Plaything

A girl is caught in a loop in which she is forever a victim. And she's not the first.

It seemed to be the same thing over and over again.

I jolted forward, drenched in a cold sweat. As my eyes adjusted to the morning light pouring over me, I took in my surroundings: same bed, same room. With a heavy sigh of relief, I let myself fall back onto my pillow. There was a soft knock on my bedroom door followed by a familiar face peeking into the room.

"Lana?" The woman's voice was like melting honey. "Everything okay, sweetie?" She was a little frayed around the edges, but she had a shy sort of beauty about her. A mop of graying, auburn hair framed her sharp face gently folded by time all wrapped up in a fuzzy bathrobe that was much too large for her.

"Yeah," I finally answered once I'd caught my breath. "Yeah, everything's fine."

She padded across the room and seated herself next to me on the bed. "Aw, sweetie," She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout as her thin arm snaked around my shoulders. "Was it another nightmare?"

"The same one." I answered, leaning into her.

"Don't you worry about it, sweetie. No matter how bad it gets in that crazy head of yours, just remember: none of it's real." She pressed her lips to my forehead and whispered, "You'll always wake up."

* * * * * *

"Yes," I responded, forcing a rising irritation back down my throat.

Now dressed in her usual work clothes, the woman paced back and forth in front of me, reading off my list of chores for the day."So you're going to get all of that done by the time I get back, correct?"

"Mmhm," I answered half-heartedly, rolling my eyes.

She cocked an eyebrow, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. "What was that?" She said as she twisted her disheveled hair into a tight bun.

"Yes, mother." I repeated loudly, automatically handing over her lunch bag when she reached for it.

"Alright great," she set the list down on the kitchen island and stuffed the lunch bag into her purse. "Remember, lock the door and don't open it for anyone. Oh, and stay out of the basement. Otherwise, do whatever you want." She snatched her car keys from the counter and on her way out added, "Love you!"

"Bye!" I called after her, closing and locking the door with a satisfying click. I let out a long, exasperated sigh and reluctantly took hold of the broom leaning against the wall.

With the instrument in tow, I shuffled across the foyer to the winding staircase to begin my upstairs chores. I paused at the foot, however, and gazed curiously at the oak door set into the corner wall. Stilted flowers and delicate swirls were carved into the surface of the wood, triggering a burning curiosity within the depths of my being.

Something about the intricate woodworking seemed enthralling - compelling almost. I stayed there for a long moment, trying to eradicate the longing from my mind as the curiosity overtook my every bone. Eventually, I was able to restrain my desires and forge my way up the rustic staircase to start sweeping.

* * * * * *

The sun was low on the horizon, unfurling wings of pink and orange over the silhouette of the forest surrounding the house. I watched the shadows peel away from the trees through the great kitchen window as dusk eagerly descended upon the world.

My fingers were raw and dry from peeling potatoes for the last half an hour, and my left leg had fallen asleep from sitting in the same place for too long. Finally, I set my knife down, closed my eyes and sighed, letting my head loll back.

Absorbing the peace within the delicate silence, I found myself slipping away from consciousness with heavy eyelids. However, my mind stubbornly fixed itself on the task at hand, and somehow I forced myself back into reality.

I was met with a pair of ghostly eyes staring back at me.

My body constricted in shock as I stared wide-eyed at the figure sitting just outside the window. An old woman with a face contorted by a combination of violet bruises and a deep scowl glared at me from over her shoulder as she sat there.

Horrified, an ear-piercing shriek escaped my throat as I fell out of my chair and scrambled back toward the opposite wall. As if on cue, my mother burst into the kitchen and was at my side in a moment, sweeping me into her arms while worriedly inquiring as to why I was screaming.

"Th-There was a ghost," I said shakily, "I swear," I pointed toward the window. "There . . ." I trailed off, seeing that there was nothing there. Just the dying sun in the distance.

"You have quite the imagination," The woman said, hugging me tighter. "You scared me half to death with that screaming."

"Sorry . . ." I apologized quietly, peering over her shoulder at the place the ghostly old woman had been sitting.

