes widened with shock. The more he pulled, the firmer it embraced him and the pain escalated."Oh you shouldn't have, you are so... so kind! How could we ever thank you?". The statement was punctuated by a laugh so sinister, it erected the hairs on the nape of his neck. The voice reverberated with its apparent position far and near at once. He cast his gaze above as crippling fear could only allow him to look to what was familiar, the distance between the ceiling and himself widening. It was a slow descent to the depths of this comfortable but bottomless apparition of a stool.Understanding now that he had been manipulated by forces beyond his powers, he began to try clawing his way out, his fingers bruising and his nails breaking as it were, in a fit of desperation out of what was inevitable. "LET ME GO, LET ME OUT, PLEASE! I JUST WANTED TO HELP, I DON'T WANNA DIE", John was like a rabid dog now as he kept on pleading at the top of his voice. And as if to mock his futile attempts, the face of the stool extended and slammed shut, simultaneously breaking his phalanges, inspiring a sharp shriek out of the lad and pushing him into the ether.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000394613.jpg"/>Crimson fluids dripped down the lengths of each leg of the stool as the cry lingered in the ambience of the room waiting to be weaponised later, against its next honorary

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