Once Upon a Changeling Page 3

  “You have to get the baby back,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back to see me, but you’re back, and I’m telling you, you have to get the baby back.”

  Suddenly, staring at her in her dirty nightgown babbling on like the crazy bitch she was, I hated her. All the anger I felt toward her bubbled up to the surface, and I began to whisper to her.

  “Do you have any idea what it is you’ve done to me?” I asked her. I didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve taken away my life. You’ve saddled me with this monster baby that I don’t want and never wanted. You’ve taken away my friends. No one speaks to me anymore because they blame me for what happened to you. But I didn’t do it. You did it to yourself. You and whatever guy you were sleeping with. You ruined me. I have no present. I have no future. And it’s all because of you, you stupid cunt!”

  I got up off the bed and pounded on the door to be let out.

  I was up late doing homework after work that night. I had to do research for a history assignment, so I was working on the internet in the family room. I couldn’t resist doing a search on changelings. It didn’t tell me much that Puck hadn’t, but I did notice a pattern. Puck was right. Boiling water in an eggshell or brewing beer in an acorn were the most popular ways not only to determine whether a baby was a changeling, but to get the real baby returned. I spent way too much time looking at it, and ended up finishing up my history research after midnight. I was falling asleep at the keyboard, so I went to bed immediately afterwards. I think I was dreaming before my head hit the pillow.

  In my dream, I was talking to Cindi in the girls’ bathroom at the prom. She was strangling the baby at the sink. Her dress wasn’t red. It was white with red spatters on it. I realized that the spatters were blood. The baby was coughing up blood and spitting it all over Cindi’s dress.

  “Stop that,” I said to her.

  “You aren’t supposed to be in the girls’ bathroom,” Cindi said. “I’ll be out in a minute. I’ve just got something to take care of in here.”

  I moved forward and pulled Cindi away from the baby. She dropped it in the sink.

  “Hey,” said Cindi. “I was trying to strangle that baby.”

  The baby sat up and turned its head all the way around like a doll or the little girl on The Exorcist. “Gee thanks, Daddy,” it said.

  “I’m not your daddy,” I said.

  The baby stood up in the sink. Its body faced the mirror, but its head faced me and Cindi. “Sure you are,” it said. “Mommy and Daddy. Don’t kill me. I want to live.”

  Cindi started forward, but I grabbed her and wrapped my arms around her torso.

  “Let go,” she said. “It’s not a baby. Can’t you see that? It’s a monster. We have to kill it.”

  “No,” I said.

  The baby turned its head around and around and around. “Don’t kill me. I’m a baby,” it said in hollow voice, like a wind-up toy. “Don’t kill me. I’m a baby. I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster. Don’t kill me. I’m a baby.”

  I sat up straight in bed, sweating. It was three in the morning, according to the glowing, red numbers of my alarm clock. Maybe it was because I was half-asleep, or maybe because it was so early in the morning, but I got up and went to the kitchen. I felt my way to the refrigerator. I didn’t want to turn on lights and wake anyone up. The light inside the refrigerator blinded me, but I was able to find a carton of eggs. I took one out. Leaving the refrigerator open for light, I cracked one on the edge of the sink. I tried to break it cleanly in half, but the egg crumbled completely, and I had to throw it away. I had better luck with the next one. I was able to wash the eggshell out and to fill it with water. Carefully, I went back the hall to the kid’s room.

  I opened his door, closed it, and turned the light. His eyes opened, but he didn’t make a noise. He just looked at me expectantly. I had a lighter in my pocket. I held it under the eggshell and flicked it on. The flame licked the underside of the eggshell, its smoke turning the shell black.

  I watched it, willing it to boil.

  “You’ll just burn your fingers,” said a voice.

  I dropped the eggshell. I burned my fingers.

  The kid was sitting up in his crib, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked wrong. Like that Chucky doll from the Child’s Play movies. Like something ancient had taken over his tiny body. “Oh,” he said. “Right. I’m as old as the hills and I’ve never seen anything like that. Or whatever.”

