Dollhouse

It has two levels, the main floor and the upstairs with the bedrooms. It's wooden, dark, cold and broken. But she still loves it, the little girl. Every day she sits at her dollhouse and plays with the little figures she creates. Nothing else matters to her. Nothing else she is aware of, just her little dollhouse. The dollhouse that is almost identical to the house we live in. She never turns away from it, always has her bony back facing the doorway of her little room. Her dress is torn and dirty much like her skin, to the point the original color is no longer identifiable. But she continues to happily play all the same.

Yesterday I tried the front door again, to leave. I tried during the day while the house was sleeping and nothing could pull me back to my room. The hungry were sleeping, the dead were watching but nothing came for me. The floor boards creaked under my bare feet sending more splinters into my skin. They deepened as I walked but I no longer felt the pain. Easy it was, to walk to the front door with the rotted wood full of life that was eating away at it. The knob rusty and sharp but I felt no pain. I opened the door blinded by the autumn sun at first but soon everything came into focus once more. Outside was beautiful. Outside was light. Outside was warmer. Outside was life. The trees down the street were full of color, so beautiful. The reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves of the trees that lined the street, until they came close to this house. At our house, the rotten, dark and wooden one at the end of the street, the trees were bare. The leaves would never change color as there never were any. Even the grass is greener the further away from this house it gets. I take a step onto the porch, I feel no pain. I focus again in front of me. There are three little boys in the yard. Rocks in hand and more around me on the porch, they stare. Horrified by my broken body, the hint of red in my dark eyes but most of all the dark, massive wings that stand behind me. They are large enough to engulf all three of them and myself. They are good at night when the harsh, cold air rushes in through the broken window of my room and seeps through the cracks in the walls and floorboards beneath me. My wings keep me warm at night as I lay on the floor and listen to the screams of new comers entering the house and being swallowed up by its darkness. The three boys run from me and I realize life outside this door would not accept me.

The little girl plays on in her dollhouse. Speaking quietly to herself and for her figures inside it. It is like watching a play. The little figures the actors, the dollhouse the stage and the little girl gives the directions. It is like watching a puppet master. She is in control of them, they do and say what she wants. They have no freedom and no voice. She appears to be more aware of the place around her than she seemed yesterday.

Today I try the back door. I use my wings to glide down to the second floor as the stairs are uncertain. The first and last are solid but in between they are broken or nonexistent. This is about the only use my wings get other than being a blanket on the cold nights. I continue to the back door, I feel no pain. The floor boards get sharper the closer I get. Similar to glass but it is not. I dread coming face to face with him. The envy I feel for the victims that walk through this house as they do not have to dread him for they are dead before they see him. I know him. I have seen him. He sits on his throne in the living area, right before the back door. He is confident, cruel and his name is unknown. He resembles a dark and broken porcelain doll. His skin is white and cracked as if he had been dropped. His clothing is neat and clean but dark and lacking detail. His smile is deadly. Sharp teeth with a hint in his eyes about how much he would like to sink them into your skin. They go through like a knife cutting into butter and the blood begins to ooze as he lets go. I have seen him do this. He is surrounded by hungry spirits and creatures but he is the only one to eat. He is well fed but food becomes scarce the less those who enter leave. He sees me and smiles his wicked, dark smile. He glides down off his throne towards me and I stop.

"Well, well, Jacob. Trying to walk out in the night I see." He says walking around me. I remain still and keep an eye on him as he circles like a predator.

"The day hasn't worked in my favor." I sigh knowing daylight is my best time to escape however, it means I'm more likely to be seen by humans. This makes an unnoticeable escape nearly impossible.

"But that's when the rest of us are sleeping. You know I absolutely hate the sunlight." He laughs and stops in front of me.

"So what game do I have to play to get past you?" I ask.

"I bet the outside world doesn't like you and that's why you have to leave at night." He smirks.

"What game do I have to play to leave through that door?"

"They are scared of you. They hate you. Yet you want to join their world? You want to walk among them and you expect to be accepted? They will never accept you. Not any of us."

"I don't like being here and watching others suffer."

"They would do worse to you I'm sure. Besides, there's enough of them and after all it's their choice to come inside." My patience is wearing thin and I'm growing tired of this meaningless conversation.

I start to push past him but he stops me. His grip on my shoulder tightens and I know he won't let me pass. Not without a fight. I push his arm away making him lose his grip on my shoulder and I decide to run for the door. He follows me closely and I know I won't reach it before he catches up to me. He catches a little piece of one of my wings and pulls me backwards ripping the feathers out. I fall to the ground and he begins to attack. He claws at me like a cat, digging his long nails deep into my skin drawing blood. He growls like a dog angry I won't stay down. His bites are the worst. Like blades slowly sinking into my skin down to the bone and scratching, then on the way out irritating the injury even more making it sting and burn. I feel pain. I try to fight back. Throwing him off me only to have him latch on again, biting, scratching and keeping me away from the back door. He knocks me down every time I get up leading me to slowly crawl towards the door. It gets closer little by little. His bites and scratches deepen causing more deep and throbbing pain. He tears more into my wings. Ripping out the feathers and scattering them around like a dog tearing into a pillow. It hurts more and more but I'm so close. If I can get up I could make it. He remains on my back tearing apart anything he can get ahold of. I grab him and rip him off my back throwing him a little bit away from me. I stand and realize he's not far enough away for me to make it so I wait for him to get closer before I hit him as hard as I can with one of my wings. He is sent flying across the room and without hesitation and run out the door.

I find myself running blindly in the darkness until suddenly I go stiff and can't move. My body is solid and unmovable, by me at least. I feel myself being picked up by little, bony hands. Everything becomes a little lighter and I am back where I started. The dirty, beige walls and the broken window. The splinter filled floor boards and the cold night air crawling in through every opening in the house. I am spun around to face her. She moves the other figures around the dollhouse. Her bones rubbing together to create a truly awful and horrid sound. Her skin is rotted, her bones on her legs and arms stick out. Fresh blood pools around them with every move she makes. She shows no signs of pain. Her long, dark hair falls in front of her face like a curtain on a stage. She opens the curtain to reveal an innocent yet mangled face.

"Bad little angel." She says placing me back in my room at the top of the stairs.

She watches me closely and takes a little knife to make a scratch in my right arm and another on one of my wings. The black paint has started to fade off of them and they are scratched up. She makes me sit as she grabs a paint brush and a small container of black paint. She dips the brush and then picks me up. The strokes tickle a bit as she repaints them. When the paint seeps into the scratches it begins to burn and I would scream if I could open my mouth. I was close this time. So close to leaving this house. She continues to paint my wings. She goes over them several times before she's finished. She smiles as she places me back in my room. The paint is so thick it drips off until it starts to dry making my room a little darker.

"Pretty wings."