I'm Just Samantha

A short, gruesome, gory tale of a preschooler and her dollies.

I’m playing with my dollies when Mommy comes home from work. We’re having a tea party. I hope Mommy doesn’t come in. I borrowed her fancy spoons and saucers. She doesn’t like when I do that. I took her tablecloth, too, the one with the delicate pink embroidered into it. I might get a spanking. I sure hope not. Spankings hurt.

                I also borrowed her sewing kit. I didn’t like the way my dollies looked, always frowning and fighting and fearing me. It wasn’t very nice. I tried talking to them about it, telling them how I felt. They are my dollies. They have to smile. They have to be nice. They can’t cry.

                But they didn’t listen. I didn’t want to, and I told them that, but I had to fix their smiles up. When they cry, I cry. So I fixed that, too.

                At least I didn’t spill any tea. I couldn’t even find the tea, and my dollies kept spilling red juice, so I rushed to clean it up and we drank that. It was soupy and tasted salty, like that time Rosie dared me to lick the rusty step n the playground.

                Mommy said I couldn’t play with fire, but how else was I supposed to heat up the ‘tea’? You certainly can’t eat tea cold. Then it’s not a tea party. It’s an iced tea party. That’s no fun. So I might have maybe borrowed Mommy’s matches, too. I’m sure she won’t mind. There were a bunch in the box, and I only used one! So I read the little instructions on the box and dragged it across the side, where the scratchy paper was. It lit up instantaneously, but it was hot! I nearly burned myself! It fell onto Sam’s lap. I felt bad for poor Sam. Sammy’s my favourite dolly. He has pretty, straight brown hair that’s just long enough to tie up in little bows, and he looks so cute in his tie. He was all dressed up in a little suit, too, which is why I felt so bad when I dropped the match and it burned his trousers. Poor Sam. And none of my other dollies’ clothes will fit him! I’ll have to borrow Daddy’s, I guess.

                I guess Mommy was right. I shouldn’t have played with the matches. Oh, well. At least I still have the cookies. Right? Where’s the cookies? Oh, no, I left the cookies downstairs!

                “Mommyyyyyyy!” I call, forgetting that she can’t come in here or else I’ll get spanked. I rush to the door to shut it, but it’s too late, she’s pounding up the stairs. My heart beats faster, faster, but she’s coming, closer, closer, I can’t stop her now, she’s going to see I borrowed her tablecloth, no, she can’t, she can’t, but it’s too late, too late now….

                “Samantha?” That ‘sweet’ voice calls. She isn’t sweet. She’s going to spank me. She doesn’t love me. She’s my mother but she doesn’t love me. She’s opening the door. No, no! Not now! “Is something wrong?”

                Then she screams. Why is she screaming? I’m the one who’s about to get hurt! But she falls. What’s going on? She’s just….lying on the floor. Mommy?

                I lean down next to Mommy and shake her shoulders. What’s wrong with her? I turn around to my dollies for guidance. They just give me that same, blank stare I sewed onto their faces. That same, emotionless, ear-to-ear grin that keeps them from never frowning. I feel something in my eye. Tears. I wipe them away, shaking her some more. Her eyes finally open.

                “Mommy?” I say. Her gaze follows my voice to see me as she slowly sits up. She rubs her eyes, blinks a little, and looks at my dollies. She freezes, turns to me, and her eyes go wide. Her lip quivers. I smile at her. She’s okay! She’s not going to hurt me now that I’ve saved her. It’s okay!

                But Mommy doesn’t return the smile. She jumps up, staring at me with a look of hatred. How could Mommy hate me? She steps back, fearing me. How could Mommy be afraid? How could she be afraid of me? It’s not fair! I start to cry, hoping she’ll realize she’s wrong and she’ll put her arm around me, and she’ll sing to me a lullaby, just like she used to. I’ll fall asleep in her arms, and she’ll tuck me in and kiss me on the forehead and turn the lights off and flick the nightlight on, that little pink glass bear light, and she’ll whisper to me, and she’ll close the door, and she’ll leave, but she’ll never close the door completely because she knows I’m afraid of the monsters.

                But Mommy doesn’t do any of that. She just runs from the room and leaves me there crying. She runs for the stairs, pulling her phone out of her pocket. I run after her, screaming her name.

“Mommy, where are you going? Stop, Mommy, stop!” I grab her leg so she’ll turn around and realize it’s just me, just me, Samantha, and there’s no need to be afraid, and I’m sorry I borrowed her tablecloth, and I’m sorry I took the matches, and I’m sorry I used her sewing kit, but I’m still her daughter, I’m still Samantha, she can’t hate me, I’m just her daughter, I’m just Samantha! But she doesn’t turn around. Mommy trips. Mommy falls. Her head bumps against the wall. She tumbles down the stairs. I run down and try to shake her awake like I did before. But this time, she isn’t going to wake up, and I know that. So I help her back up the stairs.

It takes forever. Mommy’s real heavy.

I help her into my toy room.

I sit her next to my dollies.

She’ll be okay.

She’ll always be okay now.

She’ll always be here with me.

After all….

I take real good care of my dollies.

 

Author's Note

Written real quick, as a short little story. I understand that there's a lot of run-on sentences, and 'simple' words, but it's meant to be told as the thoughts of a preschooler. So yeah. Thanks for reading!

Reviews

[Rae]

I really liked this piece. The simple words really give it the creepy vibe and I like that. The way it's written makes it really seem like it was told by a preschooler, so kudos to you.

So, correct me if I'm wrong, the girl takes real humans and makes them her dolls? I'm sorry if I do get it wrong. I'm not that good at analyzing and understanding. ^^"

[- - -]

I love this. You give great detail, allowing me to see it all in my head. It puts me in the mindset of a preschooler who doesn't understand why her mommy's afraid of her. It's amazing.

[roarke]

chilling.