"It's alright," Mother said as she untangled herself from my grip and stood up."Maybe you're still just a little frazzled from that nightmare you had."

I took her offered hand and she helped me to my feet, quickly leading me out of the kitchen without another word. However, I couldn't help but notice her glance back warily just before the closing the door.

* * * * * *

I had been thinking about it all day, and the incident haunted me late into the night as well. I would consciously try to think about something else like a nice beach or a cute puppy, but the old woman would always come flooding back into my mind.

I'll never forget those eyes; the dark intensity of those bloodshot eyes etched itself behind my own so that whenever I closed my eyes, they were right there, peering into my soul.

However, it led me to wonder who the old woman was and, on a deeper level, what it was that had caused the pain in her eyes. I also had considered the fact that she wasn't real at all, but I hadn't wanted to accept that I was the crazy one.

I believe it was around two in the morning, judging by the clock ticking away on my bedroom wall; the noise in my own head had kept me awake. It was the weirdest feeling because for the first time, in what felt like forever, my mind was really racing - really thinking.

Deciding I was thirsty, I silently slid out of bed and cautiously opened my bedroom door so as not to make any noise. Using a flashlight to light my way, I padded down the hallway toward the stairs, stopping for a moment to look out a window at the first flurry of snow for the season.

When I reached the edge of the stairs, I glanced at the door to my mother's room; I had suddenly gotten the chilly feeling that I wasn't the only one awake.

Apprehensive about the darkness downstairs and not especially wanting to get in trouble, I decided against getting a drink and turned to go back to my room - back to the safety of my comforter.

But she stopped me.

Not my mother as I had hoped, but her.

The old woman covered my mouth before I could scream, her eyes pouring into mine with an intensity that made my stomach drop straight to my feet. Thanks to human instinct, I swung my flashlight at her with strength I didn't know I had and broke free of her grip.

I bounded down the steps, my heart pounding in my throat. At the foot of the staircase, the old woman materialized in front of me and gripped my shoulders, shaking me back and forth.

"Run," She said, sounding like she was chewing on gravel, "Run!" She repeated, her tone and movements becoming increasingly more violent. "Run!" She shoved me back onto the steps as her body dispersed into the air.

My back and elbows collided with the edge of a step, causing a sharp burst of pain to erupt across my shoulder blades.

The following silence was frightening. I gripped the front of my shirt to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest as I tried unsuccessfully to calm myself down with deep breaths.

Once I had regained control over my body, the whining creak of a door caught my attention. On its own, the beautifully-carved oak door set into the corner wall slowly opened, revealing a shadowy staircase beyond it.

The familiar sensation of burning curiosity bubbled up into my chest and spread, seizing every fiber of my being. Unable to control the desire, and despite already being frightened out of my mind, I pushed myself to my feet.

With tentative steps, I approached the door. Gripping my flashlight with shaky hands, I slipped through the doorway and picked my way down the stairs into the basement.

It wasn't anything like I had imagined. No secrets. No peeling wallpaper. Once the lights were on, it was just a normal room.

An old couch sat slouching against the wall in front of a flat screen TV, which was perched on the DVD cabinet. Beanbags were strewn about the carpeted area, and an assortment of magazines was stacked on the glass coffee table.

Then again, I thought to myself, what had I expected? A secret laboratory full of suspicious substances or a bomb shelter with a hit list pinned to the wall? Ridiculous.

What was it that had triggered the desire to come down here anyway? Besides the fact that the door had opened on its own, of course.

A distinct nervousness still gripped my shoulders as if the old woman's touch had left a permanent mark on me. I sank into the couch, scanning the room around me as if pretending to be one of those detectives on TV looking for some kind of evidence; I almost felt as if this room owed me something - something to make amends for all of the wonderfully painful curiosity this forbidden place had caused me.

That familiar sensation washed over me as my gaze settled on a small rift between the wooden panelling on the far wall. It was barely there, but it was noticeable in the same way that one can notice those small signs that mean someone is lying to you.