  And that was what the changelings usually said after the person boiled water or brewed beer, according to the internet anyway. Well, usually it rhymed. And the changeling didn’t say, “Whatever.”

  I stared at the kid expectantly, waiting for the real baby to poof itself into existence instead of the wizened thing that was sitting in the crib.

  “What?” demanded the kid.

  “Isn’t the real baby supposed to come back now?” I asked.

  The kid shrugged. “I guess so.” He looked around, as if the real baby had appeared and was just hiding under the blankets of the crib. “Maybe the kid’s dead,” he said.

  “Is it because the water didn’t actually boil?” I asked.

  “Fuck the boiling water,” said the kid.

  I winced at the expletive. It didn’t seem right coming out of a baby’s mouth. It seemed awful.

  “I get sick of waiting for the water to boil,” he went on. “A watched eggshell never boils anyway.” He got up and sauntered to the end of the crib. Standing on tiptoe, he managed to lean on the railing. “How’d you know I wasn’t your kid, anyhow?”

  “You’re not my kid.”

  “That’s what I just said.”

  “I mean, the real kid isn’t my kid. He’s my girlfriend’s kid.”

  “Oh,” said the kid. “Most people don’t know about changelings anymore. They think the kids are just damaged somehow, you know. We do more successful exchanges nowadays than ever before.”

  “Really?” I said. “So where did the real baby get exchanged to?”

  “The Korrigan Queen,” said the changeling. “She’s the one that sacrifices them. But usually what you did works. The kid comes back. I don’t know what’s wrong. Kinda sucks for me. I was looking forward to going back to Faerie.”

  I stared at the man-baby in front of me. There was only one explanation for all of this. I was still dreaming. I yawned.

  That was weird. I didn’t usually yawn in my dreams. Actually, I didn’t usually know that I was dreaming in my dreams. Cool. A lucid dream. If it was really a lucid dream, I could control stuff. Like I could just be in bed again now, if I wanted. I concentrated very hard on being in bed, but nothing happened. I turned to the changeling. “I’m going to bed,” I said to him. “Good night.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in months.”

  But I shut the door on him. I went back to my bed. I lay down. I dreamed that I went to sleep. In the morning, when I woke up, I thought, “What a freaking nightmare.”

  My parents backed out on me for babysitting that night. My mom told me at the breakfast table. She and Dad had been invited to dinner with some friends and they wanted to go. I had to work. My younger sister Emily had dance team practice. I was screwed.

  I didn’t call in to work. I should have, because it was obvious that I wasn’t going to be able to make it in if no one could watch the kid, but I just didn’t. I think maybe I thought if I didn’t face it, the problem would just go away.

  Puck wasn’t in weight training class that morning, which wasn’t cool, because I wanted to apologize to her for running out on her at lunch the day before. I felt bad about it. I’d been rude, and it wasn’t her fault. She’d been trying to be nice to me. But she wasn’t there. Since it was first period, it probably meant she wasn’t at school at all. Maybe she was sick or something. I lifted weights furiously without a spotter all period. Then, I went to English.

  Oddly enough, Puck was at lunch, sitting at a table with a bunch of
other punk kids. I debated going over and talking to her, then decided against it. She was probably pissed at me after what I’d said to her yesterday, and there was no point in looking like an idiot while I tried to apologize. So I sat down at a table alone. Today for lunch, we were having chicken strips, carrot sticks, and cheese wedges. Somebody was in a phallic mood. All that was missing was a banana.

  Puck came over and sat with me. I was astonished.

  “What are you doing here?” I said.

  “Giving you a chance to apologize,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. That sounded stupid. “I mean, I really am sorry. I wanted to say something to you when I walked in, but you were with your friends, and I thought … Well, anyway, I shouldn’t have said what I said yesterday.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said. “I wasn’t really mad anyhow.” She smiled and took one of my carrot sticks.

