Linda took a deep, long breath, her eyes going quickly over the high door before settling on the colorful handle. She loathed the ridiculous, disproportionate height, the splashy colors in which it had been painted. A thought crossed her mind, a thought she had each time she stood alone in front of those ugly, forgotten doors; she was, and would forever be the only visitor now. No one would ever dare or bother to set foot inside. Linda dreaded each of her visits, resented her coworkers for letting her come, but she had taken it upon herself. She saw it as a strange sort of duty, a necessary evil. It was, in a way, the only honorable thing she had left inside of this factory.
Firmly clasping the box with her hand, she produced her ID card and slid it into the dusty panel. The metallic box made a small beeping sound, shining briefly in the dark, and the lock opened. Linda carefully pushed the door, sliding the box under her armpit, and went in.
A thick silence, full of swirling dust, greeted her. The room was quiet and dark, dull and boring as Linda made her way to the control panel. She didn't even need light as she stepped over abandoned toys, broken pieces of plastic, and knocked-over cardboard. She heard the familiar shuffle, high above her, and felt the burning weight of a hateful gaze on her lab coat. As always, Linda pushed back her uneasiness, and switched the lights on.
The dirty fluorescent lights crackled, spitting fragile rays of light, before flooding the room with a sickly pink hue, which shone brightly on the skeletons of the playgrounds. Their smooth, plastic surface shone like polished bones under the light. Linda hated the color; its false sweetness almost made her want to vomit as it invaded every corner of the room. The kindness she used to associate it with was utterly gone, for now it reminded her only of the spider. She did her best not to grimace as she looked upon the numerous activities that had been designed for the children. They had long ago been be left to rust, and were now completely useless.
The whole room had been designed as a giant, disproportionate garden, with a goofy aspect. Huge blades of grass had been painted on the wall, climbing halfway toward the ceiling, while cartoonish insects were buzzing here and there; friendly ladybugs, hard-working ants, mischievous beetles. All had big, kind eyes, and smiled joyfully at the void that should have been filled with laughter. Linda followed them with her eyes along the walls, frozen as they were in their frolicking. Big drops of transparent dew shone on the false grass, impossible mushrooms twisted in the bright blue sky, where a bulbous sun grinned at children. The entire set would have been truly idyllic for kids. Linda advanced gloomily between the plastic flowers that had been built, surrounding stylized tables. Mommy plushies were slowly decaying on the floor; a toboggan was sadly looking down, its gaping mouth filled with a dark, endless void. High above, stretched between every corner of the ceiling, pink pastel nets had been put up in place, woven into a giant cobweb. Linda stopped and stared at it, wondering its original purpose, when it suddenly came back to her. The nets were filled with numerous gifts, toys, plushies, and treats; they were supposed to fall each time the spider walked on the thin pastel ropes,, sending down a rain of gifts, which grateful kids would gladly pick up from the ground. Linda remembered this had been the spider's favorite game at some point, but she had quickly grown tired of it when the orphans had been taken away. Employees had tried to play with her, in an effort to replace the children, but she had lost complete interest.
Linda walked over to a corner shielded by giant, blooming flowers, listening to the quiet steps above her. A few plushies fell behind her as the nets extended, but she ignored it. She simply sat on a bench, facing a game of darts surrounded by curled sunflowers. Their plastic leaves intertwined around a target, a small cobweb lowered at children's height. Linda took a dart and carelessly threw it. The tip bounced dully against the plastic, falling to the ground like a dead fly. Linda breathed deeply as hands carefully touched the ground behind her, stabilizing the giant spider that had come down from her web.
"You've made me wait," Mommy hissed in her usual, welcoming way.
Linda slowly turned, putting on the fake smile she had learned to make while the spider was around.
"I know, I'm sorry. I was busy with the children."
The spider's hostility immediately melted as her blue eyes grew wide with anticipation.
"You've seen them? Are they well?"
"Yes," Linda automatically answered. "They're happy."
She turned, heading toward the center of the room, ignoring the huge, pinkish mass stomping behind her, crushing the plushies. Linda frowned, knowing the spider was doing it on purpose to scare her, but she had gotten used to her tricks; she kept thinking that she was the one who held power, and not Mommy. However, this did not stop her usual dislike to grow into genuine loathing, as it always did when she was in the toy's presence.
"When will Mommy finally be able to see them?" the spider asked, irritation dripping through her voice.
She had stretched her bulbous head just above Linda, and the scientist almost startled as her eyes met the two glossy irises.
"Soon."
"You keep saying that, but they never show up," Mommy growled, turning her plastic head upside down, before eyeing Linda suspiciously. "Mommy doesn't like liars."
Linda strained to keep her fake smile in place and not spit the venomous thoughts the spider and her monstruous body inspired her.
"But don't you hear them? In the factory?"
"I do," Mommy conceded, caution now replacing anger. "But I'm tired of waiting. You promised they would have fun here."
"I understand," Linda simply said.
