My Life as a Maid

I opened my eyes, blinked once or twice, and lay looking at the dirty grey ceiling for a couple of minutes, before getting out of bed. I stood up and looked at all the creases in my uniform, and then smiled at the ribbon still wrapped around my right thumb.

I opened my door and found the mop, brush and scrubber waiting for me outside. I'd made a plan in my head for cleaning the house yesterday: sweep first, scrub the banisters and clean the kitchens, then mop last, and then do anything else that needed to be fixed up. I started at the basement like usual. The basement was probably the smallest part of the house, but it was most likely the dirtiest part. That was the first thing I'd noticed.

In the basement, there was my room, the new laundry room, and the wine cellar. Out of these three rooms, the new laundry room was probably the cleanest. I hated going into the wine cellar, the smell of alcohol inside was overpowering. In fact it could be smelled outside the room. I'd hold my breath for as long as I could and clean as quickly as possible, wiping dust from the lids of the wine bottles and removing stains from the wooden shelves.

I got a bit of a shock this morning when I saw the Master of House near the back of the room, taking down a bottle of Chardonnay. He turned the bottle on its side, looking for the year. I stalled as long as possible, pretending to be dealing with a particularly difficult stain. But he turned around and saw me scrubbing at nothing like an idiot.

"I see you have your uniform, Flaky," he noted.

"Yes, sir," I said, turning around to face him and flicking a loose piece of hair behind my shoulder.

"The butler found it for you, then?"

I was about to open my mouth to say no, that Flippy did, but instead I just said, "Y-Yes, sir, he did."

He nodded. "So, are you liking this maid service, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good. We go through a lot of workers here but none have ever stayed with us for more than two weeks."

"Really, sir?" I asked, pretending I didn't know what he was talking about.

"Yes. We had two other girls in before you, recently enough, but they left. Something about having problems with Flippy. Anyways, they left and we haven't heard much about them since. I hope he's okay with you. He is, isn't he?"

"H-He... Yes, sir. Yes he's... fine."

The Master of House nodded again. "That's good. He's a strange boy, you know."

He invited me to walk with him back to his study. I was about to tell him I had work but he insisted, so I accompanied him to his study. Our walk was spent in silence, but I wasn't about to complain.

"Thank you," he said, when we stopped at the door.

"Yes, sir," I replied and left him. When I turned around, I was certain my heart skipped a beat. Flippy stood staring at me, his eyes locked on mine. His eyes were narrowed, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or confused. Silent moments ticked by, until he spoke.

"You were talking with my father?" he asked. He was gone psycho again. His voice seemed to lift a little when he was weird like this; it had more of an edge to it. And his eyes were brighter, alert and aware.

"Y-Yes," I replied, hoping someone would notice me and tell me to get back to work. But, besides the butler, there wasn't really anyone I could rely on.

"What did he say to you?"

"N-Nothing," I stammered, mentally smacking myself for saying something so stupid. I tried not to scream when Flippy grabbed me. He led me a little way from his father's study and pushed me against the wall, holding me in place with his strong hands on my trembling shoulders.

After a second, he smiled down at me in an almost friendly manner, and said, "I won't hurt you if you tell the truth. Just tell me what my father said, sweetheart."

"H-He asked me i-if I was f-finding things o-okay here," I told him. Flippy tensed up a little and pressed down a little more on my shoulders, inspecting me carefully.

"And what did you tell him?" he asked.

"I-I said I w-was. Th-that I was perfectly f-fine."

"You didn't tell him about our games?"

"N-No."

"Not one word?"

"I-I swear."

Flippy relaxed then and let go of my shoulders, smiling once again. "Well, that's good. We wouldn't want you fired, am I right?"

"Y-Yes," I whispered. Flippy grinned and patted me on the head.

"Hm. I really don't like it when people spread news about me, sweetheart. It usually ends up badly for them."

I tried not to whimper at that last remark. Flippy turned and took a step away, then turned back again.

"You're missing your ribbon," he said suddenly. I remembered the ribbon around my finger and untied it. Flippy stepped in front of me and took it. He moved my hair out of the way and laced it around my neck, tying it in a little bow at my collar bone. He watched me carefully for a moment, scrutinizing.

"You know," he said, pulling me a little closer with the ribbon, "they say that if you tie a ribbon around a cat's neck, you'll always know the cat's yours if you see it wandering about. I guess now I can't lose you, hm?"

I didn't know what to say in response, but Flippy had already turned around and was walking away. He looked at me over his shoulder and called, "I'll see you later, then."

After that, I ran downstairs to pick up my cleaning things and got working hard and fast. I needed something to stop my hands from shaking. I stopped outside Flippy's room, wondering if he was inside. I pushed open the door to find it empty. I breathed out, relieved. I scrubbed and polished his bed and drawers, then dusted off every surface in the room before mopping. Once, I saw the knife lying on the table. There was a drop of rusted blood there - my blood.