  I watched her bite into it. She had nice lips. I wasn’t a big fan of black lipstick, but she managed to pull it off. “Um,” I said. “You weren’t in weight training this morning.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I was late for school. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want to babysit my kid tonight, do you?”

  “I thought he wasn’t your kid.”

  “He’s not, but you know what I mean.”

  “Sorry. I’m busy. I’ll ask around though.”

  The day crept on until auto. Inside, I was starting to panic, because I didn’t have anyone to babysit for the kid, and I hadn’t called in to work or tried to switch with anyone. The way things were going, I was going to have to bring him with me to work. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t cause any trouble if I did, but I didn’t think my boss would like it. It just didn’t seem to be an appropriate place for a kid.

  If he even was a kid. I remembered my dream from the night before and shuddered.

  Marcos was already in the shop when I entered. He was jacking up a blue Cavalier. I dropped my books on a table in the classroom area and went over to him. He didn’t look up as I approached. I watched him for a couple minutes, wondering if I should offer to do something. This whole auto class thing was kind of a bust, considering Marcos did all the work. I wasn’t learning anything, which made the class really impractical. If it stayed that way, I wasn’t going to have a career in the fabulous world of automobile maintenance. I might end up working at Sub Stop for the rest of my life. If I made manager, I wouldn’t make bad money. It would be okay. Of course, I was going to get fired from the Sub Stop this evening when I brought a baby to work.

  “What’s up, man?” asked Marcos.

  “You wanna show me what you’re doing?” I asked. “I’m not gonna learn anything in this class if you don’t let me mess up sometimes.”

  “You’re in a bad mood,” he said.

  “I need a babysitter for the kid,” I said. “I’ve got to work tonight, and everybody’s busy.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Marcos.

  “What?”

  “I’ll do it,” he repeated. “You don’t gotta pay or nothing either. Just consider it a favor for a friend.”

  I stared at him. “Do you know anything about babies?”

  Marcos met me at the door, white-faced and a little sweaty. “You turn off your cell phone or something? I been trying to call you.”

  It was 11:00 p.m., I was getting home from work, and nobody else was home yet. Marcos had been alone with the kid for a little over four hours. He looked like he’d gone a little crazy.

  “Battery’s dead,” I said. “You okay? Usually, he’s not much trouble at—”

  “There’s something wrong with the baby,” said Marcos.

  “Like what?” I should have felt something when he said that. A stab of panic, or a feeling of worry, at least. But no. I was exhausted, and I really didn’t care about the baby. That bugged me. A lot. Because even though I’d decided the only way to face my life was to not care about anything, not caring about a baby made me feel slightly like a sociopath or something.

  Marcos’ jaw twitched. “Like it talks.”

  No. Last night, that had been a dream. I hadn’t really …

  “Oh,” I said. “He’s still doing that, huh?”

  “Let me outta this crib,” called a voice from the baby’s room.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Marcos asked. “What the fuck is going on here?”

  Marcos was freaked out. The whole this was extremely freaky. I rubbed a hand over my face. “I really don’t know.”

  “Dude.” Marcos was shaking all over. His voice came out in a whisper. “What is that thing?”

  “A changeling?” I started for the baby’s room. I should probably try to make Marcos feel better. But what would I say? In addition to all the other things in my life that were completely horrible, I was also raising a talking baby. Somehow, patting him on the back and saying everything would be fine seemed a little on the untruthful side.

  Marcos followed me. “Isn’t that what Cindi said? Isn’t that why they said she was crazy?”

  “Yeah,” I said, entering the room.

  The baby was standing up, rattling the bars on his crib as though he were in jail. “You can’t just keep me here,” he said. “I wanna go back to Faerie.”

  “Look,” I said. “Shut up.”

  “Lemme out,” said the baby.

  “You can’t leave,” I said. “My mother would freak out. Now, just be quiet and pretend to be a baby like you’ve been doing, and I’ll find a way to fix this.” I grabbed Marcos and pulled him out of the room, slamming it behind us.

