by Charity B.
“But pleeeaaassse, Mom? Come on! It’s Halloween!” It isn’t fair. I’m seven now, why do I still have to go to bed so early?
“Don’t you dare raise your voice to me. You have to be up for school in the morning. Now take off your costume, and go brush your teeth. I’ll be there in a minute to read the scriptures.”
I want to stomp my feet and slam my door, but I know I’ll get a whipping. I drop my pillowcase with a thud on the floor. I huff, looking at all the candy that I have to wait until tomorrow to eat. Peeling off my cowboy costume, I drop my pretend revolver on the dresser and pick out my blue and yellow striped pajamas.
Once I wash my face and brush my teeth, I obey my mom, waiting for her in my room.
“You’re drinking again? Are you serious?!” her voice screeches beneath the door. “I’ve told you, I will not tolerate devil water in this house!”
“How the fuck else am I supposed to get through this shit show of a life, Aziza?” my dad bellows before something crashes like it’s breaking. “This is all on you, bitch.”
I cover my ears so I can’t hear the mean things they say to each other. I hate that they do this so much. At least it isn’t too much longer before my door opens, and my mother comes in with the Bible.
She looks okay. If I hadn’t just heard them, I would never have known they were fighting. “Are you all right, Mom?”
Sitting in the chair next to my bed, she smooths out her skirt. “You don’t need to concern yourself, Johnathan.” She flips the book open to a marked page, reading one of the highlighted passages. “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Colossians 3:5.”
I don’t really understand the words in the Bible half the time, but I won’t ever ask. It’s always about evil and sins. For once, I just wish she’d read to me about something fun like astronauts or superheroes.
When she finishes, she closes the Bible and smiles at me, which she hardly ever does. Even though it surprises me, I grin back as she asks, “Did you have fun being Clint Eastwood for the night?”
I was dressed up as ‘The Man with No Name,’ not just Clint Eastwood, but I don’t tell her that because my heart is leaping in excitement at her interest in my life. “Yes! I got those new bottle cap candies I’ve been wanting to try.”
Standing, she walks over to pick up my costume off the floor. “Well, that’s good. Now, get some sleep.”
I listen to her footsteps go down the hall and really do try to do as she says, but I can’t stop thinking about all the delicious candy sitting in the pillowcase on the floor. Especially the Bottle Caps. Jerry Cobalt in my class said the root beer ones are the best.
As soon as I hear that she’s turned on the shower, I jump out of bed to tip toe across my room and pick up the pillowcase. She’ll hear me opening wrappers if she comes to listen by my door. She does that a lot to make sure I’m sleeping. Peeking my head out to find an empty hallway, I close my bedroom door and hurry to the coat closet in the living room. I’ll need to see if she’s coming, so I decide to keep the door cracked just a little.
Since I don’t have much light, I dig through the pillowcase feeling for what I want first. The Bottle Caps must be at the bottom because I can’t find them. My fingers wrap around a Nik-L-Nip package, and I decide to just work my way through until I find them. I barely get to suck out the juice when my dad stumbles in, falling into the big chair right in front of me. His bottle sloshes when he slams it on the table, and he mutters under his breath.
I slowly chew on the waxy candy, watching him as he undoes his pants. My eyes go wide when he pulls out his penis, and it sticks straight out. Why is he doing this in the living room? Is he not scared mom will see? He moves his hand fast around it as he starts making weird noises that make my stomach hurt.
Mom will be so mad if she catches him. She beat me with the hair dryer cord so hard my back bled and hurt for days when she saw me touching mine in the bath. I don’t understand why it’s so bad. I’m too focused on watching my dad to notice my mom until she’s screaming from somewhere out of my vision.
“Get out!” He doesn’t stop moving his hand. “That’s what you want right? That’s why you’re drinking and playing with your disgusting little flesh ferret, isn’t it?”
