by Crane, M. L.
It didn’t take Alice long to realize that Whitney was referring to adults.
“Do you mean grown-ups? Whitney, not all grown-ups are bad people. I want you to look at Dr. Pelletier,” Alice said, pointing to Dr. Pelletier who had taken a break from his notes to be present in the conversation. “He is a very nice man, and he would never hurt you. He likes you, and he just wants to help you.”
Whitney continued to glare at Dr. Pelletier as though she didn’t trust him. She then quickly turned her attention back to Alice.
Alice continued. “And what about all of the nurses here? I’m sure that they are nice to you. They take very good care of you, don’t they? And what about me? Do I look like a monster? I promise you that I’m not. I would never hurt you, Whitney.”
Whitney’s cold, hardened demeanor softened, and her bottom lip began to quiver. “But they will, and you will too, someday. Maybe not right away, but after a little while, they all hurt you. Some of them wait until you trust them and love them a whole lot. Those are the worst monsters because when they hurt you, it hurts really, really bad. Right here,” she said, placing her delicate hand over her heart.
“Is that what happened to you, Whitney? Did the monsters hurt you?”
Whitney whimpered and raised her tiny hand, pointing a finger directly at Alice. “The monsters hurt you.”
“Whitney, we’re not here to talk about me. I want to know about you so that I can help you. Can you tell me how the monsters hurt you?”
Whitney ignored Alice and continued. Her tiny finger still pointing at Alice as though she were accusing her. “The monster down the street was very old and cranky, and he said a lot of mean things to you. The fat monster at the bakery always gave other kids a free cookie, but he wouldn’t give you one because he didn’t like you.”
“Excuse me?” Alice’s heart began to race. How could she possibly know these things?
“The monster that always wore long skirts at school would spank you when no one was looking because she thought you were a bad girl. You told the boss monster, but he didn’t believe you.”
Alice began feeling sick. Her head was spinning, and she grew increasingly uncomfortable.
Alice turned to Dr. Pelletier in hopes that he would call an end to the session. But, either he was completely oblivious to Alice’s discomfort, or he chose to ignore it. He just continued staring down, his pen scratching rapidly across the legal pad.
“But the two monsters in the house were the worst ones. They were always telling you what to do, and if you didn’t listen to them, you made them very mad. And then they would hurt you. You made them mad Mary Ann. You shouldn’t have done that. You should have listened, and you should have been a good girl. But you were a bad girl Mary Ann, and you made them very, very mad!” Her cheeks glistened as tears streaked down them.
Alice could feel herself trembling. “Whitney, what are you talking about? Why do you think I made them mad?”
“Because you are not good enough! You are never good enough! You can’t do anything right! You try, and you try, but it doesn’t matter! They hate you! You made them mad, and now they’re going to hurt you!” Whitney’s voice rose as she became hysterical.
Whitney’s outburst had grabbed Dr. Pelletier’s attention, and he stopped taking notes. He sat on the edge of his chair and watched with interest without intervening.
Alice looked at Dr. Pelletier, pleading with her eyes for help, but he simply nodded towards Whitney, silently telling her to continue.
Alice reluctantly continued. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her throat. “Whitney, there aren’t any monsters here. I didn’t make anyone mad, and no one is going to hurt me. I’m very sorry if all of these bad things happened to you, but I promise that everything is going to be all right.”
Whitney brought her knees up to her chest and placed her hands over her ears. It was clear that she was not interested in listening to anything Alice had to say.
“Whitney?”
Whitney began rocking back and forth in her chair and shouted, “The monsters are coming! The monsters are coming! Quick Mary Ann, you have to hide! They’re coming to get you!”
Dr. Pelletier set down his notes and removed his glasses. He placed a hand gently on Whitney’s shoulder and said, “I believe that’ll be enough for today.”
