I Did Not Kill My Daughter

I always liked art, drawing especially. It was what kept me company for the beginning of my childhood.

When I was around 6 years old, my mother and I had moved to a peaceful suburban neighbourhood. It was a nice place, though, I had trouble making friends there, even when school started. It wasn’t that I was weird, or that other kids didn’t like me, I was just too shy for my own good, and preferred my own little corner of the school yard, while all the other kids played and squealed in delight.

I did start to get lonely though. The only other person I spoke to was my mother, and occasionally teachers. Other than that, I never really socialized.

But, 6 year old me was still too shy to make any friends, so, I had created my own. Like most kids, I made an imaginary friend.

One night, I sat in my room, doodling this friend. A girl, with straight brown hair, holding hands with a tall, slim woman, large smiles etched across both people’s faces in the crude childish drawing.

“Lisa!” I remember running downstairs at the sound of my mother calling me. She had sat me down at the table, and placed a bowl of soup in front of me, getting her own shortly after. She asked me about my day, and what I had been doing upstairs.

“I was drawing my friend!” I had happily told her.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I almost dropped my spoon in the bowl at my mom’s question.

“Uh… What’s your name, mummy?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips.

“My name’s Delilah, sweetie.”

“My friend’s name is Delilah!” I slightly stumbled over the name, not used to saying it, though my mother still let out a hearty laugh.

“Wonderful name! Now finish up your supper and you can go play with your friend.” I had done as I was told, putting my dishes in the sink before heading back up to my room, climbing up the stairs on all fours, as many people have done as a child. The smile on my face dropped as soon as I closed my bedroom door behind me though. There, standing in the middle of my room, was a tall, lanky woman.

Messy, layered hair stopped about two inches above her shoulders, getting a bit longer at the back, the tips of snow white hair pigmented with variations of every colour of the rainbow, from lime green to lemon yellow, and cobalt blue to cherry red. Her smile was wide and friendly, a strip of dark emerald green going down the middle of her lips, the same shade dusted around her eyes.

“Hello, Lisa!” A delighted squeal came from my mouth moments later, as I ran forward and hugged onto the legs of my new playmate.

“It’s you! It’s you, Delilah, it’s you!” Peach coloured arms wrapped around my small form, engulfing me in a warmth I was pleased to be in.

“Yes! It’s me!” My baby blue eyes traveled up to meet hers. The colour was stunning. Molten, fiery orange swirled in her eyes, the bright colour licked at the edges of her irises like flames in a fire place on a cold winter night, bringing me great comfort at that moment.

I snuggled my head into the smooth maroon fabric of her simple dress shirt, reaching my arms around her torso as best as I could with my petite arms. I had dug my tiny fingers into her jacket, which was the same shade of green as the strip on her lips, as she stood and spun me around, seeming to hug the giggles out of me.

After a while, she set me down, looking down at me, pushing the sleeves of her jacket up to the creases of her elbows as she did.

“What do you wanna do, love?” I became more joyed at the light British accent that flowed over her cheery words.

“I dunno!” I once again squealed as I jumped around Delilah in circles, hopping over the trail of her jacket, that trailed behind her by about 2 feet, though the front ended just below her ribs.

“Well…” She placed a long, slender finger to her lips, where I noticed that her fingers seemed to be stained with some of the same colours that were in the tips of her hair.

“Why don’t we draw?” My brown locks bounced as I nodded my head and pulled out more paper and crayons from the bottom of the book shelf in my room. After I did, I ran over to her, tugging on her white, high waisted shorts, that were too, stained with a multitude of colours.

At my childish demands, she sat down, grabbing a piece of paper and a purple crayon, and started to draw, as I did the same.

With a tap on my shoulder, I casted my baby blue gaze up, and gasped at the scene. Colourful fairies flew around my room, along with other small creatures, like tiny dragons, miniature horses, and doll sized ballerinas, all of which had the same texture as crayon marks.

“Your drawings are alive!?” I jumped up and chased one of the purple fairies around my room, giggling all the while.

“Not exactly, but close enough!”

After an hour of running around, a yawn escaped me, and I rubbed one of my eyes.

“Can you read me a bedtime story? Pleeeeaaase?”

“Of course, Lisa!” Delilah jumped up, and walked over to my bed as I pulled out a book from the shelf.

I jumped slightly when the door had creaked open, and my mother’s voice filled my tiny ears.

“Lisa, hun. It’s time to go to bed.”

“Oh! I know mummy! Delilah is gonna read me a bedtime story! Say hi!” I had turned and saw my new friend wave to my mother, her chuckling as a response, though she obviously didn’t see what I did.

