Maddie Ann s Playground

by Mackenzie Drew

  “My dear, I’d rather not relive my death. It’s much too violent to talk about, and besides, you need some cheering up, not the other way around.”

  Respecting his decision, Claire put on a smile and tried to preserve her sanity. “Grandpa, I just don’t understand why there’s no way out of here. I mean, how can people tell the story about this place if no one makes it out, and why must we stay against our will?”

  There were so many questions, and grandpa didn’t have the answers. She knew he wanted to paint her a bright perfect picture, but they both understood how unrealistic it was. “I have seen so many youngsters come in, stripped from their innocent lives. Maddie Ann has only allowed a handful of kids to go free. I know you found the door with the circle of names on it, and I know you found Maddie Ann's secret room. The newspaper clippings are about all the children that perished. She is evil, Claire; she could rip you apart. I know this sounds ridiculous, but everything is real, not make-believe. All I know is this is like no world you've ever seen.”

  “I could fight her. I'm strong and willing. I could find my way out of this place. I have to, Grandpa.” Claire slugged her fist against the seat cushion.

  His heartfelt story convinced Claire. She listened to every word he said, engrossed in the story. She'd lived it, too.

  “You cannot fight her, Claire. She has powers—you have no idea. She'll take your mind and twist it into a pretzel, then eat your liver for dessert. Do you remember the night you and Jennifer came here checking it out?” he asked, looking past her troubled face to stare out the window.

  “Yes, all too clear,” she said, reminding herself of the biggest mistake she had ever made. “You were watching us even then?”

  “I saw you and Jennifer staring through the gates of the cemetery. I was the cold breeze you felt that night, and I was the image you saw hiding behind the gravestones. I wanted to tell you not to come here, but I couldn’t.”

  Chapter Eight

  With supper prepared and on the table, Jennifer refused to come downstairs, making it three nights in a row she refused to eat with the family. Her mind shut off to the world; she encircled herself with darkness. She couldn't bear the noise and bustle of her too-cheerful parents. They distracted her from her goal. She knew there was something or someone trying to get her to remember the fatal night where it all started, but her mind was too weak to focus. Even as her body healed, voices in her head mumbled together, screaming for help. Snuggled down in her bed, the terrifying faces visited again. Grabbing the pillow for comfort, she held it against her. Remember, Jennifer, remember!

  Imprisoned within her own damaged mind, she didn’t know how to find her way out. By looking at familiar surroundings of the past, she hoped this would help her regain her memory. Instead of helping her, her mind slipped into a deep pit of silence, blanketing any memory she might have had.

  From the other side of the door, her father called out to her. “Jennifer, honey, are you coming down to eat?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry, Daddy. I want to rest,” she answered, feeling her stomach growl. In a few hours, after everyone was asleep, she'd eat.

  “All right then, but if you get hungry later, your plate is in the microwave.”

  Nothing appealed to Jennifer anymore. Depression stole her appetite, leaving her alone in another world she created. The drawings on the notepad she left beneath the mattress explained her true feelings. She kept them hidden to keep her mother from finding them, pulling them out occasionally to ask the face she had drawn, “Please, tell me who you are.” Of course, the pictures never talked back, but that didn’t stop Jennifer from conversing with the fictional character she created in her mind.

  ***

  Irritated at Jennifer's stubbornness, Steve placed his napkin in his lap, scooting his chair closer to the table. Taking hold of his fork, he started to feed his face.

  “Where’s Jennifer?” Cindy asked, raking at the corn on her plate.

  “She’s not ready to eat yet, but don’t you worry, she’ll venture down when she gets hungry.” The snippy tone to his voice didn't help. “Boots, go laid down,” he hollered at the dog by his feet.

  “Don't yell at the dog,” Cindy scowled. “You're mad at Jennifer, not him. Or is it me you're angry with, AGAIN?”

  As usual, the conversation ended in an argument. Neither one had much to say these days. If the conversation didn’t consist of their daughter, connections between the two flattened and dissolved.

  “You gave her permission to skip dinner?” she asked with fury behind her voice.

  “I didn’t give her permission to starve herself, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m a father who loves his daughter, not an idiot,” he argued, dragging the rest of his tension in with it.

  “I don’t know, Steve. Here lately, you’ve allowed her to do whatever it is she wants. And no matter what I say, it’s nullified.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “Geez, Cindy, because I don’t make Jennifer do everything according to your sacrosanct recovery schedule, you think I’m going against your precious discipline. Well, screw that. She'll recover fine, thank you. She needs love, not your version of discipline.”

  Despite the truth, Steve wasn’t ready to make his daughter do anything she didn’t feel like doing. He felt blessed getting her back in his arms. Sure, he could understand that a child should respect his or her parents and do as they ask, but under the circumstances, he wanted his daughter to feel loved, not directed.

  As they finished their food, he glared at his tight-lipped wife with what felt like hatred, but didn't understand the depth of his feelings. He sensed a major fight brewing. He relished it.

