One

My daughter played with her dolls and made them fight. 

“Why are they fighting?” I asked.

“Just because,” she replied.

But a child’s play must be a mirror of her observations, I assumed. Yet I can’t imagine any moment when she saw such a fight.

“What are they fighting about?” I inquired.

“Molly wants attention but Polly is busy working.”

I was petrified. Was I Polly?

Then she pretended to have Molly kill Polly. Oh my. Oh Molly. I’m sorry.

“Daddy,” she said. 

“Yes, dear?”

“I want to take dance lessons.”

“They’re expensive.”

“I’ll do chores.”

“Chores are for boys.”

“So how do I earn them?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask some mother.”

Over the next few weeks my daughter added strange music to her dollhouse. Techno. House. Even some metal. I heard a million footsteps. She was teaching herself to dance. Then one week it all stopped. Just for a week. I heard nothing from her. Silence. I mistook it for peace. For it was war.

“I want to kill something,” she finally said.

“What do you want to kill?” I asked.

“You!”

“Why me?”

“I have no one else to kill!”

“But I feed you!”

“I just want someone else’s blood, other than mine! I’ve decided to be a vampire girl!”

“Take my blood all you want. My money too. Just let me have tea in the morning and evening.”

“Well, of course. I’m not that mean.”

“You’re becoming a bit cruel.”

“I’m a girl! Of course I am cruel! I want everything.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“I want a hundred boys a night!”

“That’s outrageous!”

“Eww! Not to have sex with. I need human sacrifices. I’m pretending to be druid this season. We sacrifice humans. Especially stupid boys. Just play along.”

“I hate to say I agree. And I will.”

“Good! I love you! You will be spared.”

She made her dolls fight in the house a little more. I was scared of her. All she wanted was dance lessons, right? A father can never know until it’s too late.