“Okay. Just make sure you two aren’t up reading stories for too long. Good night.” With that, my mom came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, walking back out of my room and shutting off the light before closing my door.

I simply stared at where she had stood for a moment, before I went over and crawled into my plush pink sheets.

“Can you read me the one where the princess has to kiss the frog? Please?” I asked, placing a hand on Delilah’s knee, hooking my fingers into the spaces of the maroon fishnet tights.

“Of course!”

That night I had dreams of me and my new friend, playing and laughing, drawing on the walls with no one to tell us otherwise.

That pleasant friendship lasted a nice while. But, it turned sour after a few years.

While it was still a nice relationship, we had played, drawn, read, we did anything and everything we could think of. I remember, a few weeks after my imaginary friend had come to life I had a show and tell day.

I had told De, as I had started calling her, that I was going to show her to my class, though she informed me that not everyone would be able to see her. So, I drew a picture of her. That way all of my classmates would be able to see her.

I had taken the drawing to school, and although I was still shy, I was so excited to tell everyone about my friend, that my words came out so much easier. Afterwards, I started finding it easier to make friends.

Everyday, I would come home, and dell De about my friends at school. She was happy at first, and carefree as always.

She seemed completely fine with it for years. Until one day, when I was about 11.

Yes, I had kept my imaginary friend longer than most, but no one around me seemed to be bothered by it, therefore never saying anything against it.

“Delilah!” I had cheerfully entered my room, seeing the white haired woman fiddling with the golden buttons on each sides of her shorts.

“Oh! Lisa! How was your day?” I simply blushed, a small smile on my face, as I flopped down on my bed. Raising a darker eyebrow, my friend had nudged my stomach with one of her white, ankle length boots (Which were stained just like her shorts, hair, and fingers), the gold coloured bottoms surprisingly not leaving a mark on my light blue shirt.

“My crush talked to me today! So, my day was great!” I stood up, reaching up and taking the white top hat off of De’s head, placing it on my own, the green brim still held between my thumb and index finger as I posed in my mirror, the maroon ribbon around the base swaying to my movements.

“Oh… That’s great!” I hadn’t payed attention to the fake joy in her voice, as she she caught the hat after I tossed it, staring down at the stained white fabric sadly, glancing up at me as I twirled around my room.

That was when it started to turn sour.

Delilah began getting bitter and jealous whenever I had a friend over, and eventually began doing things to upset them.

She would push, poke, pinch, and even hit my friends, trying to make it seem like it was me whenever she could.

Eventually, I got fed up with her taunting, and, after telling her this, I pulled the pictures I had of me and her off of my walls, saying how I couldn’t believe I kept those childish pictures up. I completely disregarded the fact that she could interact with the real world, and simply said that I was too old for an imaginary friend.

After I threw the pictures into a box in the corner of the basement, I never saw Delilah around. I was quite happy that she was gone. I had completely forgotten about her for the rest of my teenage years, and the odd time I would happen to be reminded of her, I thought of her as just something a younger me had made up to keep me company. It wasn’t often that I did think about that part of my childhood, though. I was too busy with work and taking care of my own daughter. I wish I had help but, her father was a stuck up man who as too involved in his position at work to care about our child. He certainly didn’t seem to worry about it when he was in that bed with me though.

But, I didn’t have time to dwell on those things. Even though I had moved back in with my mother, I still had things to do.

Even when I had free time, my daughter, Amelia was taking up my attention, or my mom wanted help with something.

The moment my life started to crumble was a mixture of both of those.

My mother had asked me to clean out the basement, and my daughter had asked me to look for some of my old toys.

As I was doing both, I came across an old box in a corner of the basement. It was full of dusty old drawings from when I was little, along with a few small things like childish hair clips and lone doll shoes. Wanting to take a moment to myself, I shuffled through the drawings. I wish I hadn’t though. At the time, I felt nothing strange from the pictures of my imaginary friend. But, as time went on, I realized that the thing in those crude drawings followed me out of that basement.

I saw bits of colour out of the corners of my eyes, and heard small chuckles ring in my ears at odd times. At first it was nothing, until I saw her in her entirety.

The first time it happened, It was at my daughter’s 7th birthday party.

I had looked up from reading on the back porch, wanting to check on the kids running around in my backyard. I felt a chill crawl up my spine as my eyes wandered to the thick cluster of trees behind the fence.

There, in the shade that the tall trees provided, I saw that same, tall figure just… standing there. Her head was tilted down, but her eyes were looking up. Staring at me.

I shook my head, looking down and rubbing my temples. When I looked back up, however, she was gone. I foolishly thought nothing of it, and continued my life as normal after that.

But, in the years following, I had more and more encounters like the one at Amelia’s party.

