The Blessing

It was a blessing, and it was lovely. The gift of heaven, as it was taken to be called, had appeared on the doorstep, unwanted, snuggled softly within a womb of pristine blankets. It wasn’t the answer to any prayers but its sweetness was undeniable and, besides, its new owners couldn’t easily leave it outside. They lifted the heavy crib that had been left for them and, struggling, lifting, pushing until they were red in the face and short of breath, brought it inside with the gift of heaven in it. They set it in the spare room they had hoped to rent out and retreated to the adjacent room to rest. Still sleeping, it spread its long arms out and retrieved the wallets from both of them, emptying the contents into its gullet before returning them to their rightful pockets. They noticed. How could they not? But there was nothing to be done; the blessing had to be fed.
Its arms reached out again, its face still serene, and spun forward the hands on the clock. The day was over with nothing done, their pockets emptied to its healthy appetite, exhausted by the circles it spun them in. They retreated to bed and closed their eyes, but it lifted itself, crawled through the ears into their heads, and stole the sleep from their minds. It would push them to the ground every few hours, and only by standing over its peaceful crib and pleading, begging with the gift of heaven could they return. It watched them through the bars, looking from within the outside into their own prison.
They woke in the morning and the routine continued. The blessing demanded more, and they were obliged to comply. Its arms reached again for the clock and turned it, tentacles sprouting from its perfect smooth back and wrapping around their lives, pinching off the phone lines and holding the doors shut. Every evening they would bring offerings of money to its whitewashed shrine, and it would tilt back its soft head as they dropped their meager coins down its throat, shredding the bills with its razor teeth. The room was adorned with animals, the exotic pets of a noble god-king, as it sat within its heavy throne.
It grew, and so did its demands. The nightly offerings strained the budget of the two, and what little they could keep for food needed to be safely hidden. After every offering its tentacles would search their pockets for any change withheld, intentionally or otherwise. They grew in number and reached throughout the house, holding everything in its intricate web. The time was still its own, and it fed on their sleep with no satisfaction.
One evening its tentacles lashed out tenfold and wrapped around the necks of its caretakers, traveled down their waning throats and scraped their stomachs clean of food. They didn’t sleep that night, but they didn’t awaken that morning. The blessing had taken everything and lay at wait within its shrine. Time passed but no money came to feed its hunger. It waited, but soon lost all patience. The gift of heaven returned to heaven, its tentacles reaching up and hoisting itself through the sky. The shell it left behind was the body of a sweet baby, devoid of tentacles and razor teeth, eyes closed but not asleep, not awake either.