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The Infanite House
My fingers traced the curtains as I watched out into the bright daylight, smiling faintly as the other children play. The other curtains were drawn, leaving my bedroom in the dark. My bed, pushed up against one wall and the window, is stripped of all bedding that is strewn about the room, covering the bookcases and the computer. It was dark, making the white sheets looks like ghosts, haunting just over my head. Waiting for the General to make the command to attack.
Wisps of my dark hair fell into my face, making me look even more demonic. Between the deathly pale skin, scars that sketch my skin like roads on a map, and the tall, and slenderness of my body, I could have passed for the she-devil any day. Add my calico eyes- one green the other blue- and I could have just walked out of Hell. My maniac smile leaves my face as I watch two children motion to my home, my window. They had to be my age, not more than ten, yet they seemed so gentle; so weak under my iron grip.
They were both boys, dressed as all of the boys did now a days; jeans with tee shirts and hoodies. Today their tee shirts were blue, their hoodies red. They shared a look between their almost maroon eyes then shifted their gazes to my window. They didn’t know I was there; not really. It was just a window, a window where the child liked to watch them play.
The window where the child liked to watch for prey.
The window where the child liked to watch for who dared to come, to adventure away.
One boy slicked back his blonde hair, his face scared and confused. I had watched these two boys before, I was sure they were brothers. Although they were brothers, they acted nothing alike. The blonde one was cautious, analyzing everything there was to analyze. The one with brown hair, just a little bit lighter than my own, was more adventurous. As they talked I imagined what they could possibly be saying.
Did the Brunette want to come visit me?
Did Blonde not want to face me? Me, of all people. Me, the thirteenth child left to rot.
With careful eyes I watched as Blonde nervously nodded, his brother whooping for joy. This was going to be an adventure, one they would never forget.
I smiled as they ran across the street, the many other children barely realizing where the two were going. Barely realizing that their friends would soon meet the end that so many others have already.
I ducked from my room, walking down the creaky, wooden stairs silently from years of practice. I walk across the oak floor into the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it was old. It had a large fireplace, with an added in island directly in front of it. Above the island was a rusted silver chandelier with melted candles caked to the edges. Other add on were the granite counters and some retro appliances, like I said the house was old. It seemed to always be old, like an infinite house. The entire house was falling apart, cracking ceiling and breaking floors. Punch a wall and the house would crumble.
It was the perfect place for little boys to play.
Just as I was pulling myself up onto the chandelier I heard their footsteps coming onto the porch. One was laughing boisterously, I kind of laugh only a deadly child could make. So either him or I.
“You dolt!” One said angrily as the door screeched open. This voice was less one of a braggart but more of a scared child. It was definitely Blonde who was talking.
“What?” The other, Brunette, replied, “All I did was tell you the story!”
“Yes,” Blonde hissed, “you told me a story. A story about a girl who was supposed to live here. She was the thirteenth child, and all of that insult connected to that made her go mad. This drew the demons and she became a demon child! Now she feeds off the youth, happiness, and innocence of children! But that’s nothing, nothing is it Jack?! Just what I want to hear when I’m walking into her house!” Again I heard the boisterous laugh of who I presumed was Jack the Brunette.
“There’s nothing her…” Jack was cut off by the sound of my chandelier. I had begun to rock back and forth, pulling it a little bit looser from the ceiling. It was loud, the whining as it begged to be released from the ceiling.
Blonde whispered to Jack, so quietly that I could barely hear it. “Did you hear that?” I didn’t hear a reply but I’m sure that Jack was nodding. Or shaking his head as he silently begged God that it wasn’t true. That I, the girl of many names, was not real.
But Jack nodded and I heard their footsteps coming to me. It was Blonde who saw me first, dangling from the chandelier and smiling lazily, then Jack. They both stood there, dumb struck at the thought that I was real; it was too bad really. If they had sense they would have ran right away like the smart victims did.
It was Jack who recovered first, “Who are you?”
I my permanent smile broadened, showing off my many sharp teeth as I leapt from the chandelier. I landed noiselessly, but the chandelier however did not. It landed on top of the island with a loud, house quaking sound that shot Blonde from his petrified state.
“Me?” I finally answered, circling them like a prize dog at the show. “I go by many names. Demon Child, She-Devil, Little Death, Broken Girl, or my favorite…” I paused then so that I could look them both in the eye, holding them there with only my gaze.
The dust in the air from the chandelier falling clouded the room, making it almost impossible to see through the thickness; impossible to anything but my calico eyes.
