User blog comment:Witnessme/Creepypasta Short Story Contest/@comment-27076934-20151014132259

"Mommy?" Heather awoke. The short, featureless silhouette of her daughter stood in the bedroom doorway ."What is it now, Bianca?" Heather mumbled with more annoyance than her five-year-old deserved. But Heather was exhausted - she rarely got more than five hours sleep a night between taking care of Bianca, Thomas, and her husband and waitressing at the café. Why couldn't they see that? Why wouldn't they help out? "Tuck me in." The fog of sleep began to lift from Heather's mind. Something felt wrong. "I already did twice." Heather sat up careful not to disturb her husband sleeping next to her. "You did it too tight." A chill ran up Heather's spine. She tried to focus on her daughter's face but it was too dark to see. "I'm really tired, Bianca." "Daddy would!" Bianca pouted. "Shh! Don't wake daddy. I'm coming." Heather swung her legs out of bed. The callouses on her feet stung when they touched the cold floor. She turned on her lamp and saw the blood - her nightgown was covered. Now she remembered. "Mom, I want a glass of water." And there was her son, Tommy. He stood next to her, hands clasped behind his back and butt stuck against the wall. Her beautiful family melted her heart. But she had done it anyway. "Tommy, I'm so sorry, baby." Heather sobbed. "Be careful when you come in my room. There's broken glass and blood everywhere." "I'll clean it up," she promised and turned off her lamp. Her husband stirred. "Everything alright?" "I just need some rest." Heather layed back. "Remember to call that therapist first thing in the morning." "I don't need a therapist! I need sleep!" Heather shrieked at her dead husband's back. She had stuffed a pillowcase down his throat at bedtime.