I passed the butler on the third floor; he looked at his watch when he saw me sweeping the floor. I pretended not to notice, although my flaming cheeks and paranoid expression gave me away.

"Are you alright?" he asked me.

"I-I'm fine, sir," I told him, nodding frantically.

"Let me know if something goes wrong, then."

"I will, sir," I assured him, and ran off.

I went to the kitchen to collect my dinner of mashed potatoes and carrots. To stall, I ate in the kitchen under the watchful eye of the chef. I noticed she coughed quite a bit, and that made me paranoid about eating my dinner. Half a plate of carrots and potatoes was dumped into the bin.

I walked as slowly as I could back to my room, wanting to savour the time I had before Flippy started playing games with me again. However, I started to worry about making him impatient, and walked faster. By the time I came to my room, I was running helter-skelter. I crashed into the door with a small bang. Luckily I had one hand out to stop me doing any damage to my head.

I stepped inside and sat down on my bed, about to change out of my uniform, when I heard noise from Flippy's room. Carefully, I stood up and listened. There was a groaning, a sort of animalistic snarl, and then silence. I was quick to move away from the chute when the noise of Flippy's footsteps came closer.

"You're back to me fairly late, sweetheart," he said. "Long day? Or maybe... You were hiding from me?"

"N-No," I stammered. "O-Of course n-not."

"I see. What should we play today, then, my dear?"

"I-I don't know," I said, cringing at the use of the word 'my'.

"Actually, I have a different idea," said Flippy. I held my breath. "You're from the countryside, right?"

"I-I am."

"So naturally, you can sing well."

"W-Well, I'm not v-very good," I told him.

"I won't hear it. Now, sing something for me. But wait; give me your hand first."

I sat at the bottom of the chute, and stuck my hand up for him. His hand met mine, and he held onto my shaking fingers lightly.

"Sing for me," he ordered.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and sang. I don't know what I sang at first, just la-ing notes up and down in a melody. I found singing for Flippy was a lot harder than singing to my Mother. Nevertheless, I did my best and kept singing for him, for fear of what would happen if I didn't. When I finished, Flippy breathed out contently.

"More," he ordered. "Sing more songs for me, sweetheart."

I sang him some old songs my Mother had taught me, songs of heartbreak and confusion, and songs for clear thoughts and happiness. Flippy kept asking for more and more songs, and I sang for him until I couldn't think of anything else, when I'd run out of songs and melodies.

"Beautiful," said Flippy when I'd finished. "I knew you could sing. Would that mean... You were lying to me?"

"N-No, of course n-not," I assured him hastily. "I-I just d-don't think I'm v-very good."

"I think you are," he said, gripping my hand a little tighter. "I think your voice is beautiful. You shouldn't be working as a maid here; you could be a professional singer, you know. But, then I'd have no company." He laughed. "So, you'll have to stay here, sweetheart, and sing songs for me instead. I'll be your audience. Now, I'll have to think of a quick game to play. It's getting late, isn't it? Almost midnight, you know. I'm almost sure you've been avoiding me. You just sit there and let me think for a minute, my dear."

I sat waiting for whatever he would think of, my hand still hanging limply in his. Flippy was humming, thinking. I didn't move, but I could still feel myself shaking. Finally, he spoke.

"I've thought of something, sweetheart. Want to hear about it?"

"Okay," I said.

"This game's a telling game. You can only tell the truth. If not, you get a punishment. But you're a good girl, aren't you sweetheart? You'll play fair."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Okay, then. I'll ask you the first question: What do you think about me, darling?"

I paused, my hand frozen in his. "I-I... You... W-Well, I think y-you're a... a nice person..."

"Are you sure?" Flippy asked in a sing-song voice. "It doesn't sound that way. Your hand is gone icy-cold, sweetheart. I think you're lying to me. And you know I don't like liars."

I bit my lip and shut my eyes tightly when he pinched me hard. I tasted blood on my lip and whimpered.

"Now, sweetheart," said Flippy. "Tell the truth like a good girl should."

"I... Y-You're a little s-scary, and your g-games are a little t-too much for m-me."

"Ah," said Flippy. "Now that is definitely the truth. I can tell in the way you talk, the way you act around me, like your heart has stopped for just a second. It's amusing though. Second question, dear: are we friends? Best friends?"

I could feel my lower lip shaking rapidly. I certainly wouldn't consider Flippy a friend, not willingly but he seemed quite expectant. So I said, "Y-Yes, we're f-friends."

"Best friends?" asked Flippy.

I nodded as a tear ran down my face. "Best friends."