  “Boots, if you're finished begging for food, go in the other room.”

  The beagle whimpered, then scampered off to his bed in the family room.

  Allowing her spoon to clatter to the plate, Cindy punctuated her husband’s previous absurd remarks. “The doctor was insistent we follow his directions to the letter. I'm doing what he said. We can't allow her to wallow in her misery like this. If you won't help her—according to the doctor's wishes, not mine—I want you to do me a favor, Steve. If Jennifer gets into trouble again, you can handle it alone next time, because I’m through with you talking to me this way.”

  “That’s great! Leave everything to me because you’re mad. Sometimes I wonder who the adult is. If I didn’t know better, I'd think you were the child,” Steve replied, shoving his plate across the table. “Sometimes you scare me.”

  Appalled, Cindy did more than shove her plate back. She took the nearest salad plate with remnants of blue cheese dressing, and hurled it with great force against the wall. It shattered; bits of lettuce and dressing sliding down the brocade wallpaper of the dining room. Standing back to look at the mess, her glass joined the plate against the wall.

  “See what I mean? You’re the crazy one, not our daughter.” He stood, pitching his used napkin on the chair.

  “Oh, shut the hell up. You make me this way by your insensitive mouth running constantly. Go find something to do, because I don’t want to look at your sorry face right now,” Cindy shouted, knocking the chair over sideways.

  This was getting out of control. More and eager to leave the room, Steve slammed the front door behind him as he went outside to cool off. Every day was another challenge for him to bear. Cindy had a problem with trying to adjust to the new lifestyle, and Jennifer was trying to cope with life in general. With these challenges plaguing their household, Steve couldn’t handle it anymore. If their problems persisted, he might leave for good.

  After the fight died down, the two of them spent the evening separated, fuming. Cindy tried to read a book in the living room, while Steve watched some old black and white horror movie in the den. He finally turned off the TV, secured the house, and went upstairs to turn in for the night.

  Before settling down for the night, Cindy went in to check on Jennifer, who appeared sound asleep. She walked over beside the
bed to make sure she was breathing, like a mother worried about SIDS. She kissed Jennifer's forehead, then made sure to shut and lock the window. As she stood staring out Jennifer's bedroom window into the cold November darkness, she thought she saw movement across the road, right under the streetlight. Did the light flicker or was it her imagination?

  Cindy tiptoed out into the hall. She closed the door and headed down to her room. She stripped her clothes off, exchanging them for her nightgown.

  “Is Jennifer asleep?” Steve asked, slipping his leg under the blanket.

  “Yes, and this makes three nights in a row she’s gone to bed hungry,” Cindy pointed out, joining him on the bed.

  “She’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. When I was a kid, I could sometimes go a week eating once a day,” he chuckled.

  “That’s great Steve. I’m glad you find such humor in all of this. May be if she starts drinking and smoking pot, that’s great too, because you did it. Why not?”

  Rolling over to turn the light off, he surrendered his argument, slugged his pillow into compliance, and shut his eyes. Her mouth never stopped lately. Cindy’s sarcasm degraded his intelligence. Steve wondered about her foul moods; he couldn’t shake the essence of it all.

  ***

  The light from the moon crept in the window, shining down on Jennifer’s face. Drifting off into a deepening slumber, images of her friends appeared. She saw their pleasant smiles of greeting, but the sound of their soft voices silenced as another presence approached, interrupting the dream. When trying to hang onto Claire's hand, Jennifer lost her grip. She swiftly pulled away, one hand outstretched. Loud disturbing screams clouded her vision, and she turned to run. She could see nothing through the thickening darkness, not even her own feet. Off in the distance, she heard a little girl’s voice. It grew louder and louder, until it was in her room.

  “Jennifer, wake up. Look into my eyes,” she ordered. “You have seen me before, lurking about in your dreams.”

  Jennifer struggled to escape the hideous voice and the sight of the little girl’s wretched face—the face she'd drawn in her notebook. She rolled to the other side of the bed, sinking beneath the covers.

  “I’ve been watching you, Jenny. You've been pondering your past that will never reveal itself, for I have poisoned your mind.”

  By now, sweat beaded the upper portion of Jennifer's lip. Fear coursed through her veins. The thought of escaping ran through her mind. She didn’t have the willpower to fight. Instead, Jennifer curled into a fetal position, and cowered there, slowing her breathing.

  “Jennifer, are you listening to me? I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to use you,” she said prying her way through the heavy blankets. “Look at me. Come play with me.”

  “Nooooo, go away.”

  “Come out, you know you want to. Look at my face; I’m so sad.”

  Jennifer cartwheeled her legs from beneath the covers, kicked the little girl against the wall, and fled from the bed. She grabbed the doorknob to open it, but as the lock clicked, darkness enveloped her. “What are you doing to me? Leave me alone,” she bellowed. “I want my life back with my friends!”

