Jefferson-Banks
“Lullaby?!” the young, blonde teenager said into the phone. Her voice was high and panicked with a hoarseness that suggested recent screaming “It’s not a lullaby, Mrs. Anderson, it’s a song about eating teenage girls! You never said anything about this in your Craigslist ad!”
Through the hissing static of the weak connection, Mrs. Anderson said quietly “Well sweetie, these types things are inevitable. His father is Satan.”
The screeching wail that suddenly radiated from her phone caught the attention of the sleazy man next to her at the sleazy bar. They shared a glance and hers eyes told his to look away.
Mrs. Anderson paid her bar tab and walked out into the cold, grey street.Babysitters are never prepared for this, she thought.
Still, the child has fed. She can go home now.