As those years passed, I realized that the once colourful, artistic woman had grown quite dull. Her once white hair had darkened to an ash grey, and the bright colours at the ends had turned to different shades of black and dark greys.

Her jacket had faded to a charcoal colour, her dress shirt a dull black.

The buttons that were on her now grey shorts were a rich, shiny black, and the stains on the article of clothing were that same shades as the ends of her hair, the same could be said for her slim boots, only there were no buttons obviously, the soles being black instead.

Every Time I saw her, I would focus on her ghost white skin, the stains on her hands also the dull shades of black and grey as the rest of the stains upon her person.

I’d also focus on the hat, which of course, followed the same colour pattern, and the now black strip on her lips, the green around her eyes black as well.

The only colour that was left were in her eyes. Though the once comforting, warm orange burned whenever those irises tranced themselves over me, the calm, flickering flames now a pair of raging fires, clawing beneath the surface of her eyes.

None of this was what made my stomach twist though. No. Instead, the fact that she extremely thin, almost skin and bone, the only thing keeping her from that appearance was the now defined muscles that pulled with every movement.

That’s what unnerved me for some reason. Or maybe it was the cheshire grin that was always spread across her gaunt cheeks, splitting her face from ear to ear.

Either way, I wanted her gone. And, I got what I wanted…

For a sickening price.

After a surprisingly long day at work, I walked into my home, happy to get out of the cold, rainy night. I knew my mother and daughter would be asleep, so I crept upstairs as quietly as I could.

I was mildly surprised when I heard giggling coming from my daughter’s room. I was a bit upset. It was late, and I thought my 11 year old had better sense than to stay up past 12 on a school night.

Sucking in a breath, I pulled open the door to my old bedroom, ready to scold Amelia, but I lost that very breath at the sight before me.

That… thing had a its long, clawed fingers over my daughter’s mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. Never had I thought I would ever hate the colour orange as much as I did when my eyes locked with its own.

“Lisa… Nice to see you…” Its voice still had a light accent, but, instead of the words flowing smoothly past plump lips, they tripped over sharp teeth, the sounds coming out as low and grated.

I didn’t have a voice of my own to reply, my only response being a quiet sound of shock. My brow furrowed as it stood up, though, and I bravely stepped forward, the door swinging shut behind me.

“M-move…” I went to push against the creature, but it only stepped behind me, walking forward, forcing me to do so also.

“I missed you… It was quite lonely, what, with you never noticing me.” I felt a cold breath down the back of my neck.

“I was always there, but, you only started seeing me again after you found the pictures we had drawn together… All those years ago…” As we came closer to my quivering daughter, large, bony hands found their way on top of mine, and I was forced to kneel with the being behind me.

“I’ll show you what it’s like to miss something so, very, bad.” Its left hand moved from mine, and reached beside my daughter. My heart dropped at what was in its grasp as it came to my own once again.

A knife. The same one my mother had used to carve the chicken a few nights prior.

“No!” I lost control of my body at that moment. Even though I heard Amelia sob, and saw the knife, now held in both of my hands, getting closer to her, I was helpless to stop it.

Tears ran down my face as the knife got closer and closer to my baby’s chest. All either of us could do was cry. I tried telling her to move, but she wouldn’t, no matter what I said.

As I felt the tip make contact with her, I closed my eyes, feeling the blade go through her at a horribly slow pace. My gut twisted and my heart ached as I heard her scream.

Suddenly, I pulled the knife back out, quickly ramming it back into my child’s chest, though the twisted being that started this was nowhere to be seen. No. It was me who continued to stab the 11 year old, despite her blood curdling screams. I only stopped when I heard another scream. That of my mother’s.

I turned around as she flicked on the light, and at the sight of her mortified face, I looked back in front of me, seeing my daughter’s twitching body, her breathing shallow as she took in her last few breaths.

I don’t know how long I was staring down at what I had done. Long enough for my mother to have called the police, and for them to arrive.

Even when they were dragging me out of that room, I couldn’t stop looking at my baby girl’s corspe, a bloody mess on the floor.

All because of that damned thing.

After that night, I never saw it again. Nor did I see my mother. She had visited me once to tell me that she I was not her daughter. That her child wasn’t a murderer.

I had pleaded with her, breaking down, and telling her about the monochrome being that made me do it. She had only cried though, heart broken that I had killed her only grandchild, and that I was supposedly insane.

That was the last time I saw my mother. Ever since then, I’ve sat alone in a jail cell, the memories of that thing plaguing my thoughts.

I can’t take it anymore, though. I… I’m going to end the torment tonight.

To whoever finds this;

I did not kill my daughter...