“You know what, you fucking cunt? I’m done living with your twisted-ass, psycho bullshit.” He slurs as he stands, his wiener still pointing up. I hate him calling her names. “I’ve tried, Aziza, I really fucking have. In the beginning, I thought I loved you, so waiting until we were married to have you felt worth it. I could understand that.” He walks toward her and away from where I can see him through the crack in the door. I’m much too scared to move. I can’t even lift my hands to cover my ears. “Then, I find out on our wedding night that you lied to me. You left out the detail that your sick fuck of a father cut up your pussy because you thought I wouldn’t marry you if I knew. And maybe I wouldn’t have, but as angry as I was at you for keeping that from me, I still understood.”
“Don’t you dare talk that way about my father! He was a good man. He just wanted me to stay pure! I hear her feet pounding against the floor seconds before she stands where I can see her. “And put that repulsive thing away!”
Suddenly, my father lurches at her, grabbing her arms and slamming her head on the wall next to me. “You haven’t touched me since I put the goddamn kid in you!”
“That’s not what it’s for! Sex for pleasure is a deplorable sin! I will not tarnish my eternal soul to indulge your perversions,” she screams in his face.
He grabs her shoulders to spin her around and push her face against the wall. My father only gets like this when he drinks, otherwise he rarely says a word and definitely isn’t violent. It makes my skin burn to see him this way. I wish I was brave like Clint Eastwood. Then I could stop him.
“And yet another thing I wasn’t informed of until I was trapped. You’ve controlled my life for nearly a decade, and I’m fucking done.”
My heart beats so hard I’m scared they’ll hear it when he lifts up her nightgown and yanks down her underwear. What is he doing?! Streams of tears drench my face when he rubs his penis on her bare bottom, making me cover my mouth so they can’t hear me cry.
“NO!” she screams just as his body pushes up hard. He holds her face smashed against the wall. Her crying becomes frantic and scared as her hand grasps at the closet doorframe, right in front of me. He’s hurting her! Why can’t I move?
When he leans back, I realize exactly what he’s doing…he’s putting it into her body. This doesn’t make sense. Watching her gasp for breath between sobs makes a sharpness stab my chest. I’m finally able to move enough to reach up and wrap my fingers around hers to hold her hand. Our eyes meet as she squeezes back. I silently promise her I won’t let go.
Rag Doll
Sarah Stein
October 31st ~ Morning
It’s so hot under this blanket. I’m sweating, and the minimal air flow makes it hard to breathe quietly. My body jerks as the car bumps against the road. Is he hitting every dang pothole possible?
Finally, after what has to be at least thirty minutes, the car slows until eventually, it stops. I attempt to even out my breathing, listening to him get out and shuffle around in the trunk. Once it slams shut, I stay in the quiet for what I hope is a sufficient amount of time before sneaking out of the backseat.
The air is chilled, a sweet relief against my sweaty skin. He has a couple of battery-operated lamps lighting a path for him, and unintentionally, for me. I duck down, hiding behind a tombstone large enough to conceal me while also giving me a clear view of his muscles flexing as he pushes the shovel into the dirt.
I’ve had a crush on Skeleton King for as long as I can remember. I met him soon after Fink brought me to Hallows Grove when he came over to drop off some supplies for Fink’s experiments. Supplies that I now know were most likely just body parts. I�
��ll never forget the way my heart spasmed the first time I laid eyes on him. Back then, he seemed so much older, but he had to have been close to the same age I am now. He wasn’t in his makeup that day, allowing me to see every perfect feature. His warm brown hair fell in his face when he tilted his head and stared down at me. His eyes were so dark, they looked like black orbs in a sea of white.
It’s been ten years since that day, and my infatuation has only grown. I know his preferences, so it’s likely I will never feel him while alive, however, once I muster the courage, I plan to ask him to be with me when I die.
Watching the great lengths he goes through to be with them makes me terribly angry, though, a different angry than I’m used to. Fink, and even Ingvar, bring out a rage in me that eats away at who I am day by day, yet seeing Skeleton King work so hard for his next corpse bride burns my blood so hot I could scream. What makes them more desirable than me? Besides their death, of course. I don’t understand why he wants a girl that can’t speak or touch him more than he would want me. I’ve tried to give him hints over the years with the few chances I’ve gotten. He either hasn’t noticed or isn’t interested.
