God's Message

I chased my two-year old from under the bed, the air full of joyous laughter as she shrieked when I playfully caught her in my arms. Beside me my five-year old son watched us play, joining in when I pinned his sister down. In the other bedroom, my three-month baby daughter was sleeping soundly on the bed, unaware of the playful mayhem in the other room.

But something was bothering me. It involved that dream last night. Oh, that dream was horrifying. Very horrifying. That picture of me watching my three children, burning in flames, staring at me with milky eyes, as God was speaking to me about something, an urgent message. That message, His words, kept me up all night in fear.

As I supervised my son, Edward, tumbling around with Sarah, I made sure I had everything in place. Yes, I needed everything, or things could go wrong. I left them for a minute to stroll to the kitchen and open the drawer on the left. I picked up the stainless-steel knife, new from the store, and several plastic garbage bags. I laid them out on the counter and pondered for a minute. I really didn't want to do it, but I could only obey God.

"I'm doing this for the good of my children," I reminded myself.

Then I rummaged through the drawer again, this time pulling out a picture of Jesus and some tape. I walked to the bathroom and taped his picture above the mirror, near the bathtub. He could now see what I would be doing.

First Claudia. On the way to the bedroom I picked up my knife and stuffed in my pocket. I quietly opened the door and slowly approached the sleeping baby, her beautiful eyes shut, her breaths long and deep. I slipped Claudia under my arms and carried her to the bathroom with me. I didn't want things to get too messy. As I layed her down on a blue towel, her eyes snapped open as she watched me wash my hands and unsheath my knife. She wailed silently before I slit her throat open with a deft slash. I removed her throat and flushed it down the toilet before sealing her cold, lifeless body in a trash bag.

I washed my hands once more before I went in to the bedroom my two remaining kids were playing in. I pryed Sarah off of Edward, saying, "You need a bath, sweetheart," with a smile on my face. I heaved her up and carried her to the bathroom like I had done with Claudia. She obediently took off her clothes like it was a bath and stood in the bathtub. "I'm ready, Mom," she said to me as I readied the knife behind my back.

"Lie down, sweetheart," I said kindly. She did what she was told.

I took the blade from behind my back and slit her throat in a cross. I too took out her throat and flushed it down the toilet. I slashed her stomach open and ripped her organs out and placed them gingerly in a black garbage bag. As I put her in another garbage bag, I spotted Edward at the doorway, mouth wide open, his face contorted with fear.

"What are you doing?" he asked in shock in his little-kid voice I loved so much.

"Your turn," I snarled, cleaning my hands.

"Get away from me!" he cried, running from the bathroom. I pursued him, merciless.

"Do you want to go to hell?" I asked fiercely, catching up to him and grabbing him by the neck.

"Get...away!" he choked out in fear, struggling in my arms to get out. I smiled as I dragged him to the bathroom. "Let me go!" he cried out. Tears formed in his eyes. But there is no mercy for even my children.

I raised the knife and brought it down on his neck. His neck snapped backwards, and I stripped him of his organs and throat like I did to my other children. His lifeless eyes seemed to stare at me, asking "Why?"

"For you, son," I replied softly back as I stuffed him in a garbage bag.

My husband came home an hour later to see me reading a book on the couch.

"Where are the children?" he asked, confused.

I smiled. "Safe." I patted the road map beside me.

I never got to hear his response.

All that mattered was that I saved my children from hell. I did the right thing to keep them safe. And they are safe, with God, in the heavens now. I had obeyed his orders.

I felt proud.