always knew better, and from her sister-in-law, who had three kids and appointed herself the guru of child raising. But it turned out her neighbors had opinions, and the clerk at the supermarket, and her husband’s bachelor friends. It seemed everyone knew how to raise babies better than Joanne and felt the need to share. Their favorite tips concerned sleep. Specifically, how the baby should be put to sleep, what should be done when he woke up, and the numerous ways Joanne was doing it wrong.
At first she’d resisted. She’d tried to explain that not all babies were the same. Some of them didn’t sleep as well. Some had teething problems, and the pain woke them up. And no, just leaving her son to cry in his crib for hours wasn’t something she was willing to do. But after endless eye rolls and sighs and condescending do-what-you-feel-is-right comments, she now just nodded. That seemed to make everyone happy. They gave advice; she nodded and kept doing what she knew was right.
Her son fell asleep easily when she took him for a walk. And it really wasn’t such a big deal to go for a walk once after lunch and once in the evening.
He slept right now, and she smiled at his angelic face. As she raised her eyes, her step faltered.
A man walked toward her, a strange grimace on his face. He was disheveled, and his movements were strange, jerky. And what made her breath hitch were his eyes, which were wide and fervent, and staring directly at her son’s stroller.
Instinctively, she swerved the stroller, quickly checking the road for oncoming traffic. There was none, and she crossed, walking faster. She wanted to call her husband, but he was, as usual, working late. And he never answered her calls at work.
Anyway, what would she say? I saw a weird guy on the street? He’d laugh his ass off. And she wasn’t about to—
The man followed her. She saw him crossing the street from the corner of her eye, and now he was walking after her. He’d turned around just to follow her.
She hastened her pace, her home just a few yards away now. Crossing the street again, she heard him closing in. She pushed the stroller with one hand now, the other trembling hand in her coat pocket, fishing for her house keys. He was close. Too close. She would never unlock the door and get inside in time.
She whirled around and said, “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.” Her voice trembled, but she spoke loudly, fiercely.
He slowed down and said something, but he wasn’t really talking to her. He muttered to himself, his mumbling incoherent. His chin had a strange gleaming sheen, and she realized with disgust and horror that it was coated with drool.
She turned around and sprinted to her home, the jostling waking up her son, who began to scream. She thrust the keys into the lock, turned them, opened the door, and they were inside, door slamming behind her. She jammed the dead bolt shut and took a deep gasping breath.
The baby cried.
“Shhhhh,” she said, tears in her throat. “Shhhhhh.” She searched in the stroller bag for her phone. Usually she loved the bag, which seemed to be able to contain everything she needed—bottle, pacifier, diapers, baby wipes—but now she hated the messy thing, with its clutter. Where was her damn phone?
There! She quickly dialed her husband. She waited for eight rings before hanging up, frustrated. She glanced out the window.
The man was there, walking back and forth on her doorstep, still talking to himself. His voice was louder now, and she caught a few words. Control . . . baby . . . door . . .
She dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s a man outside my house,” she whispered. Her son screamed in the background, and she wanted to pick him up. But her palms were so clammy and slippery; she would drop the phone if she did that. “He chased me to the door.”
“Is the door locked?”
“Y . . . yes.”
“Is he still at the door?”
“Yes, I can see him through the window. He’s talking to himself. Please send someone—I’m scared.”
“Can you tell me your address?”
For a moment she almost couldn’t recall it, but then she did, blurting it in panic.
“Okay, miss, what’s your name?”
“Joanne.”
“Joanne, I need you to stay calm. I just sent a patrol car over. Can you still see the man at the door?”