  She slid down the door and refused to confront the evil in the darkness. Jennifer held her weeping face in her hands. With strands of damp, sweaty hair wrapped around her neck and forehead, a tickling sensation moved across the bridge of her nose as she swiped hair behind her ears. Chilled hands slid down her face, outlining her jawbones and lingering on her chin, where a tiny grip held her head steady. Lifting her face, Maddie Ann looked into Jennifer’s scared eyes.

  “You belong to me, and what’s mine is mine. Run, but you can’t hide. I let you live, and now I have control over you. You'll see me in your dreams, and I'll get the pleasure of seeing you suffer for the rest of your life,” she hissed.

  Agitated, Jennifer grew tired of the child’s games. “No…don’t do this to me. Take my life and rid me of this pain,” she pleaded.

  As a familiar laugh echoed through the air, Jennifer heard the entity say, “You'd like that, wouldn’t you. Too bad for you I refuse to grant your wish. Someday though, Jennifer, you might get what you wished for.”

  Jennifer rose from the floor, her back firm against the door. Her anger mounted. As her body trembled, she shouted with all the air in her lungs, “Kill me you little bitch. Do it, I dare you. Or is it because you can’t?”

  The darkness fled as Maddie Ann’s fiery red eyes showered the room with sparks. Her little hands became solid fists as evil stirred in her soul. As if intending to do Jennifer harm, she backed her in a corner, holding Jennifer's clenched fists with inhuman strength in her own hands.

  “Mess with me, and you will not see past tomorrow, Jenny. You'll join your friends and be my playmate for all eternity. I'm warning you…stop this resistance now.”

  The urge to strike at her grew strongly within Jennifer’s heart. She either stood with bravery or hunkered down in the corner, surrendering the right to finish the madness that kept her prisoner of not just her life, but her dreams as well. Jennifer’s ambition of freeing herself from this nightmare played no part in her decisions anymore. This beastly creature snatched that away from her, and it was too late to take it back.

  As her lips began to move, Jennifer heard her whisper, “You’re mine, forever.” Maddie Ann vanished within the shadows, leaving Jennifer once again devastated.

  Jennifer’s eyes flew open, her heart racing. Rising from the pillow, drenched in sweat, she clutched her trembling chest. She gazed around the dark, silent room, and dared not fall back asleep. Throwing the covers off her shivering body, Jennifer got out of bed. She threw on her robe and headed downstairs to safety.

  She suddenly was starving, and for some inexplicable reason, she needed to find the clothes she wore to the cemetery, the ones she had on when they took her to the hospital. Where are my clothes, she wondered, eating the nuked meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Excitement ripped through her.

  Her clothing had to tell her what happened to her. Jennifer wasn’t sure why they were important, but perhaps they held a clue to her dream. In the last two weeks, in or out of the hospital, she wondered why not one of her friends had called or come to see her. Where in the hell was Claire? She wondered what put her in the shape her parents found her in, but before knowing the truth, a wall of blood-colored secrets came barreling down in front of her, keeping her in the dark. Every time she came close to remembering, something blacked out the back of her mind. A door slammed shut, cutting off any hope of a recovery.

  Desperately searching for the plastic bag that stored her belongings from the hospital, she spotted it tucked down between the washer and dryer. It baffled her why her mother had put it there and not thrown it away, but there it was. With all her strength, she jarred it loose, ripping the bag. Holding them toward the light one by one, she examined the contents, little more than grime-streaked rags.

  The cops had cut out portions of each item for DNA testing, leaving nothing but shreds of material left. The tee shirt she wore, the designer jeans, and of course, her Nikes, neatly placed down in the bottom of the bag. “Please let me find what I’m looking for,” she said aloud, as if offering a prayer.

  Lifting the tattered pants stiffened with dried blood, she reached in one front pocket and found nothing. She stuffed her hands in each pocket, turning them inside out, finding a few pebbles and a couple of dead weeds. The moment her fingers touched the items, an explosive image of vast cracked-earth plains and strange, spiky yellow foliage lit up her mind, like a camera flash in the dark. You have to be kidding…That’s all I get?

  Discouraged by her findings, Jennifer kept digging. I know there has to be something else; she sobbed. Damn it, what is wrong with me? When no more evidence or images were forthcoming, she began to whimper, her shoulders shaking. Throwing the rags down on the floor, she pounded her fists against the lid of the washing machine, tears cascading down her cheeks. I’m never going to find out the truth. The li
ttle girl was right—my brain is dead.

  ***

  The scent of morning trickled through the house. Cindy slid out of bed to start breakfast. She heard the shower running as Steven got ready for work. He stepped out of the shower when she reached for her robe on the back of the bathroom door. Tension still flared between them as they shuffled past each other.

  “Are you going to pick up that mess of dirty socks or am I going to have to do it?” she asked pointedly. “I have to do everything around here anyway.”

  “You never mind my business. I’ll take care of my own clothes, so don’t worry about it,” he replied, reaching down and gathering them.

  He slam-dunked the wad into the hamper.

  “Fine, have it your way. I didn’t want to anyway,” she snapped back.

  “Good, then get out so I can dress in peace.”