The Shaded

Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The living room was still.

As was the kitchen/dining room to the left and the stairway ahead of me, and the banister at the top floor, overlooking the stillness of the living room. It was oddly clean, too, but cracks coated the entire ceiling.

Gazing at the old paintings framed upon the walls among the antique glassware set on tables beneath them, the house seemed to me as some sort of nostalgic, classy anguish.

The walls creaked again as if they were the exterior to a sinking ship.

SLAM! The door behind me swung shut followed by a boisterous bolt of the handle lock. A table and chair flung themselves from the left; I ducked as the flying furniture bashed themselves against the wood of the front door, hindering over the knob, blocking one of my only exits. I heard a familiar cackle erupting from behind me.

"Welcome back, dear!" a deep, scratchy voice spoke.

I turned around, ready to confront her.

She approached me slowly with a smirk. She was emerging from the shadow of the corridor between the dining room and the second portion of the living room. She wore a white, silk gown; I could almost take it for a dress. Her skin was pale like a spirit, and her body slim, almost skeletal. Her dark, brown hair was the same, tied up in a bun with that same, black scrunchie. Her face was the same, very, very slender, appearing almost anorexic-like, and her eyes were two, black dots the size of olives. Her skin also had bags of wrinkles, peeling in certain areas.

Behind her I would say followed dozens of dolls, an army of them, if you will, lined in two rows behind her, both the left and the right. Some dolls were hairless sacks with obvious stitchings, buttons along their chests and x-marks for eyes, but some indeed were much in their old-fashioned novelty, ceramic, detailed faces with long, braided hair and tightly knitted skirts. Their eyes glowed red as they hissed in my direction, marching behind Marilia's every step. Some I spotted as far as the banister, snarling as they gawked at me through the wooden railing.

"Now dear, I know things have gotten a little hectic, but I promise not to let you out of my sight again!You've been very frisky, which is why I had to make sure you were under watch, but it seems that you and your 'friends' are much more resourceful than I could've imagined."

"Where's my father?" I tried to raise my voice.

"In his room, like he always is. Like YOU should've been all this time."

"Right. So you could hold me hostage?"

"I'm only trying to protect you. I never wished to expose you to any of this," she alerted.

She ceased sauntering toward me, standing there staring at me as her, demonic, vintage doll collection persisted to inch themselves toward me, creeping their way past her feet, some of them with sharp, miniature blades tucked into their hand-sewn palms.

As they moved closer to me, I consequently backed up, my attempts to confound her with a facade of false confidence completely deteriorating. I backed down so much that I nearly bumped into the furniture spread against the doorway to block my exit.

"I can't let you leave," she admitted, raising her voice.

An orange gleam shot through all of the downstairs windows along with a faint swish from outside.