It's that time of year again. Halloween is in the air! Most of you have probably outgrown the tradition to trick-or-treat, but it never hurts to get into the "spirit". So as promised, I wrote a little something to do just that.
I've been listening to Melaine Martinez lately, and watching Gravity Falls, so they've inspired me to write this to an extent. Ms. Martinez's song, Dollhouse, particularly got my attention. It's quite creepy and slightly unsettling, but the lyrics are well-written and laced with emotion, so I've incorporated it in this entry.
I won't give anything else away to keep the story fresh, so happy reading, and happy Halloween!
Hey girl, open the walls, play with your dolls
We'll be a perfect family.
When you walk away, it's when we really play
From the moment she was born, she knew nothing but tenderness and privilege. Even the other wealthy children in the elusive gated town would marvel in awe at the multitude of lavish indulgences she'd receive. Her father would carefully strap her atop a pedigreed mustang, and her mother would brush her ginger hair, recounting a heroic fairytale tale.
But what the outsiders never saw was that otherwise, they'd just hand her a doll to pacify her energy, leaving to do god knows what.
No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens
Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen.
"Never go in that room, you hear? The moment you touch that door handle, you're dead to me." he'd reprimand.
At first his words sounded snide, and a crystalline tear rolled down her fresh-faced cheek the first time he said it.
The second time, she simply listened, nodding mechanically.
By the eighth time, she rolled her eyes. It had simply become another one of her father's irritating little eccentricities.
Places, places, get in your places
Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces.
"Theresa, haven't I taught you how to sit still, or do I need to go over this again?" her mother hissed beneath her forced smile.
"And James, how many of these stupid photos do we need to take? It seems like we're posing for these superficial images every day, and for what? To syndicate a wholesome family image?" she muttered at her husband.
Theresa simply bit her lip, looking away.
Don't argue, don't intervene. Just keep smiling and pose for the picture.
Everyone thinks that we're perfect
Please don't let them look through the curtains.
By her eighteenth birthday, the golden handle seemed to intoxicate her with an unquelled pang of temptation. After the war had ended and she parted with the only friends she genuinely trusted, her life was bland. Tasteless. Meaningless. It seemed like her only purpose was to pose for a picture in her laced dresses, and flash a smile for the cameras. So it wasn't really a surprise that she set her mind to finding out what exactly was behind that famed door after she deemed that she had nothing better to do, and the local newspaper had taken a rain check on their scheduled interview with her and her father.
Once she assured herself that he had left for another conference with a local stockbroker, Theresa quietly slipped out of her room and into the hallway, making her way past framed certificates and beaming family photos.
The metal handle was surprisingly frigid and dull, which gave her the impression that it hadn't been opened in ages, and it took quite a bit of force to break the lock and get the door to open.
From there, it all seemed to happen in an instant.
A box tipped over, and a slew of I.D. cards poured out, dozens of painted dollar bills were hanging by a clothespin above her, and a pile lie next to a dusty printer. And there, hanging prissily on the walls were orchestrated family pictures. Glass shattered, kitchen knife protruding from one, and marker staining the eyes of the family on another in an unnerving X shape.
Call it sheer coincidence, but half-melted candles were right below it. In a perfect circle formation.
D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E
I see things that nobody else sees.
Her heart raced, blood roaring in her ears.
So this was her "family". Manipulative frauds and cons that made money off of people's ignorance. Not to mention they were full-blown psychopaths. To say the least, it was a stark contrast to the glowing images of the wholesome family that were displayed so prominently throughout the mansion and on the cover of magazines and newspapers throughout England.
Why hadn't she listened to him? If she hadn't busted into the room so brazenly, she would've continued being naïvely oblivious. Sure, the rest of her life would've been a lie, but she'd rather live one than deal with the painful reality.
After that, it seemed like she completely lost track of time, so when her father unexpectedly walked through the front door, she didn't realize she was still standing in front of the room that was now wide open.
What happened next is something the psychic would take to her grave.
Literally.