I had no idea how long this was going to take when I stowed away in his car. Not to mention, I didn’t account for his dog, Nothing, who I keep expecting to expose me. He never does, though. Part of me wonders if he’s keeping the secret of my hiding here. He’s such a cute little puppy, and I’ve always wanted to play with him, but between Fink and Skeleton King, I’ve either been too nervous or intimidated.
Fink is going to be furious when he realizes I’m gone. He forgot to double check that my door had locked shut again, so after he fell asleep, I took out the little piece of paper I had shoved in the hole to keep it from latching.
Ingvar, Fink’s live-in assistant, was much too immersed in eating dog treats and playing Tetris on his Nintendo to notice me sneaking out the front door.
I didn’t originally intend on hiding in John’s car. I didn’t even have a plan, I just wanted to get out of the house for a while, and Hallows Grove is the most interesting during Halloween. While admiring all the clever decorations, I saw him loading up his trunk. On nothing more than a whim, the moment he disappeared into his house, I jumped into his back seat and hid beneath the blanket on the floorboard.
Now, we’re clearly outside of Hallows Grove. Since I haven’t left the gates for nearly a decade, I’m dying to explore, but my desire to watch him is stronger. The cold air is irritating the scar on my shoulder, so I reach up to massage it. It’s been well over a year since Fink removed my right arm simply to reattach it. Just like he does everything else. Since I was a child, he’s taken me apart only to put me back together again like a demented puzzle.
I pick the flowers sitting on top of the graves closest to me, making an eclectic bouquet. There’s not a lot to do, and admittedly, I nod off a few times through the night until a thud startles me from my half sleep. Nothing stares down into the hole that Skeleton King heaves himself out of. Crawling to a smaller, but closer headstone, I kneel to peer around it and watch him. With the shadows from the lanterns dancing on his skin, the haunted beauty of our surroundings, and the poignant effect of his skull-painted face in the moonlight, he appears exactly as his nickname suggests.
A king.
Moments later, after more thuds and bangs, the body of the girl he’s acquiring is lifted from the hole. He climbs out, kneeling next to her. The way he touches her turns my stomach. While I can’t hear what he’s whispering, I’m sure it’s everything I ever wished he’d say to me. There’s more light in the sky now, so once he starts laying out the tarp, I’m extra sneaky while I hurry back to his car.
Opening and closing the door as quietly as possible, I lie on the floorboard behind his seat, concealing myself back under the blanket to wait for him. Time passes so slowly that I take the blanket off a few times just to breathe easier. Finally, I hear him open the trunk and the thump of her body being dropped inside.
The car rumbles to life when music and the smell of burning leaves floats around me. As he drives, I smile to myself, listening to the conversation he holds with Nothing.
“What do you want to do tomorrow after I work on Natasha?” Nothing barks, and it’s sweet how Skeleton King takes that as a response. “You’re overexaggerating. It will not take the entire day. Besides, don’t act like you won’t be busy with her bones.” Nothing whines and John chuckles. “Seriously? Fine, but you can’t tell me they don’t all taste the same. Besides, the Zeldamines pay the most for pelvic bones, so don’t get used to it.”
The car stops a few times, making me antsy. It isn’t until his door closes that I know we’re back at his house. Every time I hear him speak, I get chills that spread like vines across my insides. My hair stands on end, and goosebumps raise across my skin. He’s talking to Bolt, I think. Those annoying Sanity Eaters have their nose in everything.
I listen closely for everything to go silent. The triplets’ voices trail farther away, and I don’t hear Skeleton King anymore. Pushing off the blanket, I look out the window for Nothing before I rush from the car to cross the street. Not a moment too soon either, because just as I turn around, Skeleton King walks out of his front door pushing a stretcher.
