This story has been changed to have a different ending. I prefer this version better because I'm not a fan of the one I wrote about two years ago. I hope you enjoy. :) Slowly, I'll be editing all these short stories.
Layla's Gift
2012 © All Rights Reserved
Sometimes the past comes back for revenge.
"What are you going to name her?" Rachel asked her daughter, Layla.
Layla looked at her new doll, pondering on the question she was asked. She scanned the porcelain doll up and down. Twirling the brown curly hair of the doll around her finger and looking into the black fake eyeballs. "I'm gonna name her Lacy."
"What.. What made you pick that name?"
Layla shrugged her shoulders, using her index finger to caress the doll's cheek. "It fits her."
Rachel didn't respond, she just put the doll away and tucked in her eight year old daughter for bed. With a quick peck on the forehead, she proceeded to leave the room.
"Mommy." Layla called out before her mother left the room.
Rachel turned to see what her child wanted. "What is it honey?" she spoke with a soft motherly voice.
"Lacy doesn't like you." Layla frowned after saying those words, as if she were confused.
"Oh." was all Rachel could say, she looked at the doll before walking out of the room and closing the door.
While walking to her room, she could hear the faint laughter of her daughter. She would have went in there and asked why she was laughing, but she didn't want to step in that room for the rest of the night.
Rachel tiptoed into her bedroom, trying to be careful not to wake her husband, but as she slipped into bed she saw her husband, Richard was wide awake.
"Does she like the gift?" he asked his wife, giving a quick peck on her cheeks.
"Yeah." Rachel turned away from her husband, ready to go to sleep.
"What's wrong?" he asked, sensing the change of atmosphere in his wife.
"Nothing." Rachel tried to push the subject away by giving short, vague replies.
"I know you, darlin'. Something's wrong." he continued to use his caring voice.
"She named the doll Lacy." Rachel blurted out, hoping to shut him up.
Richard left the topic alone and turned away from his wife, ready to catch some shut eye after the long day they had. Rachel and Richard found it hard to sleep, but as they let their minds rest, they quickly fell into deep sleep.
Rachel shot up from her sleep to the sound of a thumping sound downstairs.
"Richard." she shook her husband awake, he made some grumbling noises in return. "There was some noises downstairs."
"It's probably your imagination Rach." he spoke into his pillow.
More thumping noises followed, making Richard wake up entirely and on full alert. He walked out the bedroom with a firm grip on a baseball bat incase he had to attack any intruders inside of his house. How many people could there be? One? Five? There wasn't a way to be sure and he didn't want to find out. Maybe it's just rats or tree branches hitting the side of the house.
Rachel sat in the room alone with the home phone in her hand. She dialed 911 after hearing the thumping noises a few more times, but didn't press the call button just yet. She began to get up from her bed and proceed to the door. Her hands shook as she grasped onto the metal doorknob. She felt an evil prescence in her home, but couldn't bare the thought of her husband being on his own.
Breathe in. Breathe out. She slammed the door opened and was greeted with an eerie silence. A silence that made her heart pound and mind race to different conclusions. She didn't have a weapon, so how was she going to protect herself?
As she began to walk slowly across the carpet, she felt as if someone was behind her. She didn't stop or turn around, she just kept walking. She thought that would help, but it didn't. Rachel still felt that evil presence behind her, following behind her closely, probably laughing inside their head at how vulnerable she was.
As she reached the staircase, she turned around to be greeted with no one behind her. With a sigh of relief, she walked downstairs. "Richard?" she called out, hoping he would respond and her nerves would be calmed.
A few more thumps echoed throughout the house and her heart sunk in her chest. She pressed the call button and held the phone against her ear. "911, what's your emergency?" a woman's voice spoke from the other side of the phone.
"I think there's someone in my house." she began to cry to the woman.
"Okay ma'am, I'm going to trace your call. You need to stay on the phone with me, can you do that?" her voice was professional sounding and had a hint of weariness in her tone.
"Yes." Rachel's voice was shaky, but she still responded, trying to stay calm.
She walked into the living room, it was dark and quiet. The only comfort she had was the 911 operator speaking to her. "Is there anyone else in the house?"
"Yes. My daughter and husband." Rachel answered the question as she walked through the living room.
"Are they okay?" the woman kept asking questions.
"I don't know." tears fell from Rachel's eyes.
She entered the kitchen slowly and dropped hard on her knees. Her heart felt like it was being set on fire until what used to be her heart was in ashes. On her floor lied her husband, dead. His intestines were pulled out, lying next to him. The blood pool around him just kept getting bigger and finally reached his wife's feet. She snapped into realization that the killer could still be there. Before she could react, she was on the ground.
A sharp pain came from the back of her feet, like someone slashed them. The pain shot up through her body, forcing out a scream. In the process of falling, the phone slid out of her hand. Rachel tried with all the power in her body to get up and run, but she miserably failed. She crawled through the blood of her husband to reach the phone. Another sharp pain after another in her back and she finally gave up hope. She could feel the life draining from her body. Rachel somehow managed to use the rest of her strength to flip her body over to see her attacker.
It was her daughter, her own flesh and blood. Something shined in the young girl's eyes. Madness. Whoever it was, she didn't recognize as the little girl she gave birth to. She thought she was dreaming, that somehow the blood loss was making her hallucinate, but sadly she knew what she was seeing was real. "Layla," She cried out. "Why?"
No response came from her. The last image she saw was Layla slicing into her skin until she died from the amount of blood loss.
The police arrived too late. Rachel and Richard were dead, but Layla was very much alive in her room, sleeping away in her bed with blood soaked clothes.
After evaluations were done on Layla, they saw her as unstable and placed her into an institution where she would be watched closely.
Two years after the death of her parents, Layla let out some secrets she was holding in about the death of her parents.
"How are you feeling today, Layla?" her therapist, Tara asked her in that usual calm, but happy tone.
"I know who killed them." Layla lowered her head, fiddling with her fingers.
The therapist leaned in closer to Layla, obviously eager to know the truth behind the brutal killings. The therapist knew Layla was the one behind it, but she needed to know more. "Who killed them?" she asked.
"My sister." she looked up at the therapist, studying her facial expression.
"You don't have a sister." Tara was confused with this new piece of information Layla told her.
"Not anymore." Layla's voice turned cold. Tara stayed silent, waiting for her to continue on. "My mom and dad killed her."
"How?" Tara was on the edge of her seat, listening eagerly.
Layla shrugged her shoulders and turned to her doll, that sat next to her on the couch. "Her name was Lacy and her spirit lives in my doll now." Layla had a huge smile on her face while the therapists face showed only fear.
Tara looked over at the doll, watching it closely. It didn't turn it's head and smile like she imagined it would. But a grin of malice showed up on Layla's face, a grin of victory.
With a shaky voice, the therapist turned her focus back on Layla. "How was she killed?" Her eyes never left Layla for a second. Even though she was a young girl, Tara knew what she was capable of.
Layla put her ear up to the doll's mouth, nodding her head every few seconds. She then looked back at her therapist. "Ever heard of a miscarriage?"
Tara nodded her head. "That's how she died? That can't be your mom and dad's fault."
"Mom was drinking and doing lots of bad things while dad let her." Layla stopped to take a peak at her doll. "I personally think they deserved it."
Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who is reading, commenting and voting. It means the world to me. :)
Love, Anna.