  We stood in the hallway silently for a few moments. Then I said, “Sorry, Marcos. I thought I dreamed the part where it started talking. If I thought it had really started talking, I’d never have let you come over here.”

  Marcos made the sign of the cross, touching his forehead and his shoulders. “That thing is just wrong.” He was still shaking.

  “I didn’t know you were religious,” I said.

  “Right now, I would believe in anything if it made it stop talking.”

  I nodded.

  “So,” said Marcos, “how are you going to fix this?”

  Good question. There were only two people I knew of who knew about changelings and Fey and stuff like that, and one was in a mental institution. I didn’t have the phone number of the other one. I was pretty much screwed. “I need to talk to somebody who knows about this kind of stuff,” I said.

  “You mean go see Cindi?” he asked.

  “No. I’m never going to see her again.”

  “That Puck chick. With the blue Chelsea?”

  “I don’t know her phone number.”

  “They have these nifty books where they list everybody’s phone number by their names in alphabetical order,” said Marcos.

  I think he meant it to be sarcastic, but his voice was trembling so bad that he only sounded scared. Anyway, how I did I know she’d be listed in there? I knew her last name was Puck, but was that her parents’ last name? And I thought she was new in town. How could I even be sure that she’d been listed in the phone book yet? Still, there was nothing to be lost by trying, so I dug up our phonebook, which looked pretty new. We must have just gotten one. I looked up Puck. There was only one listing.

  “It’s after eleven,” I said to Marcos. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for us to be calling?”

  “Call her. You have a talking baby,” he said.

  I dialed the number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally someone picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hello,” I said. “Is, um, Gabriella there?”

  “This is Gabriella.”

  “Oh. Hi. This is Russ from school?”

  “Hi, Russ. Why are you calling me Gabriella?”

  “Uh, I just thought it would be weird to ask your mom to speak to Puck. Does your mom call you Puck?”

  “No.”

  “Right, so I thought she might �
�� Never mind.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, you remember when we were talking about changelings and stuff the other day at lunch?”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to upset you or offend you or whatever it was that I did.”

  “I think the kid is a changeling,” I said.

  “I’ll be right over,” she said.

  “How’d you figure it out?” Puck asked me as I let her into my house.

  “I boiled water in an eggshell,” I said. “Well, I tried anyway.”

  “So, where’s the real kid?” she asked. “If you did that, the Fey should have brought back the real kid.”

  I shrugged.

  “Let me see him,” she said.

  Marcos was still in the room with the changeling. He was a little less freaked out now that the changeling had started talking sports. The two were both apparently soccer fans. Go figure. I didn’t know that faeries watched TV, but apparently, soccer was big among the Fey community. That’s what the changeling said, anyway. I didn’t figure he had any real reason to lie.

  So, as Puck and I entered, Marcos and the changeling were chatting about Beckham. The changeling stopped immediately. He recognized Puck. “Puck,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

  She squinted at him. “Keiler?” she asked. “Is that you in there?”

  “The one and only,” he said.

  “Wait,” said Marcos. “You two know each other?”

  “Who’s he?” asked Puck, gesturing to Marcos.

  “My friend Marcos,” I said. I introduced them. “Puck, Marcos. Marcos, Puck.” I looked at Puck. “And may I just echo what Marcos said?”

  “Keiler and I don’t know each other well,” she said. “He’s a friend of my parents.”

  Marcos and I exchanged a look.

  “I’m a faerie,” said Puck.

  “What?” I said.

  She yanked on a strand of her hair. “This? Natural.”

  “What?” said Marcos.

  “Natural blue hair, huh?” I said. “Cool.” It was late. I was tired. The kid was talking. All of this led me to feel that everything she was saying was utterly believable. It didn’t even occur to me to question it. Deep down, though, I sincerely hoped this would turn out to be a really, really long dream. Although I kind of doubted it. Puck was a faerie. Awesome. “That how come you can lift weights so easily?”