Whitney stopped shouting and began to hum. A chill ran down Alice’s spine, and she thought she was going to faint. Alice recognized the tune immediately. Whitney hummed it so perfectly that it was unmistakable. It was the same lullaby from a music box Alice had as a child.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alice, age 5
The sun was shining, and the sky was the perfect shade of powder blue. Clouds lazily drifted by looking like large white puffs of cotton. There was a light breeze in the air, just enough to bring relief from the summer heat. All around, lawn mowers buzzed noisily as neighbors took care of their perfectly manicured lawns. Children laughed as they ran through sprinklers and played yard games. A dog barked playfully at a butterfly that invaded its yard, and friendly neighbors greeted one another as they went about their day. This small suburban neighborhood was perfectly perfect. So, naturally, there were secrets and lies hidden behind every door.
63 Liddell Avenue held its share of dark secrets and vulgar lies. By outward appearances, it was the epitome of a model home. A picture perfect, two-story Colonial-style house, with an attached two-car garage. The lawn was pristine, and the flowerbed was flawless. A welcome mat placed in front of the bright red front door gave the illusion of a friendly greeting. It looked like something straight out of a real estate ad.
The inside of the house was immaculate. There was not a speck of dust on any surface, and there wasn’t an item out of place. Throw pillows were fluffed and perfectly spaced out across every chair and sofa. Nick-knacks seemed to be put on display, making the house look as though it had been staged for an open house viewing. It was impossible to tell that it was a family home, let alone that a small child lived there. There was not even so much as a single photograph to show evidence of its inhabitants. But this was, in fact, Alice’s home.
Upstairs there was a closed door with a wooden plaque on it that read, ALICE’S ROOM, painted in pastel pink letters. Behind that closed door, there was a little girl in a pretty yellow sundress. She had wild blonde hair and dark midnight-blue eyes that were filled with curiosity.
Alice sat quietly in the middle of her room, playing with a small white stuffed bunny. She was often left alone to entertain herself, and she preferred it that way.
Alice’s room was every little girl’s dream.
Sheer white fabric draped down from Alice’s four poster bed. A white down-filled comforter was barely visible beneath the assortment of stuffed animals that covered its surface. Alice often wondered what it would have felt like to throw herself onto her bed and bury herself deep within the pile of fluffy creatures. But she never dared to try for fear of getting herself into trouble.
In one corner of Alice’s room sat a small round table and two small chairs. An oversized stuffed rabbit sat in one chair, and a unique looking doll with a top hat sat in the other chair. A porcelain tea set was laid out and looked as though it had never been touched.
In another corner of the room, was a beautiful Victorian dollhouse that was taller than Alice. It was fully furnished with dozens of miniature pieces and was home to four tiny wooden dollies. The dollies always remained unmoved, forever frozen in their perfectly placed positions. One dolly sat in a rocking chair, cradling a baby dolly in her arms. Another dolly was standing in the kitchen, preparing a never ending soup. And the last dolly stood outside the front door, forever indecisive as to whether or not he wanted to stay out or go in.
Alice also had a handmade wooden rocking horse, stacks of board games, and a toy box that was filled to the brim with toys. Alice had so many wonderful things, but she rarely touched them. Her mother became furious when things were not p
ut back exactly where they belonged.
Tucked against the wall on one side of Alice’s bed was a large antique bookshelf. It held an array of porcelain dolls and old classic children’s books. Alice’s favorite book was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She would often sneak it off the shelf once her mother had gone to bed, and stay up late fantasizing about that magical world. Alice was unable to read many of the words, but she knew enough to enjoy the adventure the pages held. The little girl in the illustrations looked so much like her that Alice was convinced that the story was about her. She felt a connection to the characters, and an unnatural homesickness for a place she’d never been.
Alice’s bedroom window was open, and she could hear strange sounds coming from the neighbor’s backyard. She got up, setting her bunny on the floor, and went to the window to find out what the bizarre noises were. Alice looked on innocently as she watched the next door neighbor riding the pool boy on an inflatable lounge chair.
