Once upon a time, a careless woman lived in a careless house, with her two children. She was a very busy woman, and always had too many things to do.
"I was just calling because we wanted to ask about your children," a voice on the phone said. "We haven't seen them in school for a few days, and were just wondering—"
"I pulled them out," snapped the mother. "Nothing they can't learn at home that you can teach them in school."
She tried to clear a space on the kitchen counter, pushing dirty dishes into an overflowing sink, but it was futile. Instead, she knocked glasses onto the floor, shattering into shards. She made a mental note to deal with that later.
"—just concerned that they might fall behi—"
"Are you calling them stupid? That I don't know how to teach my own flesh and blood?" the mother asked, aghast, as the tin can burbled over the open flame.
"I didn't mean any—"
"Look, lady. They learn better here anyways. Stop calling," the mother snapped as she hung up the phone, the can of soup bubbling over, flames licking along the singed label. Wrapping her hand in a dirty rag, she cut the burner, lifted the can, and split it between two 'clean-enough' bowls.
Carrying them to the table, she cleared a spot between half-eaten meals, placing them down with a careless thud. "Dinner is ready!" she shouted, shaking her head at their ingratitude.
"Lousy brats," she muttered, "can't even eat the food I give them. No respect in this house, I swear."
It was then that a knock was heard at the door. She tried to ignore it. The knock was heard again. Still, she tried to act as if nobody was home. By the third knock, she had stormed across to the door, throwing it open if irritation.
"Can I help you?" she asked, venom in every word.
It was their careful neighbor, Miss Beatrice.
"Hi there Melissa," she said with a wide smile. "My grandson is visiting, and I was wondering if your children would like to come out and—"
"They're busy," the mother snapped, crossing her arms. "Was that it?"
"Well," Miss Beatrice said, opening her arms. "It's been a few days since I saw the young ones, and that's not like them. They haven't been over in nearly a week—"
"They're fine. Mind your own business." The mother tapped her foot, impatiently.
"It's just…" Miss Beatrice trailed off. "I just wanted to make sure they were okay."
"Excuse me?" the mother shouted in anger. "Are you saying that I don't know how to raise my kids?"
"No, it's just—"
"'It's just'," the mother repeated in a mocking tone. "I can handle my own brats, thank you very much."
"That's not—"
"You have no fucking clue what a pain in the ass this is, as a single mother, and you are in my fucking house, trying to look down on me? Fuck off."
"I would like to see them," Miss Beatrice demanded, putting her foot down.
At that moment, the clock chimed seven. "Shit," the mother swore, "I'm fucking late for work again. If you'll excuse me, I have to go."
"Not until—"
"Goodbye," the mother said, pushing Miss Beatrice outside and slamming the door behind her. "And good fucking riddance," she muttered, grumbling as she moved through the piles of filth, heading for her bedroom.
A quick peek into the kitchen; the bowls remained untouched. "I said dinner's ready!" she shouted again, snarling. "And now I'm late to work, thanks a lot for that."
As she began to climb the stairs, pushing trash, toys, and Christmas decorations out of the way, she stomped in frustration.
"No fucking respect," she growled, "can't even pick up after themselves. I work hard, I put food on the table, and they can't even fucking clean up? What am I, their fucking maid? Do they think that money just grows on trees?"
Her children were nowhere to be found.
"When I come home," the mother bellowed, "I want this place spotless, do you hear me?"
Silence.
The mother didn't have time to correct her misbehaving children, she was already very, very late for work. Quickly, she walked into her bedroom, stripped, throwing the shirt to the floor, and donning her uniform.
"I feed them, I clothe them, I care for them, and this is the thanks I get?" she grumbled, shouting in pain as she crashed her elbow into the doorframe. "All they do is make my life miserable."
She left her room, descending the stairs, rushing to her car when, to her surprise, she slipped on a toy train, carelessly left on the stairs. The mother tumbled forward, falling through the air until she was caught; a string of Christmas lights, left up for far too long, dangling from the banister had wrapped their way around her neck.
She tried to scream, but was gasping for air. "Help me!" she croaked out through constricting wires, pulling in vain to free herself. Her feet dangled, inches from the floor, as her nails dug into her neck, trying to get a grip on the lights.
The mother struggled, shaking the careless house, hoarse words escaping her mouth. "Kids! Help!" she cried, gasping, face turning red, flailing. She hung there, trapped, pulling at the cords, but it was no use.
As she hung, she looked ahead of her and noticed something. Staring out from the closet, barely visible through the slats, were two pairs of beady eyes, watching her, unblinking. "Help", she squeezed out with the last air left in her lungs, as she reached out towards the closet, begging for salvation. The eyes did not blink, staring in silence.
As the last vestiges of life left her careless body, the careless house was still, eyes staring into eyes.
Two weeks later, after the police were called to check on the children, the scene was discovered. Three corpses were removed from the house, in varying states of decay. In the end, the townsfolk still swear that they can see the two kids, and still worry about them, to this very day.