Devil In A White Dress

Seventy Four

His hands were tied up. A bandage placed on the injured hand. Piss in his pants, and sweat soaked the pillow he was lying and breathing profusely on. Timothy couldn't turn his head to face the figure standing there waiting for his movement in the dark room.

At approximately 6:30 in the evening, Emma walked round the bed with  sharp scissors in hand. She hoped unto the bed and wrapped her arm around Timothy the timid. He was reminded of the nightmare that displayed in his mind.

The baby Emma clutching the knife in bed. Ready to stab till her own heart bled out. Timothy felt like her very own teddy bear. While she brushed her palms around his body, he felt the coldness of the steel twin blades. His spine started twisting and churning because of the way Emma breathed on his neck. That rancid stench of blood filled his nostrils; for a second, Timothy felt the urge to puke.

Emma rubbed her nose through his hair, fascinated that this beautiful smell did remind her of Willie. When Timothy started squealing, Emma smiled with great pleasure. She enjoyed listening to him yelp and cry for mercy. Timothy thought she was going to stab him in the waist, so he kept positioning himself face first on the pillow, but Emma kept turning him back. Her sadistic nature was just too implausible.

For Timothy, it felt like Emma was there in physical form but without a soul. Her soul died with Peter and Willie years ago. If Timothy were to ever look Emma deep in her eyes again, he would find nothing but emptiness. A human without consciousness.

She maliciously pressed the tip of the scissors against Timothy's back, inflicting an absolute amount of fear that paralyzed him.

"Please.....please don't kill me," Timothy pleaded feverishly. Tears fell down, not because he was scared to death. Because he didn't feel brave anymore. The last moment he had the courage to confront the psychopath, it only failed miserably.

"We are all going to die, Timothy," Emma whispered ravishingly, pressing the tip even harder. Timothy broke down into a silent sob, "You shouldn't be afraid to die. Willie used to be scared of the dark a lot. Anytime his father came home late from his comedy show, he'd run into the attic to hide. I catch him there all the time, but what bothered me was when Willie told me face to face, that "mommy, you won't believe the crazy nightmares I've been having lately".

I looked him in the eyes and asked him, 'What do you dream of when I'm not around?' Then he tells me, 'I keep dreaming about a woman in a WHITE dress. I'm tied up, while seated in the kitchen table with dad. We're both gagged and scared. Then this woman in WHITE walks by and shoots both of us in the head.'

Throughout the days, I thought Willie was just like every other kid who loved to fantasize and didn't know what's real. Until October ninth, I then realized my son wasn't kidding. He knew I'd flip, that's why he kept quiet. That is why when I smiled and looked at him with the knife in my hand, Willie remained silent. My son saw it coming. But dear Peter, oh, I can't say much about him though.

The last thing I remember about Peter, was when we danced on a rainy night. You see, Timothy, I may have lost my entire consciousness on that dreadful day, but after I opened my eyes and saw the house burning, I liked what I saw.

You see, Timothy, the moral of the story is, I don't feel sorry for what I do. And I certainly will not feel sorry for what I'm going to do to you and your family."

Emma slashed the skin of Timothy's left arm, he yelped in pain, but she covered his mouth to block the screams. She did it again, this time, carving a cross on his elbow. Timothy struggled to free himself, but Emma's grasp was compared to the strength of a grizzly bear.

Angered, Emma recklessly tossed him to her front for the latter to make eye contact again. To his disbelief, Emma's beauty had completely turned grotesque and frightening. She hushed him to keep quiet, placing one finger to her lips before carefully digging the scissors into the skin and carving it round his face.

Was she going to carve Timothy's face off?

He refused to comply anyway. With all his young energy and power, Timothy kicked his legs to Emma's waist for her to fall off. Nothing he did was working. He needed to act fast, but the scissors being used to cut his skin drew unbearable pain that fluttered his thinking.

Timothy just wouldn't stop fidgeting, and that pissed Emma off. She furiously grabbed him by the face, menacing claws wrapped around his nose and mouth as though suffocating the kid. Her left hand, which held the scissors, was used to lift his shirt up. His tummy now exposed, Emma dipped the blade into the skin, and slowly began to carve the first letter 'B'.

After screaming in massive pain, Timothy swung his tied hands straight to Emma's left eye, immediately deteriorating her sight of vision. Timothy flew out of bed and unto the wooden floor, slithering to reach the door and reunite with his family. It failed again.

Emma furiously dragged him back by the left foot, taking off his black Slip-Off. She had moved so fast, Timothy believed she was going to kill him right there. Her arm flung around his neck, with the hand clutching his nose and mouth, and the knife was pointed directly at his jugular vein.

She did that just so Timothy would calm down. When he listened to her, Emma began rocking Timothy like a baby, silently humming the lullaby Morningtown Ride; the one she had sang to Willie in the past.

"You want to see your family, you little piece of shit?", she asked in a crooked tone while stroking Timothy's hair with the scissors, "I suggest you close your eyes. What you're about to see will give you the creeps."