The pool boy would stop by Mrs. Miller’s house every Wednesday afternoon while Mr. Miller was at work. Although the two of them treated their weekly rendezvous like a big secret, half of the neighborhood knew, including Mr. Miller. But the truth was, Mr. Miller never cared because he was sleeping with his secretary.
The sound of her mother’s shoes tapping up the stairs made Alice’s little heart race. She ran back to the center of her room and sat down, scooping up the stuffed bunny into her arms, clutching it tight against her chest.
Alice’s mother threw open the door, hoping to catch Alice doing something that would get her into trouble. For some strange and twisted reason, the woman found sick pleasure in punishing her daughter and making the little girl tremble with fear.
Sybil Dodgson was an incredibly beautiful woman, and she knew it. She was tall, slender, and rather voluptuous thanks to her favorite plastic surgeon. Her skin was always perfectly bronzed which was a result of her dedication to the tanning salon. Sybil’s jet black hair was never out of place, her nails were always manicured, and her makeup was always flawless. Keeping up with appearances was the most important thing to her; even if it was fake. Sybil was a realtor and treated every aspect of her life like it was a sales pitch.
“What are you doing?” Sybil asked, as though daring Alice to lie.
“I’m just playing with my bunny,” Alice said timidly, holding up the stuffed bunny for proof.
“I’m just playing with my bunny,” Sybil said, mocking Alice. “Get up off the floor right now, before you wrinkle your dress! And look at your hair! You look ridiculous!”
Sybil bent down and grabbed Alice’s face firmly, making the little girl wince. She lifted Alice’s chin up, forcing Alice to look her in the eye. “Do you, or do you not know how to use a hairbrush?”
Alice tried to nod her head against her mother’s vice-like grip.
“I swear, I think you behave like this on purpose just to piss me off! Now go brush your hair before someone sees you like that.” Sybil pushed Alice’s face out of her grip, making the child lose her balance and fall back.
Alice stood and smoothed out her yellow dress while she nervously glanced at the open window. Sybil noticed and slowly stalked across the room towards it while eyeing Alice suspiciously. She peered out the window and wrinkled her nose with disgust at the X-rated scene.
“That filthy whore will sleep with anyone if it means she can get a discount.”
Sybil whipped around and marched towards Alice, her eyes burning with accusation. “Were you watching? Were you enjoying the show, you disgusting little pig?”
Alice took a step back from her mother, shaking her head.
“Put that stupid rabbit away and go wash up for lunch. And those hands had better be spotless. If I see any dirt under those fingernails, I will feed your lunch to the dog.”
Alice bit her tongue, desperately wanting to point out the fact that they didn’t have a dog.
Sybil began to storm out of the room but stopped at the door. She slowly ran her fingertips over the top of Alice’s dresser, examining the imaginary dust. She turned to Alice and said in a low, menacing voice, “Your room is a pigsty. After lunch, you will clean it, and it had better be spotless. And that rabbit had better get put back exactly where it belongs, understand?”
Alice clutched the stuffed bunny to her chest, trembling, and nodded her head, too frightened to speak. Her mother slammed the door behind her, leaving Alice alone again. Alice let out a sigh as she listened to her mother’s footsteps fade away down the stairs.
Alice walked over to her bed and gently placed the stuffed bunny in its designated spot. She smoothed out its fur and placed a tender kiss on its forehead. “Don’t worry little bunny; I’ll be right back. Behave yourself, okay?”
Alice went to her bedroom window and closed it. She saw that the Wednesday meeting was over. Mrs. Miller was relaxing on the inflatable lounge chair, smoking a cigarette, and the pool boy was gathering his things.
Alice turned and waved goodbye to her beloved stuffed bunny and headed out of the room.
Out in the hallway, Alice could hear her father stirring in his bedroom. He was just waking up. Alice immediately felt nauseated. She ran back into her room and snatched up the small music box that was sitting on her nightstand. She ran to her closet and hid inside, closing the closet door behind her.
