The Funhouse

monster. It was not a human being. Therefore, if she destroyed it, that act of destruction would not seal the fate of her immortal soul.
        On the other hand, how could she be certain that it wasn't human? It had been born of man and woman. There couldn't be any more fundamental criterion for humanity than that one. The child was a mutant, but it was a human mutant.
        Her dilemma seemed insoluble.
        In the bassinet, the small, swarthy creature raised one hand, reaching toward Ellen. It wasn't a hand, really. It was a claw. The long, bony fingers were much too large to be those of a sixweek-old infant, even though this baby was big for its age, like an animal's paws, the hands of this little beast were out of proportion to the rest of it. A sparse, black fur covered the backs of its hands and bristled more densely around its knuckles. Amber light glinted off the sharp edges of the pointed fingernails. The child raked the air, but it was unable to reach Ellen.
        She couldn't understand how such a thing could have come from her. How could it possibly exist? She knew there were such things as freaks. Some of them worked in a sideshow in this very carnival. Bizarre-looking people. But not like this. None of them was half as weird as this thing that she had nurtured in her womb. Why had this happened? Why ?
        Killing the child would be an act of mercy. After all, it would never be able to enjoy a normal life. It would always be a freak, an object of shame, ridicule, and derision. Its days would be unrelievedly stark, bitter, lonely. Even the tamest and most ordinary pleasures would be denied it, and it would have no chance of attaining happiness.
        Furthermore, if she were forced to spend her life tending to this creature, she wouldn't find any happiness of her own. The prospect of raising this grotesque child filled her with despair. Murdering it would be an act of mercy benefitting both herself and the pitiful yet frightening mutant now glaring at her from the bassinet.
        But the Roman Catholic Church did not condone mercy killing. Even the highest motives would not save her from Hell. And she knew that her motives were not pure, ridding herself of this burden was, in part, a selfish act.
        The creature continued to stare at her, and she had the unsettling feeling that its strange eyes were not merely looking at her but through her, into her mind and soul, past all pretension. It knew what she was contemplating, and it hated her for that.
        Its pale, speckled tongue slowly licked its dark, dark lips.
        It hissed defiantly at her.
        Whether or not this thing was human, whether or not killing it would be a sin, she knew that it was evil. It was not simply a deformed baby. It was something else. Something worse. It was dangerous, both less and more than human. Evil.
        She felt the truth of that in her heart and bones.
        Or am I crazy? she wondered. No. She couldn't allow doubt to creep in. She was not out of her mind. Grief-stricken, deeply depressed, frightened, horrified, confused-she was all of those things. But she was not crazy. She perceived that the child was evil, and in that regard her perception was not askew.
         Kill it.
        The infant screamed. Its gravelly, strident voice grated on Ellen's nerves. She winced.
        Wind-driven sheets of rain drummed noisily against the trailer. Thunder picked up the night and vigorously rattled it again.
        The child squirmed, thrashed, and managed to push aside the thin blanket that had been draped across it. Hooking its bony hands on the edges of the bassinet, gripping with its wicked claws, it strained forward and sat up.
        Ellen gasped. It was too young to sit up on its own with such assurance.
        It hissed at her.
        The thing was growing at a frightening rate, it was always hungry, and she fed it more than twice as much as she would have fed an ordinary child, week by week she could see the amazing changes in it. With surprising, disquieting swiftness it was learning how to use its body. Before long it would be able to crawl, then walk.
        And then what? How big and how mobile would it have to get before she would no longer have any control over it?
        Her mouth was dry and sour. She tried to work up some saliva, but there was none.
        A trickle of cold sweat broke from her hairline and wriggled down her forehead, into the