I smiled, my teeth flashing, “Thirteenth Child.”
It was then did Blonde bolt, leaving his brother to die. He ran for the front door, but with a flip of my hand the large doors flew closed. Jack was petrified with fear as I skipped over to Blonde.
“Aren’t I what you wanted to see? The legend? That’s what everyone else came for.” My smile glimmered into a frown before going back.
“No. I came because my brother dared me to. Now I would really like to go home. Our mother expects us home by sundown.” Blonde pretended to seem as calm as I moved closer, inspecting him. But I knew better, I saw the tears building in his eyes. Now it was Jack’s turn to run, but not out the door. Like an honorable man, or in this case boy, he stepped to his brother’s side.
“But aren’t you going to stay for dinner?” I asked properly. “It would be rude not to.” I watched as Jack took Blonde’s hand and led him into a run. I smiled and skipped after their pounding feet silently.
They were fliers not fighters, far more fun to kill.
They plowed through the first floor, finding no way out. They didn’t know I was right there with them as they hid in the closet, how could I? I was a phantom, often too fast for the human eye to catch.
“Maybe the basement?” One asked, probably Jack. “There could be a bulkhead.”
“No, it would just be a storm cellar,” Blonde answered. “What about upstairs? You remember, the ladder out the window!”
Jack paused before replying, “But Darrel, what if she follows us?! What if she’s already there?! It’s her room after all.” So Blonde’s name was Darrel…
“You remember how silent she was? How it seemed like she never touched the floor? How when she jumped from the chandelier she made no sound? Maybe it’s because she’s light! Maybe we could throw her to one side then run for window!” Darrel replied happily; glad to have an orderly plan.
“What if she just never hit the floor and that’s why she was so quiet.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Then we run super-fast.” Darrel said his breath calming. It had gone erratic when the chandelier fell and only got worse as the day continued.
Jack nodded and glanced at the door. “Ready?” He asked.
Darrel nodded back, “On three.”
That was the last thing I heard before I sank into the shadows and away into nothingness.
I was sitting on my bed when Jack opened the door. It was too dark in that room to see me; he didn’t know I was there. But just like before he could sense it.
“Ready?” He asked, not wanting to go through the door but knowing he had to. I saw the shadow of Darrel’s head bobbing in reply.
They stepped into the room, quivering like feathers. They didn’t see me, no, but they saw my ghost friends. They saw the piercing white as the breeze coming from through the window whipped them here and there.
I saw as they looked around for me, I knew it would be my only chance. I knew it would be my only chance to hunt my prey before they disappeared through my window. With a deep breath, I pounced to Jack.
Darrel was right, I was as light as one could be and not be blown away; even then it was hard for me to face even this light breeze. Jack stuck to the plan and began to push me away from his brother and the window. Little did they know it was the worst thing they could have done for themselves
The moment my skin touched his skin the boy began to grow, a teenager, then a man. Until finally he became an old man. In only seconds Jack had lost his childhood, his hair and any chance of hope. In his last seconds of his life I flashed him a newly rejuvenated smile, no fangs. I looked like a normal little girl. Jack fell to the ground, no longer struggling under the pain of me stealing his life. He collapsed a pile of dust.
Darrel stood awestruck once more by the death of his brother, but began to run for the window as I made my way toward him. I caught the sleeve of his hoodie, and stepped on the shoelaces of his sneakers. Darrel fell to the ground with a grunt and turned onto his back to fight me off. Without hesitation I sat the boy stomach. Darrel wasn’t stupid, he knew he was going to die the same painful way his brother did.
“Just one question,” Darrel looked terrified, his tears spilling now, “Why do you do this? Why does anyone need to do this?”
I smiled gently at the scared little boy then pressed my finger against his temple. He screamed then writhed in pain.
“I do it because it’s what people expect me to do. I do it because even misfits need to live, no matter how much it hurts them. These scars? Each one of you, my little deaths have sewn their ways into my skin. Each one of you sense 1976.”
Darrel collapsed into a pile of dust just as my sentence finished. The wind picked up then, carrying him and his brother out the window and to mingle with the other dust mites.
I fell to my bed, curling into a ball as two more cuts began to etch their way into my wrist painfully; mercilessly. I looked like a normal girl, a normal girl with calico eyes and scars telling their stories on her skin.
I may have looked normal, but on the inside I was anything but. I was a killer.
I was a Demon Child
I was She-Devil, Little Death, Broken Girl.
I was the Thirteenth Child, from the time I was born. Long before my first kill. Long before 1976