3-14-05

Bedtime Story

(Mini disclaimer of DOOM. I do not own JTHM or any affiliated thingies, and anything read from books by Edward Gorey are his, and only his. No sue me, please.)

"I can read perfectly fine, you know."

"I'm aware of that, but parents are supposed to do this kind of stuff."

"Mon Dieu, Nny. I am not a child!"

"Technically, you ARE a minor."

"I'm a TEENAGER, Nny."

"Just humor me. Fourteen is still a child, no matter how you look at it."

"Fine, fine, just read already. I have to go to skool tomorrow."

"Alright. Thank you."

Nny opened the worn cover of a small book. It was by one of his favorite authors, a man by the name of Edward Gorey. Annette sighed in exasperation at the seemingly-infantile nature of the text, but soon her eyes were wide in shock.

"The way the others chose to go has been obscured by drifted snow..." Nny paused to enjoy his...daughter's reaction. She was grinning like a madwoman at the picture of a small group of people half-covered in snow.

Later, another passage made Annette cackle.

"The monuments above the dead are too eroded to be read."

She was enjoying it. This gave Nny a surprisingly warm kind of reaction. Since his return from prison, he had been trying to make more of an effort in the parental spectrum. Rarely had he been met with this kind of reaction. Usually it was nothing more than a polite giggle or a disinterested sigh. Perhaps Gorey would be a common interest between them.

"What was your favorite part, Annie?" Nny asked as nicely as he could once he had finished the book.

"I liked the part about the baby," she giggled back. "'The infant dead beside the path escaped the orphanage's wrath.' That was just lovely."

"Really? I suppose it would be..."

"Well, yes. The idea of this poor child who has died of hypothermia being lucky to get out of the orphanage it was raised in. It's a twisted, beautiful notion, really."

"I'm glad you think of it that way."

"This must have scared the hell out of 1940's America," sighed the girl longingly. "I would have loved to be around to see their faces when they read this..."

"You too?" Nny allowed himself a small grin.

Annette hugged her ragdolls tightly. A length of bandages on her wrist had come undone, a souvenir of the spat she'd had with one of the "guests" earlier. Nny reached out and retied it, being careful not to cut off circulation. Tourniquets were more his style, but it wouldn't do to have Annie be deprived of an appendage.

"Nny, you don't have to assist me-"

"It's a lot harder to tie it yourself. There. Better?"

"Yes...but do stop treating me like a child."

"I can't promise anything." A glance at Annette. "I will try, though."

"Merci."

"De rien."

"We need to work on your accent."

"You need to work on yours, too."

"Shut up, Nny."

"Want to go kill something?"

"Eh, why not? It's not like I really care much about skool anyway."

"There's a football kid in room Six you might have fun with."

"Oh, jocks. They are so penible."

"Yes. That one was irritating a group of elderly women outside of a church. I decided that he should be reprimanded. The more amusing weaponry is in room eight."

"I know. Meet you there in five; I have to change into my play clothes."

"Good girl."

Nny darted out of the room, leaving Annette to herself. She locked the door, crossed to her dresser, and slipped on the tattered shirt and jeans that she had used for years when working in the basement. Her long black gloves and old combat boots protected her extremities from both the cold and the gore, and a quick ponytail kept her wild hair out of her eyes. Perfect vision was a must when working around lethal equipment.

Just what had done this to her? Was it the house, so filled with death and terror? Perhaps it was even Nny himself, the madman in the mad house. More than likely it was her own choices and the path that she had chosen. If she had wanted, she could have let the court place her in a foster home and be rid of her old life once and for all.

Annette giggled. Like she'd ever do that. She put on her headphones, turned on Beethoven full blast, and skipped to the basement. She wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

After all, family had to stick together.