Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

“Jesus Christ, what a mess.”
It wasn’t Christopher’s first murder scene, far from it. But it was his first one like this. The living room had been torn to shreds, like a tornado had passed through: doors pulled off their hinges, tables and chairs smashed to splinters, family photos reduced to dust and decompressed glass.

The bodies were the worst hit. Like someone found the world’s biggest blender and hit puree with the lid still off. Cameras flashed left, right and centre, documenting the scene so forensics could remove the “bodies.” Christopher’s partner, Dean, was currently crouched down, examining one of four large puddles of obliterated flesh with the odd piece of human shrapnel; namely teeth, fingers, toes, or a few strands of hair.

This particular puddle had red hair. The two puddles across the room had blue eyes no bigger than a Bonker marble. Dean held his hand to his mouth, trying not to be sick.
“Fucking hell… How the fuck are we supposed to do this, Chris? You can’t tell where the mother starts or the dad ends—just fucking puddles!” Dean had always been too empathetic for the job. Chris had lost count of how many times he’d had to console him during cases like this. He just couldn’t distance himself. But then, he was a father. Too close to home.

Dean slid back from the red-haired puddle that had been Norma Watkinson, his eyes wet, but not yet spilling over with tears. “They had two kids, Chris, two…”

Both men tried not to look at the little blue-eyed puddles across the room. Norma had been so happy when she found she was having twins only three years earlier. Her blue-eyed angels, Jordon and Jeffrey. Chris’ stomach twisted, and he swallowed hard. Last thing he wanted was to make another puddle. 
“What on God’s good earth could have done something like this?” Dean choked out.
“I guess that’s for the coroner to decide,” Chris said, trying to sound impartial. But he would see those human puddles every time he closed his eyes.

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***

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The neighbours were more than accommodating, answering Chris and Dean’s questions. They imparted their theories with great enthusiasm, too much enthusiasm in Chris’ opinion. “So, correct me if I have this wrong: you think, and I quote, that it was two children roaming the neighbourhood that killed the Watkinson family?” Chris resisted the urge to massage the bridge of his nose. He could hear Dean suppress a chuckle.
“It’s the truth, officer, just ask anyone else around here. They’ve been pestering us all week; Norma’s was the only house they hadn’t visited yet.” Mrs Hudson’s age only made her story feel less credible, and the fact that only last month she was found wandering around in her nightie.
“And what was the nature of these visits, Mrs Hudson?” Chris asked, trying to sound like he was taking her seriously. Mrs Hudson folded her arms, shivering despite the warm weather. 
“Wouldn’t call it a visit, per se — none of us let them in. No one in their right mind should let them in. They weren’t natural.” She nervously fingered the gold cross around her neck. 
Dean snorted. “They’re just kids, for Christ’s sake.”
“What do you mean by ‘unnatural,’ Mrs Hudson?” Chris asked, shooting Dean a warning glance. By this time a small gathering of people had accumulated around Mrs Hudson’s lawn to listen in.
“Their eyes. Their eyes weren’t right. And their speech was cold, all in the same tone. Unfeeling. Not natural, in a child.” Mrs Hudson’s shoulders deflated, and she hugged herself tighter.
“Eyes? How were they not right?” Chris asked. Dean threw his arms up in frustration and Chris knew he thought they were wasting time.
“Black. They were pitch black — like black holes. They asked me to let them in. I shut the blinds and locked myself upstairs. Hell would freeze over before I let those demons in my house.” Mrs Hudson said, now visibly distressed, hugging her arms and rocking slightly, all the while obsessively stroking her cross necklace. Mrs Murphey, one of the young housewives of the street, wrapped her arms around her and offered to make her a cup of tea.
“I don’t know about demons, officer, but she isn’t lying or senile. I saw them too, on Monday. Mine’s the first house on the street, so I guess they saw us first.” She said, lightly rubbing Mrs Hudson’s arms to warm her. “And I didn’t let them in either. They scared me.”

Chris sighed and rubbed his temples. “And do you think they had something to do with this?” he asked, trying not to sound condescending. Mrs Murphey stared at him, carefully considering her next words.
“I couldn’t say. But what I can say is that we all heard Norma and Matt screaming at them to go away. Matt even threw something at them, dropping it from the second-story window.” Mrs Murphey began ushering Mrs Hudson inside. “Didn’t hear anything after that.”

