The Rattle’s Reversal

The woman’s voice was formal, almost rehearsed. Tabby stared at Kaity with wide, calm eyes and gave the rattle one tiny shake.

Chik.

The sound was delicate, but it seemed to tickle the inside of Kaity’s skull.

Kaity smiled anyway. “No problem. It’s twenty dollars per hour, paid up front.”

The woman placed a thick envelope on the counter.

Kaity opened it, counted once, then counted again. “This is four hundred and eighty dollars.”

“Keep the change.”

“That’s payment for twenty-four hours.”

“I know.”

The woman lifted her chin toward Tabby. “She may stay that long.”

Kaity looked from the money to the little girl. “Twenty-four hours? We don’t usually - ”

“Please take care of her.”

The woman turned before Kaity could finish. Her heels clicked toward the mall entrance, quick and purposeful. Kaity hurried around the desk with Tabby in her arms.

“Wait,” she called. “At least leave a phone number!”

The woman did not slow down. The glass doors slid open, then shut behind her.

Kaity stood there with Tabby pressed against her uniform shirt and the envelope tucked awkwardly under one elbow. Tabby’s rattle rested between them, cool and ornate in Kaity’s hand.

“Well,” Kaity muttered, “that was weird.”

Tabby shook it.

Chik.

Kaity’s fingers tingled. For half a second, the desk seemed too tall. Then everything snapped back into place.

She carried Tabby into the baby room and lowered her into the playpen. The padded floor was scattered with blocks, cloth books, and plastic rings. Tabby sat neatly in the middle, pink booties pointed toward the gate.

“How long is she in here?” Maggie asked.

“Apparently anywhere from now until tomorrow afternoon.”

Maggie stopped folding a blanket. “Seriously?”

“Four hundred and eighty dollars says seriously.”

Sean leaned around the doorway. “Did she give us emergency contacts?”

“No.”

“Food?”

“No.”

“Anything besides the money and the rattle?”

Kaity looked down. Tabby was shaking the toy against the floor, each chime bright and clean.

“No,” Kaity said. “Just this.”

Tabby smiled.

The older child shouted from the jungle gym. A padded tunnel thumped as he launched himself through it.

“I’ll check on him,” Kaity said. “Keep an eye on Tabby.”

“I am keeping both eyes on her,” Maggie replied.

Kaity returned to the front desk, but the quiet had changed. The mall still looked empty through the glass, yet the daycare felt crowded with little sounds: wheels rolling, blocks clicking, the faint squeak of booties against the playpen mat.

She tried to finish her homework. Ten minutes later, the pencil slipped from her fingers.

A small hand poked her arm.

Kaity jerked awake. “What?”

The boy in overalls stood beside the desk, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I need ta potty,” he said.

“Okay. Follow me.”

He caught her hand, and Kaity led him toward the potty area beside the baby room. The door stood open. She pushed it wider and stopped.

Babies crawled across the rubber flooring.

One tugged at a basket of soft toys. Another sat beneath the sink, chewing on a plastic ring. A third had pulled half the toilet-paper roll onto the floor. Kaity counted them once, then again.

Eight.

She turned toward the baby room. “Maggie?”

No answer.

“Sean?”

Only the running faucet replied.

The boy tugged her hand. “Potty.”

“Right. Yes. Come on.”

She guided him to the nearest little toilet, then glanced back through the open door. The babies continued crawling as if they had always been there. She knew this room. She had cleaned it that morning. It had been empty.

“Where did all of you come from?” she whispered.

A soft chime answered.

Kaity looked through the doorway.

Tabby had somehow climbed out of the playpen. She sat on the padded floor with her pink dress spread around her, rattle raised in one mittened hand.

Chik.

The boy beside Kaity blinked. His overalls sagged suddenly around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Kaity said. “Are you okay?”

He looked down. His sneakers had vanished. His legs were shorter, his hands smaller, and the straps of his overalls had slipped nearly to his elbows. He made a confused little sound and reached for Kaity.

The rattle chimed again.

Chik.

The boy folded inward with a squeak of fabric. His overalls remained, now bunched around a tiny body. A baby sat on the potty-room floor, blinking up at her through the loose bib of his denim overalls.

Kaity’s mouth fell open.

“What - ”

Tabby shook the rattle a third time.

Chik.

Heat rushed up Kaity’s arms. The ceiling jumped higher. The counter outside the room rose beyond her shoulder. Her uniform tightened, then loosened all at once, seams sliding over shrinking limbs.

She grabbed the doorframe.

“No. Put that down.”

Her voice came out thin.

Tabby’s eyes sparkled. She shook the rattle again.

Chik.

Kaity’s knees buckled. The floor rushed up, cold rubber pressing against her palms. Her fingers had become short and round. Her sleeves hung past them, the daycare uniform reduced to a tiny, crumpled version of itself.

She tried to stand. Her legs wobbled beneath her. The potty towered like a porcelain throne.

“No,” she mumbled. “Maggie. Sean. Gabben.”

The names slipped away from her almost as quickly as the adult words.

Tabby crawled closer, dragging the rattle behind her. The boy in overalls sat nearby and clapped at the sound.

Chik.

Something inside Kaity loosened.

The fear remained, huge and hot, but it tangled with another feeling: the sudden need to grab the bright toy. She reached for it. Tabby pulled it back, giggling.

Kaity made an indignant sound and crawled after her.

Beyond the potty area, more babies filled the daycare. They were everywhere now - under the desk, around the playpen, beside the jungle gym. Seven co-workers’ voices called from somewhere behind the walls, but the words were distant and slippery.

Tabby lifted the rattle.

Kaity lunged.

The toy struck the mat between them.

Chik.

The sound rolled through the daycare and out beneath the glass doors, bright enough to make the front desk tremble.

Tabby laughed and crawled toward the mall.

Kaity followed on unsteady hands and knees, her miniature uniform dragging behind her, while the baby in overalls toddled after them. Behind the desk, the envelope of money sat untouched beneath the clock.

Its second hand clicked forward.

The daycare doors swung open by themselves.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 9,029 words in the full book.