Amanda sat motionless locked in the small room under the basement stairs. She had been crying, and yelling, for the past twenty minutes without success. She looked around now, but all she could see besides darkness was the thin line of light creeping out from under the door. She guessed that it was better than if there was no light at all, but it did not make her surroundings any more visible. She knew the room well enough by light, having been locked inside before, and she even knew how to navigate in the dark. She still hated it.
Amanda reached in front of her, standing cautiously, and tried to force the doorknob open with her tiny, five year old hands. The knob wouldn't budge, and her sweaty hands made it harder to hold onto. She tried kicking the door, but it remained shut. Perhaps if she was as strong as her father, the one who kept locking her in there, she would be able to tear the door down with her fists and her body. He had been able to slam his fist through walls, after all.
Her mother said that Amanda was lucky that her father only locked her up when he was angry, or when she had misbehaved. She said that her father had a nasty temper and he could hurt her if she got in his way when he was angry. Locking her up was his way of keeping himself from really hurting her.
Amanda still hated it. The room was so small, and dark, and she just knew that there were mice running around next to her. She always cried and begged him to let her go as he dragged her to this room. Even if she tried to run, or hide, he always found her. She would pound on the door until her small hands hurt, scream until her voice was hoarse and raspy, and cry under she thought she had no tears left, but it never did any good. He'd always ignore her and leave her there for what felt like eternity. Sometimes, it would be nighttime, or even the next day, when he unlocked the door.
He always dragged her out the way he dragged her in, as though afraid that Amanda would protest and want to stay in the room. Recently, she began to wonder what would happen if she bit his hand, hard, when it reached in to grab her. The thrill of it sometimes seemed to offset whatever punishment he could give her, but she felt guilty thinking about it. He always made her feel guilty, and stupid, and Amanda had no choice but to believe him.
She plopped down on the floor, trying not to care as the cement hit her butt. She winced and let out a low, pitiful noise as this occurred, but stopped after a minute. No one was there to hear her, or care.
Amanda's father had told her the room's dimensions, once, but to Amanda the numbers were meaningless. What she knew was that she could walk two feet in any direction before hitting her head. Towards the left side, the ceiling sloped downwards until Amanda could not touch the bottom even if she was lying on the floor with her arms outstretched. When she did that, only once, her mother yelled at her because she would get dirt all over herself, and her father would threaten to send her back down there.
One of the hardest parts about being in the room was not being able to see anything. Amanda could easily bump her head against the wooden wall because she had taken too many steps, or too large of a step. This happened almost every time she was in the room. She also knew that monsters lurked within the walls, and would appear out of thin air whenever her father locked her up. They would make horrible noises, wailing and hissing, and even try to chase her. She knew there were ghosts in the room as well. Amanda wished she had her stuffed rabbit with her, Snowflake, because the rabbit protected her against monsters at night and could do the same thing here. But she never had time to get her rabbit, and she knew that even if she did have time, her father would rip the bunny out of her hands.
Maybe the monsters would eat Snowflake, she thought now, trying to reassure herself. She's happy now, on my bed. She wouldn't want to be here.
Fighting monsters at night was a hard job, and maybe it wasn't fair to extend the rabbit's workload into the day.
Suddenly, Amanda heard footsteps, but they didn't sound like her father's. They were light but intense, almost like the sneakers Amanda wore. They didn't make the THUMP thump THUMP noise her father's bare feet made.
Her heart raced. She got up, hit her head on the ceiling, and began to run at the door, pounding on it as she fell.
"Lemme out!" she screamed.
Maybe it was Liz. Her older sister was eight, and sometimes disobeyed their parents, but not as much as Amanda. Or at least, she wasn't punished as much as Amanda.
"Liz, lemme out!" she yelled again, head hurting. She put her right hand to her forehead and found wet stuff. Blood.
Amanda could hear the button pop out of the socket, unlocking the door. Seconds later, the door opened and she tried to run out, but fell face forward into the figure that had freed her. She heard a stifled giggle, and then a hand reached down to help her up. Once on her feet, Amanda looked at the person who had freed her, thinking that maybe it had been her mother.
A young woman with wavy blonde hair smiled nervously back at her. She wore black jeans and a big white shirt that had a word written at the top Amanda couldn't read.
"Are you okay, honey?" the woman asked, now crouching before her and briefly touching her arms, shoulders, legs, and stomach. "Anything hurt?"
Amanda shook her head, suddenly shy. She tried to wipe the blood off her forehead.
