A Kid No Longer

My eyes fall on the freshly painted periwinkle walls.The broken up corkboard is scattered with images of friends I had to leave behind. Expensive bedframe, expensive bookshelf, expensive couch, expensive everything. Before a musty, rotting attic, now a bedroom. My bedroom. I told mom I wanted to decorate it myself, but no! She had to get some fancy interior designer.

I throw my old teddy onto the floor. I’m going to burn it one day. I was going to with Pete but then my mom cheated on my dad, and shit happened and we just picked up and left for LA. A new start. I had to leave him behind. Now I’m stuck in this old, creaky house without even a bedroom that’s good enough to shut myself in for the rest of my life.

I shuffle over to my floor length, gold embellished mirror. Did I just say embellished? This house is getting to me already. I stare into my own reflection. I hate what I see. Wavy brown hair, dyed blonde at the tips. Boring brown eyes. My 5’5” boney build deems me small and unnoticeable. At least I’ll be able to blend in.

I want a cig. Correction- I need a cig. But I can’t smoke here. My parents would shut me up in this hellhole forever. I guess I’ll just walk over to the park we drove by on the way here.

“Creak , creak, creak” Damn stairs. Some people are trying to be discreet around here.

“Vi! Come on down here!” mom commanded. I sigh. Why can’t she ever leave me alone? Go sweep your room, go unpack more boxes, do this, do that. It’s hella annoying. I try to silently tiptoe down the stairs so I can sneak out before she notices but the stairs have different ideas for my friday afternoon.

“I can hear you! Come into the kitchen”

“What is that you want this time?” I hiss. I’m tired of the bullshit. Why should I still have to listen to her after what she did to my dad? She hurt him so much. She hurt me so much.

“Whoa! Stop with the attitude! I need you to go into the basement and put away the groceries I just bought for this week-” I didn’t move “-Go!” she exclaims in agitation. I stomp my way down the hallway and down the stairs-making sure I made as much noise as I could-and into my old, creaky basement. It smells like rotten wood and mothballs. Like when we had to clean out my great-grandma’s house after she died from lung cancer. My hands search for a light switch accessible from the bottom of the stairs. Nothing. I pull out my phone and switch on my flashlight. My eyes immediately fall to the blood splatters on the walls. My breath catches in my throat and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I’m over-thinking this. Surely it’s just a prank from some neighborhood kids that wanted to scare me.

“You guys didn’t scare me!” I exclaim. I lied. It did scare me. I cautiously step over towards the “fake” splatters caked to the walls. It certainly smelled and looked like blood. I catch something scurry in the hidden corner of the basement. I duck behind a floral, fading arm chair with a broken leg, my breathing heavy, eyes wide. Crouching, I peer out behind the arm, to find a single lightbulb on the ceiling illuminated.

On the wall in large letter, were two words, “WATCH YOURSELF.” I hastily crawl over to the wall, surprised to find my teddy. With it’s stomach sliced open. Stuffing littered the floor. Next to the teddy, is a folded-up slip of paper. I slowly pick it up, hoping it’s not secretly covered in rat poison or something. I unfold it, telling myself there’s nothing wrong. I read the one sentence inside, written in sloppy letters, almost as if the writer couldn’t hold onto the pencil for more than few seconds at a time. There are a few extra lines added to some letters but I can still read it. The sentence reads in all capital letters, “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HURT THE ONES THAT LOVE YOU THE MOST” I tuck the note into my pocket. Stupid kids. I can’t believe I was ever scared of that. But who’s going to clean this up? I go upstairs and find my mom painting the walls in the lounge.

“Mom! Someone broke into the basement. There’s some gross fake blood or paint splattered on the walls. It must have been some kids that live around here. They tried to scare me.” She turns and gives me a worried look. No other kids live in this neighborhood.

“Come see” I forcefully command. She gazes at me, confused as to why I’m yelling. Honestly, I don't know either. A wave of unnatural anger just washed over me. Mom follows me downstairs, expecting to find some graffiti or some fake blood, but nothing. The walls were bare. No evidence of what I had just witnessed. Even the stuffing on the floor was gone.

“Is this a joke, Vi? What’s going on?” Mom forcefully asks.

“What the hell?” I whisper under my breathe. I quickly put my hand in my pocket, hoping to find the note, but even that’s gone too. I freeze, utterly afraid of the vanished writing. Mom is trying to get attention, but I can’t listen to her. My feet are planted on the ground, my mind wandering. My head suddenly gets heavy and my vision goes black around the edges. My knees give way and I collapse onto the ground.

…

I wake up to periwinkle. My eyes quickly adjust to the bright lights in my face. My fingers recognise the faded flannel, green duvet on my bed. I sigh in relief to be in my own bed. Mom sits on the bed next to me, concern flashes in her eyes.

“Vi! Are you okay? I’m so sorry I yelled at you! Do you forgive me? You have a fever of 104 degrees and I was so worried.” A fever huh? I put my hand on my forehead. Perfectly normal.

“Did you take my temperature with a functional thermometer, mom?” she reaches over to me and places the back of her hand on my forehead.

“You’re burning up, honey! Hold on, I’ll be right back” She hurries out of the room. I listen to her footsteps trot down the hallway. Is there something wrong with her? I’m obviously perfectly fine. My eyes catch something moving around me. My head slowly turns to my right as I make eye contact with my teddy. It’s to the right of my bed, right where I left it. But it’s sitting up, as if it were waiting for me, the smile plastered to his fuzzy, demonic face. Mom walks back into my room, not phased by the infatuation with the small thing.

“Here, take this.” She carefully hands me two tylenols and a glass of water. “It will lower the fever. You’ll miss your first day of school tomorrow,” she states, expecting me to be disappointed.

“Oh no. What. A. Shame,” I mimicked sarcastically. Maybe being apparently sick is a good thing.

“Get some rest, Okay? I want you go get better so you can meet some new friends” She pecks me on the forehead. Friends? Socialization? Is that a requirement? My eyes go back to the ball of fluff on the floor. As she leaves, she turns the light off, against my protests to leave it on. As quickly as I can, I spring from my bed and flick the light switch, but it’s too late. Teddy has already vanished. I freeze, hoping I can pick up the slightest movement. I catch something small flash by the closet door. My eyes dart around the room. I back into the wall, scared to breathe. I sheepishly step over towards my closet door. I hear something rustle inside. I reach towards the doorknob, praying to every holy figure I know that there’s nothing behind this door. I open the door a crack,but something pushes it open all the way. It flies open and out pours every stuffed animal, and doll I’ve ever owned. I scream and fall backwards under the weight of the toys.

I recognize every single one of them. Where I got them, who gave them to me, their names. Annabelle, a porcelain doll from Maine my godmother gave me when I turned 7, or Crumpet, the doll that pours tea from my uncle that I got at my fifth grade graduation. I had forgotten them before, but now all I can do is remember. They’re all looking at me, some heads turned in unnatural directions. Some of the Barbies had no heads at all. It seemed like their smiles were staring into my soul with their evil devil faces. They all stand up at the same time, suddenly possessing knives. I scramble backwards on all fours, tears running down my face.

My screams are drowned out by the chants of, “YOU SHOULD’VE WATCHED YOURSELF!” each voice in a different pitch. The army of toys stepped towards me. Each step is another chant of “YOU SHOULD’VE WATCHED YOURSELF.” They all crowd around me with lifeless black eyes. Suddenly, the chanting stops and their knives drop.

Everything is still.

Until they pounce.