It was Tuesday. Nothing special about it, just a day in August. Like hundreds of Tuesdays before. I was coming back from work and my neighbor Marge greeted me with a wave and a smile. She was sitting in a folding chair on the lawn in front of her house. I waved back at her and asked how was she.

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“Pretty fine, thank you, Jim. The Junior started kicking me already” - she said stroking her belly, protruding above the sweatpants.

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“I bet he’s gonna be as energetic as his dad” - I said with a smile and on that note we nodded at each other as in “it was nice seeing you”.

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Later that evening I ran out of cigarettes and went to a nearby store to get some. Surprisingly, Marge was still there, sitting in her chair. She must have dozed off or something. I hoped Tim won’t forget about her, as even though the days were still warm - the nights started to get a bit chilly already.

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On my way back I checked again - her husband was by her and they were discussing something, so I decided to pass by without dragging any attention.

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The next morning I woke up late. As I work 2/2 shifts - I could afford the luxury of sleeping till noon. Marge was there again. This time she had a coffee table and a jug of lemon water by her side. She was reading a book. Nothing special, I just registered this as I was making my coffee.

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And I would never pay attention to anything like that, because why would I? But at some point, it went out of the boundaries of being normal.

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It was a week after she started to take her sunbaths or fresh air sessions, or whatever she was doing. I woke up in the middle of the night for, you know, biological reasons, and something made me look outside the window. She was there. The clock showed 3:23, but my neighbor was sitting in that chair, covered with a blanket, sleeping.

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I don’t understand modern parenting and all those “natural” things where a woman is supposed to give birth in a bathtub, but who am I to judge? Maybe it was something new and trendy. Good for immunity, you know? So I got impressed, a bit concerned, and forgot about it.

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Soon it became a routine. I mean seeing her there in that folding chair every day. It seemed that the belly grew bigger and bigger with every week passing and I’m no expert, but something told me that the Day is coming soon.

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September came and quickly climbed to its middle. The leaves started to fall, the rains were fierce. Nothing would stop her. A rain poncho, an umbrella - I saw a couple of solutions implemented. She just smiled at me and waved her hand. Sometimes accompanied by her husband.

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The temperature dropped drastically in the following days, but those weirdos didn’t stop doing whatever that was. I’m a regular man, so I don’t stick my nose into other people’s business. But this became more and more strange. I approached them a couple of times, having a small chat and asking how’s it going. Aren’t they concerned Marge would get cold, wouldn’t that harm the baby? But they just laughed it off, saying they have a simple answer for any situation. I noticed that Marge’s abdomen became quite large. I can even say that the size of it was remarkably huge. I saw a couple of pregnant women in the final weeks of their terms, but this… I thought it was impolite to ask if they were expecting twins, so I didn’t even bother.

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Finally, October arrived and my lunatic neighbors didn’t care about it. Even when the withered grass around started to cover with early frost - she kept sitting there. Do you know what’s the weirdest thing about it? Nobody hinged a brow. Other people on the street brought her treats and stopped by to have a chat. Not a single person thought that was something out of hand.

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One morning something happened. A tent, to be specific. That husband of hers put up a tent around her. The tarpaulin one, like they use for hot dog stalls on fairs. And he was kind enough to put a heater in there. Or so I guessed looking at the electrical chord reaching out of the window of their living room.

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I caught Tim walking from the grocery store with two large paper bags of food in his hands.

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“Hey, man. I don’t want to be that guy, but are you sure everything’s fine with Marge?” - I asked - “It just seems a bit too exotic to me. It’s getting really cold outside. Are you sure it’s safe?”

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“Yes. No need to worry. She’s feeling perfectly fine. Thank you for asking” - he replied.

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I couldn’t but notice how pale he is. He tried to hide the dark circles around his eyes with a smile, but that was impossible not to notice how exhausted he became.

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What if that was a hysteria of some sort? I mean, young parents have a whole bunch of problems that can result in nasty things. Like, post-natal depression, for example. I had no clue what should I do in this situation. So I did the thing I was best at - nothing.

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Days passed and I haven’t seen Marge for two weeks or so, as she was hidden inside the tent. Just Tim running back and forth, carrying loads of food, hot drinks in thermos, books, some medication, or whatever.

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Once I noticed that the tent walls were moving back and forth as if that crazy woman was stretching in there, or maybe her husband was giving her a massage. It was weird, but weirder came next - the moaning.

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I woke up to her moaning in the tent. Immediately, I rushed to check out if everything was okay and if I should call an ambulance, but Tim, who was standing by the entrance of the tent said it was alright. The baby was on its way and it was completely normal.

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“Muscle cramps and back pains. No worries, Jim. I am with her 24/7” - he said.

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But the moaning never stopped as if she never got a moment of relief. They became constant. My job became my new home - so that I could avoid those horrible sounds echoing around our peaceful neighborhood. They were getting under my skin and I couldn’t get to sleep. The earplugs didn’t help much, as even with the ears plugged I just knew those psychos are still there.

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The true horror was revealed yesterday. The wind was especially strong and some of the tent pegs just didn’t hold. Tim was probably sleeping, exhausted, so he couldn’t react quickly. I have no better explanation.

But the side of the tent opened aside. Clearly, the poor woman needed some help. No blanket or windbreaker could save her from harsh weather. Especially in her condition. So being the good neighbor I am - I walked straight to the falling tent and asked: “Hey, Marge. You need a hand with the tent?”.

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Only the moans were the answer to my suggestion. Standing there without a proper answer and not the slightest clue if she was okay or not, I decided to act. Grabbed the side of the tent fabric, pulled, and…

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Your hair turning gray in mere seconds is a popular myth. Uncontrollable urination is not. The vision of the tent's insides paralyzed me. I was standing there with my mouth open and my eyes refusing to register the thing before me.

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It was still dark outside and I could just take a peek through a gap, but that was enough to traumatize me for the rest of my days. Marge was not there. At least, not the Marge I would expect to see. A huge bubble of flesh, covered with horrible stretch marks lay before me. I couldn’t see the whole picture, but the thing was huge. It was wobbling like a bowl of jello and the motion was accompanied by unbearable moans and the putrid smell of something rotten. The stink hit my nostrils and the tears covered my eyes instantly. I couldn’t bare another moment of looking at it, so I ran. So I ran. I didn’t think straight, I just wanted to get the fuck away from there. The further - the better.

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I ran to my friend's house on the other side of our town. Didn’t give them a proper explanation, and called the police. Do you know what they told me? “Sir, do you have a kink for peeping after pregnant females?”.

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Tim keeps calling and sending messages. What the hell is going on? I have no idea what am I going to do. All my life is left in that house and I don’t have the guts to show up there. My credit cards, my papers, everything. That thing…

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I nearly smashed my phone as I took the last drop of bravery and checked one of the messages from Tim. It said: “Hey! It happened! Baby Tim Jr. Is born.
Jim, we want you to be the godfather. After all that we went through. We just won’t take ”no“ for an answer :)”.