I've had this written for a while now, and I'm deciding to post it. Some of my friends think I need to see a therapist, but that's okay. Horror stories are what I do best, I think. So if you don't like, then don't read. I'm warning you now. Otherwise~carry on!
"Insane is such a mean word. I prefer mentally creative."
The thrift shop had nothing interesting today.
I had gone in search of a pretty pink bow, or maybe a special tiara. But they had nothing that satisfied me.
I stepped over piles of the snow that had fallen last night. They still hadn't been shoveled. I hunched over, pulling my ugly brown coat closed. It was the only thing I could have afforded. Everything else was too expensive.
I worked at the factory at the corner of the street. All they made were marbles. Marbles. Can you believe it? Who used those anymore? And you can guess the pay I got each week. I bet janitors got more.
Annoyed and depressed, I walked home. "Home" was a trailer house with only 3 rooms: My bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.
To put it bluntly, if you haven't guessed, I was poor.
I got out my key and opened the tiny door of my "house." The place was small, but not messy. I couldn't stand having a messy house.
I walked over to my mini fridge to see if any food had magically appeared from the time I had left for work to coming home now.
I peered inside. Nothing. Of course. What had I expected?
I guess I have to go hungry. I thought, miserably. I trudged to my room that was so small, it would have made Harry Potter's cupboard seem luxurious.
I plopped down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The only other piece of furniture that was there was a really tiny closet and a shelf.
Sometimes I wonder why I, Zabina Aliqua, ended up with this miserable, crappy life.
No siblings, dead parents, messed up romantic relationship, and…
I just have a really depressing life.
Against my better judgement, I looked at my shelf.
Not much was on my shelf. It was almost empty, but it still held things that were dear to me. On the top shelf, there was a picture of my parents, holding each other's hands. Next to it, there was a photo of my best friend, who was now dead and lying at the bottom of the ocean. She died 3 years ago, on my 20th birthday.
Next to that was a picture of him. He was smiling brilliantly and was kneeling down to pet his dog. I looked away from that quickly. Why did I still have that?
Finally, I looked at the shelf underneath, even though I knew I shouldn't have.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't find a bow or a tiara for you today." I whispered to it.
It sat on my shelf, with thoughtless porcelain eyes, a beautiful dainty nose, and the prettiest pink doll dress I had found. Why did she have to be born still?
I started to sob. She was so pale now. Nothing like the beautiful brown her skin should have been. Now her flesh was rotting away, showing pale bone underneath, and maggots were crawling around in the places where her skin had peeled away. I hadn't even gotten to know her, and she was already gone. Which is why I needed another chance.
Which is also why I headed to the basement.
Back when my baby girl died, I had an idea and made a basement underneath the trailer, that was more like an underground bunker. The trapdoor that led to it was hidden underneath a rug in my kitchen. I opened the door and descended the ladder that led to the tunnel that led to the nursery.
Well, nursery isn't really a good word. They are bright and cheery. My nursery is a little dark and is somber. And is full of whimpering babies.
I walk into the room which is filled with shelves and cribs. Immediately the couple babies started crying.
I walked over to the back of the room, where against the dirt wall, rested a faded baby blue crib, with a small baby boy inside it, crying.
I looked over the sides of the crib and frowned at him. "Bobby, stop it, that's annoying."
Bobby stopped briefly, but upon seeing me, he started crying again.
I sighed in frustration. "Bobby, did you cause your parents this much trouble? Poor things. They'd be so disappointed if they saw you now. Good thing they're not here to see you."
Before I had taken each baby, let's use Bobby as an example, I had had to kill the parents. They had been so unwilling. I had pleaded and begged with them, told them that I had just wanted another chance. They had responded with telling me that I had become crazy after my daughter's death. And they told me no.
That's when I snapped.
I killed them with the knife in their kitchen. Gouged out their eyes. And the woman's womb. How dare she tell me no.
And then I took Bobby. The poor boy had been crying. I washed all the blood off my hands, picked him up, and walked home. I made sure to stay out of sight.
There were many other baby boys and girls like that.
It's because they kept on dying.
Whenever they misbehaved, I gave them warnings, but they never listened. I knew they couldn't understand. But every baby can understand fear. I yelled at them, and then they fell silent.
But that never lasted for long.
Once they started up their annoying crying again, that was the last straw.
Every couple of days, I went to the thrift shop. I bought all types of stuff, but mainly I bought glass body parts. For the babies.
When they misbehaved for the final time, I had to punish them. So I had set up a room nearby that looked like a play room, but was really my surgery room.
Yes. I replaced the baby's body parts with glass ones.