Her indifference seemed to anger Mommy, who pointed a long, stretching arm at the wall.
"You also promised me a family!"
Linda followed her gaze toward the painted figures, where a Daddy Long Leg, his blue arm curled around his son, waved happily at an imaginary audience.
Linda looked back at the spider, her smile frozen on her lips. She had told a lot of lies and promised a lot of things to her, but she couldn't even find it in her heart to be guilty. In her eyes Mommy would have gone mad, had she not those illusory prospects to cling to. She hadn't even had the heart to tell the giant that they would simply never exist, and the only clues that they had ever been mentioned would be those painted images, and nothing more.
Instead she sat on the ground, and opened the game of draughts she had brought with her.
"They're not ready yet. Do you know how long it took just for you to be born?"
The spider was still angry, but Linda could read uneasiness as well on her face. She knew the spider had no memories of her birth, like all the other toys, and speaking of forgotten matters always unnerved her; it was one of the few subjects she had no knowledge of. Linda waited as Mommy grungily settled down, curling her long arms and legs beneath her. That was one characteristic Linda had always hated about her; they could never get the spider to at least walk like a normal human. She always had to crawl and slither, scuttle and glide like the disgusting insect she had been based upon, teasing the employees, scaring them with each occasion she had. Even to this day Linda still did not understand why they had chosen a spider for model, whereas they could have taken something more friendly in the eyes of children.
Once they were settled the game began, and Linda let Mommy have the first move. Her big hand winded on the board, and her smooth fingers curled into a first as she pushed her first piece. All reprobation had melted from the toy's face, and now her eyes were burning with concentration. Linda recognized this instant focus each time she brought a game, and the childlike expression of the spider almost amused her, but it was not enough to chase her boredom. She knew Mommy was a sore loser, and despite having gotten used to her fits of rage, Linda preferred now to simply let her win, to avoid any argument if possible. Linda also tried to make the game last as long as she could, but Mommy was always eager to win, and those precious minutes where she could finally distract herself became shorter and shorter.
Linda knew that her visits would soon be useless anyway. She always had those gloomy thoughts when being in Mommy's presence, and the pity would always rise up when she watched her play. Her only flaw, truly, was her ability to talk; she had witnessed every process, every rough treatment the children had endured, the depressing state they had gone into. Her natural hostility toward adults could never be corrected, and Linda supposed that this had been at the core of who she was before. The scientists had made her too humane, and feared she would let their secrets out, sooner or later. Numerous reasons were quickly made up to isolate her. Her design was judged too frightening, her voice too high-pitched. They had tried to take it away, but it had been impossible; to damage her voice would be to irreversibly damage the rest of her entire body. Her neck was too thin to be cut, her arms too long, her eyes too big. A mutual hatred for her had risen among the employees, and Linda suspected that abandoning her to her fate was a sort of payback, a silent revenge.
She also knew that the leading team, and especially Stella, deeply resented Mommy. They had always believed in their capacity to tame the toys, and had lost huge amounts of money into building the Mommy-dedicated room. They were reluctant to kill her, however, for one day she could still be used, and so she had been dispatched into this room, and no one had ever taken care of her again.
Soon the factory would condemn the whole room, and the spider would be left to die, of hunger or loneliness she didn't know. A sickened part of her hoped that Mommy would die of hunger, for all toys needed to feed, but the spider had never asked for food, and Linda had realized in horror that the room had genuinely become the spider's lair, and that maybe Mommy had secrets of her own that were best left alone.
Linda couldn't enjoy the games, nor the talks she had with the toy. She had no affection in her heart, nothing left to give to Mommy Long Legs. What she initially saw as an occasion for redemption had become a hollow duty, and had ended up a painful chore to accomplish. Linda knew her visits were becoming more and more scarce, but she couldn't bear the silence of that dusty, faded room. She couldn't bear the smiles of the insects, the spilt stuffing of the plushies scattered on the floor.
"I win," Mommy smugly said, slamming her piece on the wooden board.
Linda startled, the sudden noise snapping her out of her thoughts. She nodded and mechanically gathered the carved pieces.
"Good. Then I'm leaving."
"So soon?" Mommy scoffed with disdain.
The giant spider had no affection for her either, but she was becoming desperate for company. She suddenly sensed that Linda's words would be the last she ever heard.
"Yes. Goodbye."
Linda immediately turned, ignoring the scornful gaze burning in her back. She walked faster and faster, almost running toward the door, before clumsily fumbling in her lab coat. The atmosphere was too thick, rancid and dusty, lacerating her lungs.
"You can't leave me!" Mommy suddenly shouted.
Her voice had risen to a maddening, despairing pitch, and Linda heard her hands slamming on the walls as she rushed toward the scientist.
"Goodbye," she shakily repeated, her fingers finally locking around her ID card.
An angry scream arose as Linda slammed the door behind her, her hands quivering. She heard a violent bang, then bashing and thumping. The colorful doors bent slightly, and Linda ran in the corridor, her ears full of the anguished cries of the abandoned toy.