He looks up at me with a smile that appears mildly sinister with his smeared face paint. My heart does gymnastics, banging against my ribs so hard, my skin feels on fire. When he acknowledges me with a wave, I think I might burst with how fast my pulse is thumping.
In my nervousness, I forget to wave back, but with my luck already pushed to capacity, I need to hurry home to Fink.
Fink’s real name is Franklin. He and Ingvar are the closest thing to family I’ve had for as long as I can remember. On the rare occasion when I do have any thoughts or memories of the people that might have been my parents, they’re always blurry. Fink always says that he ‘saved’ me. Though, I have no idea from what.
Over the years of being with him, I’ve deduced that he chose me because of his daughter. I don’t know her name because he only calls her his ‘pumpkin,’ I just know I remind him of her, apparently.
I think he’s very sad…so sad that he’s confused. In the past ten years, he’s taken me apart bit by bit. The first time he cut me was when I was nine. He took off my middle finger and reattached it. I was under anesthesia for the procedure, but when I awoke, fear consumed me in a way I’d never felt before. Once I realized what he had done, I was terribly disoriented. I remember not understanding why he would do that to me if he loved me like he said he did. His stitching was crude and harsh. I know now it’s because he wanted me to scar. He wanted my seams to show.
Arriving at the front door, I take in a deep breath. If I’m able to sneak into my room without being noticed, I might get away with my insubordination. If I’m caught, however, I know what the punishment will be.
Vince, my black cat, purrs at my feet, rubbing his torso against my leg. Fink gave him to me two years ago. He comes and goes as he pleases, yet always seems to show up when I really need him.
“Hi, Vince,” I whisper, kneeling down to pet behind his ears. “Have you had a good night?” Lying on his back, he bats at my hair as I rub his tummy. “I should get inside, you know.”
Standing, I attempt to turn the handle, but it’s locked. I kneel down to reach into my striped socks for the house key I stole from Fink.
The hinges creak as I carefully push open the door and peek my head into the entryway. It’s silent, giving me hope that both Fink and Ingvar are still sleeping. I cringe when my boots knock loud against the tile.
Looking up the staircase to the mezzanine for any sign of movement, I sigh in relief to find none. The heavy door to my room is loud, but I’m almost home free. Home free. That’s such a funny saying. Home is the last place that I’m free.
When I switch on my bedroom light, my heart falls, nausea turning it around in my gut. Fink sits in the chair next to my bed, his fingers tapping his cane. The r
age surrounding him is thick in the small room. Ingvar stands in the corner eating a dog biscuit, grinning in a way that suggests the very thing I was trying to avoid is about to happen.
“Fink—”
He tsks, shaking his head as he stands unsteadily against his cane. “Do you for some reason enjoy making me angry with you?” He isn’t a terribly old man, he’s maybe twenty-five years older than me, but his body doesn’t match his chronological age. He was in a devastating accident that he refuses to talk about, leaving him with a limp and a large halo-shaped scar around the top of his head. “Where were you this time?” He hobbles toward me, his question obviously a rhetorical one as he continues, “I don’t understand why you keep pushing me to these measures. Do you think I take pleasure in having things this way?” He reaches out to caress my cheek. “I despise it. You’re hurting us both every time you do this.” His head gestures to my twin bed against the wall. “Get undressed and sit with your legs spread.”
I wonder if he really believes the lies that drip from his mouth. This would happen whether I snuck out or not, so I may as well get a few hours of independence. It’s been years since I’ve called him ‘Dad’ like he’d prefer. But I don’t really see him that way; he’s the warden to my prison. And that bit about him hating this is laughable. The humiliation it puts me through hardens his dick faster than when I suck it.
I could fight. I’ve done it plenty of times. It’s a waste of energy, though, because it’s always worse after and never stops anything. Doing as he says, I drop my patchwork dress to the cement floor before removing my socks and boots.
Ingvar finishes his biscuit and unzips his pants, stroking himself as I sit on my bed. “Fuck pussy.”