Because of the crying, I usually replaced the tongues with glass ones. That shut them up real quick. There was so much blood. The babies were terrified of course. But that's what happens when they don't listen. Sometimes I replaced the eyes, for the babies who were older, and could speak a little. I couldn't stand them seeing what I was doing to babies, and they were constantly whining. But it was for the best. They always died soon anyway. Sometimes from starvation, too.
I don't see the problem with punishing them like this. Yes, they might feel pain, but I was only doing it for their good. In fact, my ancient Egyptian ancestors did it all the time, except in a different form- mummification. My was a bit varied. So what if I did it on real people? On babies?
Bobby broke into tears again. He said something garbled; it sounded like a word. Bobby would be speaking soon, I realized. He was 10 months old. Almost 1 year old. He'd been here for a month and a half now.
I blinked at him. "What was that Bobby?"
Bobby momentarily quieted but then started up again. This time I heard what he said.
"Ma-ma." I heard him whine.
Was...was he calling me mama? I stared at him, and then beamed.
"Oh, Bobby!" I cooed, and went over to pick him up. "Are you calling me Mommy?"
Bobby started to cry harder when I tried picking him up and he started to thrash.
I put him back down and glared at him. I was silent and motionless for so long, Bobby stopped crying.
"You're not calling me mommy are you?" I said quietly.
Bobby only blinked at me with wide green eyes. All the other babies were silent, as if they could sense something horrible was about to happen.
My lip trembled and I said, "You're calling your real mother."
I was hurt, so hurt. I took these babies away from their toxic parents, and gave them a home; it's not like I kill them right away! And yet, they feel no loyalty to me. It's like babies can sense when someone is not their mother. How annoying.
I closed my eyes briefly in pain. I opened them and gave Bobby a cold, hard stare. "I think it's time for you to go to the surgery room, honey."
Bobby made various baby noises that would have been considered sweet by loving parents.
But I do not love Bobby anymore.
I picked up Bobby, and somehow, I think he sensed the anger in my heart, and he started to cry and thrash. I held him a couple feet away from me.
"Stop, Bobby." I said firmly.
Bobby did not stop.
I gave him one, last disappointed glare, and started to walk towards the surgery table. The other babies, hearing Bobby wailing, had all started to wail too. I gritted my teeth and ignored them. I would be back for them later.
The moment I entered the threshold to the surgery room, Bobby screamed harder. I shook him, hard, and slammed him down on the pure, stainless steel table.
"Shut up, Bobby!" I screamed. "Just shut up, okay? This is what you get for not thinking of me as your mother! All I ever wanted was a second chance, a chance to raise a child! Is that so wrong?" I started to cry. Bobby had fallen silent, a little bit, he was still whimpering.
I shuddered, taking in gasping breaths. "I can't believe you would hurt me like this. I saw a chance in you Bobby. In you, I saw...a son."
I looked at Bobby, with his soft black hair, and pale green eyes, and face red from crying. He was so cute. He could have been such a beautiful boy when he grew up.
But I had to kill him.
Body trembling, I carefully gathered all the tools I would need. I stopped at a shelf that housed all my glass body parts.
I needed to decide which parts of him I would replace with glass.
Which one? I pondered. I started to hum a lullaby while going through the things I had.
I had several glass eyes and tongues of course, and there were a couple hands and feet. There was even a pair of lips. But Bobby needed something special.
My eyes fell back on the pair of lips, tongue and eyes. I had never replaced a mouth before, but...Bobby would be the perfect baby to try it on. I gathered the three parts and went back to the table where Bobby had crawled to the edge and was trying to get off.
"Bobby!" I screeched. "Stop that right now!"
Bobby froze in place and looked up at me and started to whine.
I pursed my lips. "Please don't give me another reason to hurt you sweetie, you're already in enough trouble as it is."
Bobby started to cry then, and I clenched my jaw in frustration. I put my tools and parts down, grabbed Bobby and slammed him on the table. He cried and screamed harder, and that set all the other babies off again, who had been temporarily silent.
I screamed through the doorway, "Shut up all of you, or you're all next!"
It didn't help, but I had to deal with Bobby first.
I turned to Bobby, who was now thrashing. I yelled and smacked him on the head. This baby just didn't know when to stop! It was right then and there, that I knew that what I was doing, was right.
I grabbed Bobby and held him down, then proceeded to strap him to the table quickly. Bobby strained to get out and screamed some more. But the straps held.
I grabbed the knife and held it in front of Bobby's face. He quieted briefly.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "You see this, Bobby? It's called a knife. And it's what I'm going to carve your eyes out with."
Bobby whimpered, but he didn't understand me, so of course, he didn't protest.
I slowly lowered my knife to his eyes and rested them under his eye, which he kept on blinking. It was getting in my way, and I found it highly annoying.
