Quackers
By Barb DeMoney
Steam fogged the mirror as Charlie, my playful seven-year-old, splashed in the heaps of bubbles and submerged his rubber duck under the suds again.
“Do you want your tub crayons?”
“No, Mama, I’m playing with Quackers.”
Charlie had begged for the emerald green rubber duck with a top hat and gold chain. . Holding it made my skin crawl, but I bought the dang thing anyway.
“Five more minutes, buddy. Then it’s pj time.”
“Okay, Mama.”
I hear my phone ringing and realize I left it in the dining room.
“Daddy’s calling, I’ll be right back.”
I stepped into the hallway to take the call. My husband said he needed to stop at the hardware store on his way home.
After I hung up, I opened the bathroom door.
The light bouncing off the bubbles seemed blinding.
Sweltering heat hung in the room.
A sharp sweat broke across my brow.
The tub—
Charlie wasn’t in it.
My heart seized.
The mountains of foam shifted, but the spot where he’d been remained empty.
He can’t be gone. I was just right outside. What’s happening?
Panic shook me to my core.
Yanking the shower curtain back, my chest tightened and I dropped to my knees.
“Charlie? Charlie?”
Then I saw him.
Quackers.
He sneered at me with vacant, black eyes. Not in the water – but perched, oddly, on the faucet.
I yanked the plug, my hands trembling. “Charlie!” I screamed. My throat burned.
Quackers’ stare permeated my soul.
For a fleeting moment, I swore I saw Quackers’ right eye glisten and move.
Like he winked.
Barb DeMoney is a writer and flash fiction contestant whose work blends drama, comedy, and horror. Her stories explore themes of grief, love, and hope. Her stories have been published at Flash Phantoms, Written Tales, Micromance Magazine, Sudden Flash, Nat 1 Publishing & KissMet Quarterly.