I pushed myself to my feet and slowly approached my discovery. On my knees, I gently pulled on the loose wooden board and, when it gave, I pried it open.

A heavy excitement settled in my chest as I realized I had actually found a secret compartment in the basement wall. I reached in and pulled out a rolled-up bundle of papers held together by a rubber band. The papers weren't dusty at all as if they either hadn't been in the compartment long or had been looked at recently. I pulled off the rubber band and started in on the stack of papers.

The first snippet was of a newspaper article. It showed a woman in a straightjacket being escorted by two muscular men. She had auburn hair and was rather small compared to the men beside her. The heading read: DAHLIA JAILED!

The second article snippet was about a daring escape from 'the most heavily guarded psychiatric ward on the pacific.' Another talked about witnesses' accounts of the event. Apparently, the patient had single-handedly murdered four guards with a nail file and climbed out through the air ducts.

Then there was a small black book in which were sketch after sketch of my face with a little date at the top right corner. There were smudged drawings of me when I was younger dating all the way back to when I was seven years old. Then others toward the end of the book looked more like I did now. A cold feeling crept into my chest as I flipped through the sketches. They were so incredibly detailed down to the tiny mole on the side of my neck. Even stranger, was that in each one my eyes were closed.

I quickly closed the book and set it down next to me. The next article I read was about a kidnapping. Some little kid had been stolen on a playground. Another detailed the brutal murder of a young couple living in a cute little beach house on the coast. The last thing was a recipe on how to make a certain powder that, when inhaled, would cause short term memory loss.

I backed away from the papers that were now scattered across the floor.

Then it clicked.

I understood.

I gotta get outta here, I thought, staring fixedly at the articles spread out in front of me. My gaze settled on the recipe. I've never been one for chemistry but, if it really worked, that would be a solid getaway plan.

I grabbed my flashlight and the recipe page and bolted upstairs. To my dismay, mother was standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips and an angry expression on her face.

"Oh, uh, hi." I said feebly, hiding the paper behind my back. Fear had crept its way into my mind at the sight of her.

"What were you doing down there?" She interrogated, "I thought I told you never to go in the basement."

"I, uh, it's just that, um," I stuttered, trying to find the words to say.

"What've you got there?" She interrupted my articulateness and chased me around until she finally was able to snatch the recipe from my hands.

She stood there, staring at it for a long moment, displeasure surfacing beneath her calm expression. To my surprise, she swallowed her anger and smiled at me over the page. "Come here, sweetie," She cooed, "I think it's time we talked." She slung her small arm across my shoulders and led me into the living room.

Everywhere I looked, things were different. The cheerfully-colored walls were darker. The air was icier. I felt like the books on the shelves behind the couch were watching me; I felt like someone was outside in the darkness, looking in on us from the large, bay window. Even the beautiful, metal horse statuette that stood atop the mantle now seemed cold and ominous.

"Sweetie," the woman next to me said, her voice like melting honey. Except it wasn't smooth and comforting anymore; it was sarcastic and taunting. "Tell me-"

"Don't call me that." I interrupted, wiggling out from under her arm.

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't call me sweetie." I regarded her coldly, my gaze fixing on the iron tools hanging next to the fire place. She lightly touched her chin as she gave me a good once-over as if thinking about something. I didn't dare to move, not with her eyes on me. What I had already said was dangerous and to move could be treacherous. However, I kept my mind on the tools. If I could only get to them . . . I would feel much safer.

"My, my," she muttered mostly to herself, "You're all grown up, Lana." I remained silent, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, she didn't wait for me to respond. "You've gotten smarter. More driven. In all my life, no one's ever figured it out that fast before." She chuckled and pinched my cheek. I slowly began to notice the heavy darkness under her eyes and just how pale her skin was.

"What are you talking about?" I took a few slow steps back toward the fireplace.

"Well, I think you know, sweetie." She tilted her head to the left, a small, unsettling smile on her lips. "Don't you?" She whispered, cocking an eyebrow.

In one swift motion, I took hold of one of the iron tools with both hands and pointed it in her direction. With this extra protection between me and whoever it was standing across from me, I gained a large amount of confidence.