"Oooh, let me see that." The hand pushed Amanda's aside, but it was more gentle than her mother's hands were. Much more than her father's. "Let's wash that off, and get you a bandaid," the woman soothed, reaching for Amanda's blood free hand. "What were you doing in there, silly goose?"
"Locked in," Amanda replied, taking the hand eagerly. "You saved me."
The woman laughed again as they started to climb the stairs. "I suppose so, but how did you get locked in? Were you playing hide and go seek with your sister?"
Amanda shook her head. "He did it," she explained, pointing to the hunched over figure in the corner of the room.
"Damn right I did," he snarled, standing ferociously. Amanda hid behind the woman. "Who in hell said you could let her out?"
He was drunk, again. Amanda saw the woman shake slightly, but she didn't cower before him as Amanda had always done.
"I was spraying for termites and heard the little girl pounding on the door," the woman replied, raising her voice with each word. "You knew that she was there?"
"'Course I knew, bitch, I put 'er there," he replied, advancing.
The woman stepped back, nearly tripping over Amanda. The small girl yelped loudly without intending to.
"Sorry, honey," the woman said, turning to the girl briefly. "Are you all right?" With Amanda's nod, the woman turned her attention back to the man. "You should be ashamed of yourself, locking her up in that filthy closet! I ought to call the police on you." She paused. "They might even take this sweet girl away from you."
"Eh take her and stop whining, bitch," the man replied, slumping back onto his saggy chair. "She's a worthless brat and a drain on her family."
The woman paused and Amanda's heart sunk. She knew it had been too good to be true.
"Why on earth would you lock up your own daughter?" she asked, reaching down to pick up Amanda.
"None of your business," growled the man, reaching to get out of his seat. "If you don't want her, get your termite stuff and get your fat ass out of here. If you do want her, get your stuff and take her with you."
"Snowflake!" Amanda whispered. "I need my bunny."
The woman nodded and addressed another issue. "Can I take her clothing?"
The man snorted. "Bitch, take anything in that room of hers. But if Liz wants anything, give it to her or you'll be sorry."
The woman turned back to Amanda, who was sitting uncomfortably in her arms. "Do you want to go with me?" she asked.
"Yes," Amanda whispered.
"Show me where your room is."
"Upstairs on the right," Amanda replied, not daring to raise her voice to normal level.
The woman nodded and started walking randomly until she found the stairs. From there, it was easy to find Amanda's room. She put Amanda down on the floor.
"I want you to get cleaned up while I pack your things," the woman instructed, kneeling down to Amanda's level. "Can you do that, sweetie?"
Amanda nodded and left the room. The woman looked around the room and sighed.
The room was not much larger than the closet the woman had found the child in. There was a bed that took up most of the room, and it was unsteady. Inches from the bed was a closet, where she found Amanda's clothes, toys, and a very small bag resembling a suitcase or a duffle bag. Since Amanda's closet didn't have many clothes in it, though (only two drabby dresses and one skirt with a tear on it), it seemed rather appropriate. On the right side of the closet were things that couldn't be hung up, like underwear, pants, socks, shirts, and nightgowns. There were about three pairs of each. She managed to put everything into the bag by the time Amanda came back.
"I need Snowflake," Amanda whispered.
"Who's she, honey?" the woman asked, looking around. Perhaps it was some sort of security blanket?
"My bunny." Amanda pointed to the white lump on her bed that was missing an eye and had a badly mended ear. There were specks of brown all over it, and she had a feeling it was from dirt. It was half as big as the girl.
She wouldn't have guessed what it was and didn't want to touch the rabbit with a pole, let alone her bare hands, but it seemed important to the little girl. She picked up the rabbit, gingerly, and handed it to Amanda, who hugged it to her chest.
"Do you need anything that's on your bed?" she asked, looking dubious. The covers were torn and looked like they hadn't been washed in months. They smelled terrible. The pillows weren't much better.
Fortunately, Amanda shook her head. "We can go," she said, tugging at the woman's pants.
"Okay. You hold this—" She handed the suitcase to Amanda, "—and I'll get my supplies from downstairs. Wait here and do not move an inch until I get back."
Amanda nodded. "I don't want to say goodbye to him," she said, making a face.
"You don't have to." The woman sighed. "Just wait here, sweetheart."
"Okay." Amanda plopped onto her bed for what she knew would be the last time ever.
This didn't make her sad.
A/N: Five reviews needed before I write the next chapter. First person who can correctly identify the woman gets the chapter dedicated to them. Hint: It's someone we've seen before in the movies.