The Babysitter - Reimagined

The Wilkes house is almost silent. With the TV off and the children in bed, all that could be heard was the low rumble of the dishwasher in the kitchen, and the occasional car passing by on the road. Sarah, the 17 year old babysitter, is oblivious to it all. She isn't thinking about domestic chores, the children in their bedroom sleeping soundly upstairs, nor is she watching the clock pinned to the wall. Only one thought occupies her mind this night- Mr Wilkes.

The thought of their steamy almost encounter exists at the front of her memory. She'd been pushing her boundaries for months- A touch on his arm here and there, brushing past him with her breast lightly touching his body, suggestive comments that made his chiselled cheeks flush.

When she thought she almost had him, their moment of tension broken by a loud bang coming from upstairs. Little Michael had tripped, chasing his brother in the hallway. The injury had needed stitches, and Mr Wilkes wouldn't look Sarah in the eyes after that.

Dinner had been her idea. She'd suggested it to Mrs Wilkes when she'd called one night, wondering why she hadn't heard from them for a while. She thought Mr Wilkes might have said something, but he clearly hadn't. So when Mrs Wilkes finally agred to a night out, Sarah began her pursuit of Mr Wilkes. Texting him her crude thoughts of him. He didn't always respond.

Sat on the sofa with the white light glaring in her face, she scowled at the lack of response. Fifteen messages. No answer. I bet you're looking at her while you're thinking of me.

At the dinner table, Mr Wilkes was growing increasingly uncomfortable. His phone was buzzing non stop in his jacket pocket. He's visibly tense and anxious, rushing his meals and choking on his chicken and slurping wine on his freshly pressed shirt. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

It wouldn't stop. One after the other. Mrs Wilkes frowned, suspicion slowly growing on her worn face.

"Are you going to answer that?"

Sarah is furious. Deep in mania she sends text after text, rage bubbling in her thoat, thinking that if he didn't respond to her soon, there would be serious consequences for him. And it wouldn't be pretty.

Why won't you talk to me.

If you don't talk to me, I'll tell your wife everything.

It became hard for Mr Wilkes to ignore. Finally, he throws down his napkin, and pulls his phone out of his pocket, hands shaking, face drained of all colour when he finally gets to the last message:

Wouldn't it be a shame if your children had another accident?

He looked up at his wife in panic and ushered her out of the restaurant. Racing home, he told her everything. Stories of Sarah's impropriety, how she'd rubbed herself against him, tempting him, on the night that Michael had his accident. How he wasn't comfortable around her any more and that he was worried she'd do something stupid. They burst through the front door, finding Sarah sat on the sofa. Mr Wilkes rushed upstairs to his children to find them both snug in their beds- Dark red blood staining their delicate superhero bed sheets.

Furious, he picks up his sons cricket bat and runs down the stairs, yelling at Sarah.

"What have you done to my children, you bitch?" He swings the bat at her, but she ducks, shifting towards the kitchen door, grabbing a knife from the chopping board as he barrels into the room. She is shocked and scared, but he won't stop swinging the bat.

"I have't done anything!" She screams, dropping to the floor as another one of his blows splinters the cabinet next to the door.

"Liar!"

He keeps swinging, this time wood meeting bone, knocking her to the ground. She starts to cry, claiming that she hasn't done anything. She doesn't know what he's talking about. She's sorry about the messages. She hasn't done anything wrong. But he doesn't here. He swings and swings through her screams, the bat hitting her legs, her chest, her face, shattering her ribs and the teeth in her mouth. The final blow shatters her skull, silencing the household.

He looks up at his wife, covered in blood, ears pricking at the sirens in the distance getting closer. To his surprise, she was smiling.

"Do you really think I didn't know about the two of you?" She spoke so softly, he almost had to strain to hear. Finally realising, he staggers backwards, dropping the bat in horror, never taking his eyes off his wife. "Now, you've both suffered for what you've done." And then she burst into tears, just as the police kicked open the front door. Mr Wilkes was still in shock as they led him away in handcuffs, watching his wife try not to smile as they drove him away.