Creepypasta Stories

Monday's Child

By: Christina Durner

The screams were like wind chimes stuck in a storm. At first, Della had thought it was the gale-force winds of the blizzard until she heard the weeping coming from her front lawn. By its sound, she could tell that it was not an infant nor was it an adolescent, but the wailing of a child that was about seven or eight years old.

She lay in bed listening to it, afraid to go to the window to see what was causing such anguish for the girl. Finally, she looked down. The lawn was empty but for a few Christmas decorations that were steadily disappearing beneath the falling snow. There was a trail of footprints, kid-sized, on the walkway leading up to her front porch. The howling continued, but now it was accompanied by the sound of frantic pounding on her front door.

Della saw no immediate danger. She was not the type of person to place herself in harm's way to help a stranger, child or adult. No one ever bothered to help her when she needed it. Why should she put herself out for anyone else? But she wasn't so cold-hearted as to leave a weeping babe frightened and alone on her front porch during a blizzard. She'd been hoping that one of her neighbors might have interceded and she could just go back to bed. But the cul-de-sac was almost abandoned for the holiday. Everyone else seemed to be visiting with family and friends, two things that Della lacked these days.

It appeared to be just her and Sammy, her drunk of a neighbor who lived across the street, left in the Hazelwood Valley community during this festive season. Neither of them was particularly attractive, Della being in her late-forties and possessing both a spare tire and a thin mustache that she didn't bother to pluck anymore. Sammy had been a drunk for most of his life, and his appearance revealed it plainly. Sporting a beer gut and a perpetually red face, he still found his way into Della's bed on the occasions that she was feeling particularly lonely.

She wished that she had invited him over earlier that night for a little Christmas Eve celebration. He wasn't all that great in the sack nor was he much of a conversationalist, especially after a few boilermakers. He was a quiet man when he was sober, and drinking seemed to quiet him to the point of silence and often slumber. But she would feel more at ease having someone else answer the door. Just as well, Della thought to herself. If he could manage to sleep through all that screaming, then what help would he be here and now. She would just have to take care of the kid on her own.

As she opened her door, Della was assaulted by a burst of frigid air. The biting ice and snow slashed across her face, a sensation so intensely raw that it burned on impact. Blinded momentarily, she half expected to be plowed over by the child if the sound of her crying was anything to go by. But nothing happened. Della's vision was blurred, her eyes running as a result of the harsh breezes that assaulted her. She wiped at them fiercely and finally managed to regain her sight. What she saw before her gave her goosebumps more fervent than any arctic blast ever could.

On the porch, a small, almost gnome-like girl sat crouching against the doorway. The child wasn't dressed at all for the weather. She donned a short-sleeved white cotton dress decorated with holly leaves and berries. Barefooted and wearing no jacket, she was shockingly sallow, no doubt from the cold squall-like winds that continued to assault them. Her beautiful pale face was accentuated by two pools of ice blue eyes. The girl reminded Della of that nursery rhyme she used to like as a kid. "Monday's child is fair of face," she recalled, gazing upon the poor little darling at her doorstep.

But despite her angelic beauty, the sight of the girl was enough to make Della's stomach churn with anxiety and terror. The little girl's pigtailed blonde hair was striped with blood. Her alabaster cheeks smeared with it, as was her festive clothing. Streaks of blood on her face had been mottled from streams of tears that continued to cascade down her weary face. The cries stopped the moment that Della had taken notice of her.