I held open his eyelids, forced them to open, and Bobby screamed some more, but I didn't care. Biting my lip, I took the knife and started to carve.
The blood that came out was so red, and there was so much of it, it was truly satisfying. I laughed and ignored the tortured screams of the baby who I was operating on. I slowly wedged the knife underneath the eye and the veins that connected it to the brain. I smirked as I saw the tears coming from Bobby's other eye.
"Bet you wish you had called me Mommy now, don't you, you little brat?" I taunted.
Bobby screamed even more. I frowned at him and continued.
Slowly, I finished carving out that eye, and started to carve out the other way. Bobby had fallen deadly silent by now. I didn't care. He was probably unconscious. I took the eyes and placed them in a container where they landed with a satisfying squish.
After I finished the eyes, I smiled at Bobby. "It's time to give you your new eyes! Aren't you excited?"
Bobby stayed still.
I shook my head at him, and grabbed the glass eyes, and slowly fitted them into the holes where his eyes used to be. They fit perfectly. I smiled proudly.
"Look Bobby," I cooed, "Such a nice fit! Like Cinderella's slipper."
I beamed and then began to cut out his lips.
The human body looks absolutely grotesque without a lip, but even more so without a lip and a tongue.
There was so much blood, but I'd clean that up afterwards. Maybe I'd feed it to the bad babies later.
I grabbed my glass tongue and put it inside his mouth, then placed the lips on. It didn't fit as well as the eyes had, but it would do.
Now for the final touch.
I grabbed a special dagger that had been gifted to me by my grandmother a long time ago. She had told me to use it for good purposes and to defend myself.
Well, Grandma, I thought, I'm using it for a good reason now. You'd beg to differ, but you're dead, so your opinion doesn't matter.
I placed the dagger on Bobby's throat.
And I dragged it across.
Bobby was so beautiful.
If I had a fireplace, I would hang him above the mantle. Something beautiful to look at every day before I went to work. My handiwork.
But, I did not have a fireplace. I couldn't even hang it on the wall in front of my bed because rotting babies stink, and two rotting babies would definitely catch the attention of unwanted passerby.
So I hung Bobby instead in the nursery. A reminder to all the babies of what would happen if they dared insult me. A warning, if you will. I didn't really care if they didn't understand it.
I sat on my bed, a glass of water in my hand, reading a book. Washing up had taken barely any time at all. I had a lot of practice.
I sipped my water and flipped the page of the book I was reading. I was reading Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. If there was truly ever an insane person, it was the author of this book. But I loved it. It was a childhood favorite.
I frowned, feeling restless. I was getting bored of this. I put my book and water down and headed to the nursery.
Even though it had only been a few hours since I was last here, I beamed and acted like it had been a year. I scanned the babies in their cribs and my eyes fell on Bobby hanging on the back wall.
What a disappointment. I shook my head and looked along the cribs again. This time, my eyes fell on a little girl, almost 2 years old, named Layla.
I walked over to Layla's crib. I knelt down and peered at her. "Layla, are you ready to be a good girl?"
Layla did not answer. She remained still and silent, trying to fake sleep I'm sure, but I wasn't fooled. I called her names a couple of times, but still she did not wake. I frowned and put my hand along her neck. I waited a couple moments.
No pulse. I sighed. Of course, she was dead. I had forgotten to feed her. I'd have to bury her out back. I was running out of space to bury all these babies. Couldn't they give it a break on dying?
I heard a noise in the crib behind me. I slowly turned around and my eyes fell on Rory, an adorable redheaded two year old, who unfortunately knew how to speak, but not to listen. And also caused me quite a bit of stress.
I walked over to her. "What is it, Rory?" I asked coldly. Rory had caused me much trouble and I was this close to breaking and replacing a piece of her.
Rory looked up at me with as much hate as a 2 year old could muster. "Bad lady. Bobby baby. Bad lady. Go away!" She screeched.
My cheeks flushed and I screamed back, "Now you listen here, you stinky brat-"
But Rory shook her head and clamped her hands over her ears, screaming the whole while.
Anger, white hot, started to pulse through me. How dare she not listen to me?
I growled and said, "If you don't want to listen to me now, I'll make sure you can never listen to anyone again!"
I lifted a screeching Rory and dragged her to the surgery room.
I had the perfect plan for Rory. Just the other day I had spotted a beautiful pair of glass ears.
It was time little Rory learned what would happen if she didn't listen to me.
It didn't matter if she couldn't hear anymore; she didn't want to listen to me in the first place, then I'll make sure that she can't listen ever again.
After all, I was only just teaching her a lesson.
That's all. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me too. Thanks for sticking till the end, and bye!