"Guess so." I said, brandishing the weapon as she tried to come toward me.

"Young lady, put that down right now!" She scolded, pointing at me and trying to get me to lower the iron tool.

"You're not my mother!" I shouted at her. I suddenly felt as if a huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders - like I had finally realized something earth-shattering. "Th- They were that couple . . . weren't they?" Tears filled my eyes as I choked out the question.

"Why are you taking this so seriously? Sweetie, it's only a game."

"Game?" I repeated, the word leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I backed away from her, shaking my head. "No," I said slowly, "I'm not playing your stupid game anymore."

"You know," She said, letting out a short laugh. "It's hilarious that you actually think you can get away from me." She held up the recipe she'd been holding on to. "One dose of this, sweetie, and everything goes back to normal. You'll be my loving daughter and we'll live happily ever after."

"No." I stated firmly, standing my ground. "No." I said it again to assure myself. She simply looked at me for a moment, taking me in.

Then she leaned forward and whispered, "We'll see."

All the lights went out, plunging the room into pitch-black. I suddenly felt as if someone was standing behind me, so I turned around and swung the tool blindly. With a loud clang, it connected with something solid.

My hands shook. You just hit someone, I thought, a new sort of fear crawling into my chest, You actually hit someone! I immediately dropped the tool and ran for the door.

I threw it open and made my way down the hallway to the front door. I kicked away the box blocking the exit and twisted the lock open. I slipped outside into the dead, freezing night. Everything was silent except for the sound of my heart beating in my throat.

Without taking the time to look around, I took off down the steps and veered right, vaulting a small gate between the hedges that surrounded the patio space. I didn't know where I was going or how far it was until I'd reach civilization, but I knew I couldn't stop. Not for anything.

I heard my "mother's" voice behind me, calling my name, which gave me more incentive to run faster. I made it over a huge hill and crawled under a fence into a vast horse pasture. Dark figures of thoroughbreds bucked and reared in the distance, their whinnying drowned out my own heavy breathing. I kept running, adrenaline helping me to ignore the fact that I was far from in shape.

Across the pasture. Through the woods. I lost my sweater along the way. It had gotten stuck on a branch and, in my frenzy, I left it behind.

I burst out of the thick woods onto a perfectly trimmed lawn. Rows upon rows of houses stretched out before me, each with a tiny little lawn and a white picket fence. The place was lightly sprinkled with snow and christmas lights glittered on every home. Inflatable Santa Clauses and fake snowmen sat at the foot of people's porches and one person had reindeer antlers and a red nose attached to their car.

The lights fascinated me. I hadn't known it was Christmas.

I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head, and before I knew what had happened, I found myself on the ground, barely able to see. "Mother" loomed over me, holding the iron tool I had hit her with. I saw her smile.

The last thing I remember is staring, disoriented, at someone's christmas lights and thinking that they were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

* * * * * *

I jolted forward, drenched in a cold sweat. As my eyes adjusted to the morning light pouring over me, I took in my surroundings: same bed, same room. With a heavy sigh of relief, I let myself fall back onto my pillow. There was a soft knock on my bedroom door followed by a familiar face peeking into the room.

"Lana?" The woman's voice was like melting honey. "Everything okay, sweetie?"

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed your story.

[merbear22]

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it :)

[guy drori]

Wow....you have done a great job. I was really pulled into the story. This has good material for a novel. Perhaps you should do something with it ;)

[merbear22]

Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it! This was originally meant to be a short story, but I'm considering doing something more.

[guy drori]

Why aim for fifty yards if you can aim for one hundred? I'm telling you this has a great chance of being great if you do something more with it. The novel I had written was based on a ninth grade essay. From an essay of 200 words it's now a novel of 123,000 words. If you have a basic idea of something then all it takes is to enlarge it. Wish you luck if you decide to take it further :)

[merbear22]

Thank you for the encouragement! I'll definitely try.

[Justin]

really great job :) this is something that you can turn into a book :)

[merbear22]

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it :)

[Justin]

your welcome, keep it up :)