She wanted to go jogging in the park, but her mother wrapped her in a warm blanket and lifted her up instead. The darkness beckoned; she needed a nap; Mommy knew what was best for her little girl. So Judy sucked on the pacifier and let herself be carried, as if she were small again, small and sleepy, with the darkness coaxing her to close her eyes as she was carried from the cold metal spaceship, down a long ramp and through an open and massive warehouse door. She dozed until the sudden brightness of ceiling lights disturbed her. A whine escaped around the edges of the pacifier. Turning her face into Mommy’s masculine shoulder, she reached up to wrap an arm around his neck and accidentally dropped her doll. Someone tucked it back into the crook of her arms again and all of Mommy’s friends gathered around her, sighing soft oohs and smiling. Close your eyes, baby, Mommy whispered. Go back to sleep. And Judy did, because she was a good girl, and the darkness was calling to her, and good girls always did as they were told when the darkness crawled up over them, all heavy and warm.
