Lenore stood at the fire, watching the log engulfed in flames dance playfully against the grate. She could
no longer see her feet, and her due date was near.
“A baby.” She murmured low, rubbing her round belly. Although the thought of a baby made her smile,
she couldn’t forget the first baby. And how could she? The first baby would never let her forget either. It
cried all night long from the nursery, and each time she went inside to see what the noise was, there
was only the empty cradle rocking. The nursery had been painted blue and white for the baby boy who
would arrive soon. But every time the paint began to dry, a message would appear across the nursery
wall in uneven red lettering.
“LIAR.” The message read.
The crying from the nursery was so loud that she couldn’t sleep at night. She had given up on telling her
husband what she had seen and heard. Fearful that he would lock her up and take away their baby, she
spoke no more to it. And with her denial, the screams became louder, and the one word became a
hundred liars on the wall. At night, she tried to cover her ears with headphones that were viciously
ripped off her head, repeatedly. There was no rest to be found. In her mind, she could hear her husband
telling her this was the last house they’d ever move again. She couldn’t tell him that she was seeing and
hearing things again. This was the third move, a fresh start.
Lenore prayed, holding her rosary, and the crying stopped. There was no more noise coming from the
nursery. She could now finally sleep. She needed her rest for the baby. She dreamed of being in the first
house, a new mother with an infant, bottles in the warmer, milk leaking from her breasts, Lenore with
bags under her eyes, trying to tune out the baby’s noise in the nursery. The first baby. She saw her
husband take her by the shoulders. “It was S.I.D.S., it wasn’t your fault, darling.” She tossed and turned
in her bed while her dream took over. The baby wouldn’t stop crying; she was so tired. She hated the
baby; she hated what it had made her do. On her way to the stairs, she grabs a pillow from the couch,
thinking of only rest, and even though she walks, her eyelids continue to shut up and down.
“I’ll prop the baby’s head up. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. That will get her to stop crying.”
Lenore places the pillow over the baby’s face until no sound comes from the crib.
Lenore woke up from the nightmare in tears, confused and afraid. Her husband didn’t stir around at the
sound of her tears. She can hear the gurgling breathing close to her ear and the word spoken,
“LIAR.”
The crying resumes loudly from the nursery
