She’s walking through the woods on a narrow path. I’ve known her for twelve years, since she was six. I saw her grow from a little girl to an adolescent. A twisted and sick adolescent. Though she doesn’t precisely know that. Others don’t know it either. Yet.
They suspect things. They suspect that this angel-like girl with her long, blonde hair has more going on in her head than is right for her. Some say she saw her best friend die and she got traumatized. Others say she simply reads too much scary stories and watches too much horror movies. And a few say she’s possessed by the Devil himself. They are all right, in one way.
Her parents are afraid of her, or actually; what’s “inside” her. They don’t dare to put her in a mental hospital, or at least get her checked, because the first – and last – time they confronted her with her behaviour, she ripped the cat apart at night. She tore the innocent creature in half, his entrails falling on the floor and blood spattering everywhere. I loved watching that. It was the most satisfying and thrilling action I ever saw her do. I was almost orgasmic…
It’s her eighteenth birthday today. She likes spending her birthdays in the woods, so that’s why she’s here now. I made her like that. Just like I made her kill the cat and just like I made her scratch her little brother’s eye out when he broke her doll.
She hums a little melody while she sits down on a bench next to the path. I’m standing behind a huge tree, but I know she can feel me. She knows I’m close. She knows that she will hear a soft scratch on her window tonight and that I will sit on the end of her bed, whispering little words, like I always do.
“Hush baby, don’t you cry. Cheer up and dry your eyes. Come join the happy games. Toys in the attic.’ she sings in a childish tone.
“Do you feel sorry for me?” she suddenly asks. A chill goes through my spine. “Sorry that I’m blind? Dancing through life without remembering my last step because of you?” She never spoke to me before. Not directly. I remember her writing something on a paper and placing it on her bed before she went to sleep. There was one word written on it: Why? I wrote nothing back. Sooner or later she’d find out if she had to.
“I know you’re there. Come sit next to me.” I want to fight the urge to answer her call, but I know it doesn’t matter, for it’ll soon be over anyway. So I walk towards her with a silent pace and sit down on the wooden bench. She doesn’t turn her head to look at me. I don’t know why, but she doesn’t.
“Why are you doing this to me?” A tear rolls down her cheek. “Why are you using me like this, like a marionette?”
“Because I can. And because I want to.” Another tear falls on her lap.
“Not because you love me?” she says, with a trembling lower lip. I have to think about this question. Do I love her? I don’t think I do. But I do love what she does. Or rather: what I tell her to do, blindly following my orders. Isn’t that the same as loving her?
“Do you love me?” she repeats.
“Yes.” A smile appears on her face, but it’s a smile without joy.
The wind blows through the leaves and the smell of humid forest enters my nose. She stands up, inhales deeply and walks away over the path, the same way she came from, leaving me alone on the wooden bench.
The night fell and the light in the house I became familiar with went out. There is no moon tonight, so even if I’d stand in the middle of the streets, no one would see me. The streetlights broke down a few months ago and no one knows why. Usually, the moon throws an eerie and mystic light on the houses, but not tonight.
The girl’s voice echoes through my head. Do you love me? Over and over again. A flash of her joyless smile. My mind wanders back to the day I picked her. It was a perfect day. The sun shone and there were no clouds. A light breeze whispered and lured me towards the park. And that’s where I saw her: she was sitting on a swing, humming a melody I didn’t know back then, expecting this day to be a day like any other.
I watched the little angel with blonde hair and blue eyes all day long. I followed her to her house and saw her go to bed. I fetched as much information about her as I could and after a week, I went in her room for the first time. She didn’t wake up. And even if she would’ve, she wouldn’t be able to remember it.
It is time. It is completely silent in the house. I sneak around it and stand still under the window I’ve been climbing through almost every night for the past twelve years.
I take a deep breath and climb into the tree next to the house. I’m not the youngest anymore, but with my daily exercise, it’s no problem at all.
I walk over a thick branch to the window and touch the cold glass with care. I scratch with my fingernails softly on the window and open it with my free hand. She’s asleep. Good.
Without making any noise, I sit down on her bed and start humming the same melody she hummed the first day I saw her and was humming today in the forest.
She moans, but doesn’t completely wake up. I start speaking to her in a calm, barely hear-able voice. First the usual words in Latin to calm her down and get her into trance.
My hands start itching and sweating a bit. Our last meeting.
She’s getting a bit nervous, or at least, her movements are. I start humming again. The wind comes up and comes up and becomes more powerful. I even think it’s raining now.
“Hello dear. Can you guess what I want you to do?” She turns her head in her sleep and breathes heavily.
“I want you to finish the game. I want you to make it to an end. I want you to kill your family…” I stop for a few seconds, then I swallow my fear and continue. “… And then yourself.” A tear rolls down the side of her face. I stand up and before I disappear out of the window I look back one more time at the devil I created her into.
Written by Dervall
Content is available under CC BY-SA
The song being hummed and sang by the two characters is "Toys in the Attic" by Omnia. All credit for this song goes to them
And word reached my ear that the end of this story resembles the end of the movie Sinister. I wouldn't know, I never saw that movie. So it was not my intention.