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***

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Chris practically melted into his armchair with a long sigh. Ice cold drips tickled his fingers as they trickled down his beer bottle.
“Was it really that bad?” Chris’ wife, Lucy, asked. Lucy and Norma had been in the same book club, and she’d even babysat the twins from time to time when Norma needed a few moment’s peace.
“The worst…” Chris closed his eyes, only to snap them back open to rid himself of the human puddles. “Trust me, honey, when I say you really don’t want to know.”
Lucy perched herself at the edge of the plush armchair next to him, her gold hair spilling over her shoulder. “Any idea who did it?” She sounded so hopeful. Chris wished he could tell her he had more to go on than a ridiculous rumour, a callous prank by some bored schoolkids. But he had never lied to his wife. His eyes trailed to the barely noticeable bump of her belly.
“How’s the little sea-monkey today?” He smiled, putting his beer to one side and leaning closer to Lucy.
“Oh, the usual. Making me puke all morning and need to pee a million times a day,” Lucy replied, rubbing her belly affectionately. “But I got a lot done in the nursery.” Concern was all over her face, even in the dim evening light.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll catch the guy.” Chis gently kissed her hand before standing and putting his beer bottle in the recycling bin. “Why don’t you and the sea-monkey go off to bed — I’ll put the house to sleep.”

 

Lucy chuckled, one foot already on the first step, when the doorbell began to ring.
“I’ll get it.” Lucy said. Chris heard the tip tap of her slippers on the tiled foyer. “Um, Chris? Can you come here?” She sounded uneasy. Chris went to the door, half wishing he was still wearing his gun holster.
“What is it?” He peered through the peephole. Two young children, a boy and a girl, stood on their doorstep, perfect postures and unemotive expressions. Their haircuts and clothes looked old, from the 1920s: the boy in grey tweed shorts and stockings with matching jacket and tie and the girl in pigtail braids, button down jacket and Mary-janes.
“Why didn’t the sensor light come on?” Lucy whispered, pushing a corner of the blinds back so she could see out the side window.

“Please help us.”

A chill went through Chris, and he shuddered involuntarily. Sweat drenched his hair and forehead in less than a minute, and his chest felt painfully tight.

“We need help. Please let us in.”

They spoke in perfect unison, their tone robotic and expressions unchanging. They didn’t sound like they needed help.
“Don’t let them in, Chris. Please.”
He’d never seen Lucy look so scared. She had one hand protectively over her stomach. Chris sighed, pulling up the blinds to tell them to go away. Lucy screamed and Chris leaped back half a mile in fright, falling onto his backside. The children’s’ faces were pressed up to the window, their tone changed — loud and forceful.

“Let. Us. In.”

Their eyes were black.
Chris’ fear turned to rage. He’d seen teenagers wearing the same black sclera lenses at raves — hardly supernatural. Chris found his footing, growling as he opened the door and grabbed the children by their scruffs and pulled them into the foyer, despite Lucy’s pleas.
“What do you think you’re doing, huh? Scaring the shit out of people, staying out at all hours — do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?” Crouched down at their eye level, Chris found their eyes even creepier.

He couldn’t tell if they were looking at him or not without pupils. “Where the hell are your parents? I have half a mind to arrest them for negligence.”
Lucy positioned herself as far back into the corner as she could manage, hugging herself as if her arms would form a protective barrier around their unborn child. The air felt thick and breathing suddenly seemed like a chore. Chris swallowed hard and burst out in another sweat. Every fibre, muscle, and brain cell told him to get them out of his house. 
“Tell you what, tell me where you live, and I’ll take you home.” He was surprised at the saccharine sweet tone to his voice, and it was shaking more than he’d care to admit.

The children looked from Chris to Lucy, arching their heads to meet her eyes. The front door slammed shut, Lucy screamed. A series of bangs, clicks, and slams resounded through the house as every door, window and latch shut on its own accord, locking them inside.

The children exchanged Cheshire cat smiles, stretching far wider than humanly possible, like a fanged zipper from ear to ear.