The Nutcracker Bleeds (PUBLISHED 2017)

Chapter Eleven - Bloody Pawn

                                                               The Nutcracker Bleeds 

                                                                      Chapter Eleven:

                                                                        Bloody Pawn 

                                                                                  1 

                The mouse squirmed as it was pinned against the wall, supported only at its throat and muzzle by two wooden hands.  The attacker leaned in close, staring into the rodent’s eyes with the only thing he had to stare with: hollow, oval slits. 

                “Now,” the voice said with an accent that was quite like the mouse’s master’s.  The sound of it made the creature quiver in fear. “I want you to tell me everything about what’s going on in this house.” 

                                                                                 2 

                A stir of dust and a sudden need to cough awoke Anne from her slumber.  She rolled against the attic pillow, wondering how long she’d been asleep.  It couldn’t have been very long.  It was still dark outside and her muscles remained sore.  

                Clara was no longer lying with her. 

                Did I make the girl up? she considered in her grogginess.  But no; it was impossible.  She could still feel the child’s cold lingering on her skin. 

                Despite her body’s objection, she pulled herself from the pillow.  The needle and marble were still where she’d left them, untouched by the doll.  Anne peered around, feeling as though the darkness was tightening around her.  The child doll was nowhere to be seen. 

                This time, the woman did not call out for her.  The child was like a stray dog.  If it stood by, looking up at you with its big, helpless eyes, it was harder to abandon it.  But if you woke up the next morning and it was gone, would you go look for it?  Especially if you knew you couldn’t take care of it anyway?  

                Yes, it’s very much like that, Anne decided.  Out of sight; out of mind.  

                She collected her things and moved forward, but something felt wrong.  She wasn’t alone in this attic at all. 

                The darkness was closing in.  Claustrophobic… 

                A bump.  A scratch.  Anne jumped in her skin.  From somewhere, she heard a little scream.  Something fell off a pile and crashed to the floor.  Where was the exit?  Where?  She turned around so many times that it seemed the room was moving.  Frightened gasps took over her throat. 

                Should she hide?  Run?  Move back to the pillow and sleep her troubles away?  She pulled the marble in tighter. 

                I’ve got to get out of here… 

                “S-S-Sllevk has finally found you.  Mas-s-ster will be pleased.” 

                The voice was a hiss of air, a burden to her ears.  Anne looked to her left and right, searching for the source of the sound until, behind her, she found it.  Black beads of eyes stared at her, casting red in the correct light.  Grey-brown fur, a dirty muzzle, one ear…  The mouse was wearing a torn and dirty piece of cloth that had once been white.  It had addressed her while standing on its hind legs, and she was almost as frightened to see it as she was to hear it speak.