Alice could hear her father stumbling down the hallway, bouncing off of the walls as he tried to keep his balance. He went into the bathroom and Alice could hear him loudly retching into the toilet as his late night binge drinking came back to haunt him. Alice had learned over time that if her father slept in late, it meant that he would be sick when he got up. Alice couldn’t stand the sound of her father vomiting, so she had begun hiding in her closet with her music box to muffle the sound.
Randall Dodgson was a hollow, broken man.
Randall had given up his construction business after falling off a roof. The back injury he had sustained left him unable to work. He had often wished that the fall had broken his neck. So did Sybil.
For years, Randall had endured verbal abuse from his wife and eventually took to the bottle to help numb the pain. Sybil was ashamed of him and treated him like a disobedient dog. Most of the time she behaved as though he didn’t even exist at all. He was an embarrassing secret she swept under the rug. Even Sybil’s friends played along. They never asked about him and pretended that everything was fine. Of course, once Sybil’s back was turned they would all gossip about how cruel she was, how pathetic Randall was, and how poor little Alice was stuck in the middle of it all.
Randall had spent most of his days out searching for work, but no one wanted to hire a disabled carpenter with a drinking problem. After each unsuccessful day of job searching, he would go down to the bar and drink away his problems, only to continue the vicious cycle.
Randall had become distant and emotionless, and Alice often wondered if he even remembered that she was there. He had once been a very handsome man, with rugged muscles and strong hands. But alcohol and spousal abuse took a toll on him. His muscles had been replaced with a beer belly, his face had become weathered and scruffy, and his powder blue eyes had lost all hope, looking tired and defeated.
While Randall continued his hurling routine down the hall, Alice remained hidden inside the sanctuary of her closet. She opened the little music box to reveal the tiny dancing ballerina inside. The fairy-sized dancer twirled to the soothing lullaby that the box contained.
Alice hugged her knees tight against her chest and rocked back and forth, humming along with the tune, while tears rolled down her chubby cheeks.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dr. Pelletier spoke to Whitney with a soft, gentleness in his voice. Slowly, the child relaxed. Her shouting and hysterics had subsided, and she sat quietly. Even her skittish behavior had come to a stop. But her lavender eyes remained locked on Alice, which gave Alice an incredibly uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Alice, my dear, are you al
l right?” Dr. Pelletier placed a hand tenderly on Alice’s knee and removed it immediately when she flinched.
“Um, I…yes, I’m fine.” Alice tore her gaze away from Whitney and focused on her lap. Looking anywhere was better than staring into those strange eyes.
Alice was breathing heavily, and it was then that she realized that she’d been crying. She wiped away the tears that had spilled down her cheeks, feeling confused and mortified.
“Dr. Pelletier, please excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
Alice stood and left the room quickly unable to look at Dr. Pelletier.
Alice hurried down the hallway towards the restroom, wondering to herself how it was possible that Whitney knew about her jewelry box. Maybe she had the same jewelry box. I mean, it’s not like my jewelry box was super unique or anything. Lots of little girls have them, right? Yeah, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. It has to be. But why would she tell me to hide from the monsters? How could she know all those things? More coincidences? But no matter how much Alice tried to rationalize it in her mind, something felt wrong.
Alice scanned the restroom and was relieved to see that it was empty. She took the last stall and locked the door behind her and crumpled to the floor. She let out an exasperated sigh and suddenly felt exhausted. She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Alice put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
Maybe Dr. Pelletier told Whitney about my past. No, of course not. He would never do something so unprofessional. Besides, it’s impossible. There is no way that he could have known, considering that I’ve never told him about it. Maybe it’s nothing more than just a strange similarity between her past and my own. Maybe she and I are connected somehow. That’s ridiculous. Stop it. Alice, you’re letting your nerves get the best of you. Pull yourself together.
Alice looked around and wrinkled her nose when she realized that sitting on the restroom floor was probably not very sanitary. She pushed herself up and brushed herself off. She took a few deep breaths and reached for the lock on the stall door.