I don’t like its mouth.
It’s making a happy, happy smile, and I think it likes me.
It’s over there, and I’m over here. I have my butt on the floor, and my arms around my legs. I have long pajamas on. My stuffed brown bunny is kind of next to me, and there’s a puddle of blood moving towards it, but I can’t reach it. If I move—I don’t want to move.
It’s looking at me. It’s been looking at me for a while. I forgot for how long. I just know that I’m afraid to move, and I need to pee.
It’s wearing a short white skirt, and it’s standing in front of the door, the old wooden door. The door is open, and on the outside of it there’s a sign hanging, and it says ‘Brendon’s room.’ I made that sign using colored pencils.
Its hand moves. It comes up slowly and scratches its head, and it sounds gross. It has no hair. It just has scratches and blood and gross-looking skin all over, and some of it looks like it’s clumped together. Its fingernails are long and sharp and when it scratches, bloody pieces of its skin come off and fall on the wood floor.
Outside the door, there’s a hallway. I can see the bathroom from here, and my brother is lying on the toilet. I can’t see his face, because his head is inside the toilet. Earlier, he was throwing up and crying; he sounded sad. He was saying that this wasn’t like anything that’s ever happened before, and that this was scaring him, and he was afraid. He was calling for our mom over and over again. She didn’t hear him, because she was asleep on the floor in the hall outside the bathroom, and there was throw-up next to her mouth.
Now my brother is asleep over the toilet, and he isn’t moving either.
It’s still looking at me from the doorway; it’s never looked away. Its grin gets bigger and I can see now that its teeth are perfect. They’re white and very straight.
In its other hand it’s holding something. I haven’t been able to look at it again since I first saw it. When I first saw it, I started crying. But I only cried for a minute. For some reason, I couldn’t cry any more than that.
It’s not wearing any shoes, and its feet are white. Its skin on its legs looks like it’s about to fall off, like some kind of see-through jelly, and I think I can see the muscle underneath it. My teachers were right; I always thought that people were filled up with bugs and spiders.
I still can’t move, and I still have to pee very bad and now its feet move and it’s closer.
It didn’t even step. I didn’t even see it walk. I just saw it move and now it’s just closer. It moved fast, like a fly.
I look up at its face. Its eyes are pretty and very blue, and it looks curious and happy. Its eyebrows are very high over its eyes and curved. It has a little bump where its nose should be that doesn’t have holes, like the two holes my nose has.
And now it’s making a noise. It almost sounds like it’s scared. It’s not saying anything; it’s just whining really weird like it’s about to cry, but it makes this sound for a long time without stopping. It’s like the sound our little cocker spaniel husky named Alexa would make and I would make fun of her and whine back at her.
And it’s still smiling with big, friendly teeth, holding that thing in its hand.
I look into the bathroom. The toilet starts making a noise like when I gurgle water in my throat and now there’s water coming out of it, and the water is red, and I can see dark pieces of lasagna that our mom made for us earlier. My brother doesn’t notice the water, and he still sits there on his knees and his head floats on top, bobbing around, with his face under the water, all red and full of chunks.
I don’t think he can breathe. I wish I could get up and help him, but that thing is still there. It’s been there for a long time. I don’t think it’s ever going to move, and it’s still making that whining sound. I want to move my legs so I don’t pee my pants, but I still can’t move; it might move closer again. I might have to pee in my pants, and it won’t feel good.
I look out the window into the backyard. The sun is going to come up soon; I can see some gray light in the sky, behind our old swing set. In the swing that two people can sit in facing each other, is my little brother, facing the window. His face is blue—not from paint or anything, his skin is just blue—and he looks confused, looking up at something in the sky. We had his fourth birthday party last night.
The whining sound stops. I look back at it. It lets out a small girly giggle and throws up a lot. It doesn’t move; its head doesn’t go forward like when I’ve throwed up before. It just comes out between its teeth, and it keeps on smiling, but its teeth are covered in throw up now. It’s not wearing a shirt so it gets all over its chest. Its chest is dark brown with hair all over its stomach, but its chest has no hair. It has two little nipples just like I do, but one of them isn’t right—it’s too low. It’s in between its other nipple and its bellybutton. But I can see where the throw up isn’t covering that the skin isn’t like the skin on its head. It’s clean and very smooth and now it zips closer like a fly and now its head is twitching and shaking and making that whine again and I want to tell it to stop but it will probably not listen to me. It doesn’t look like something I can talk to, even though it looks like a person.
I wish my mom and my older brother had listened to me, but now they’re both asleep and I don’t know when they’ll wake up again. This all started last night after my little brother’s party when Alexa started whining while I was playing with her inside and then her butt and her tail went down like when she gets really scared and helpless and then I knew what it was. It was that girl that my big brother brought over after the party and then they started kissing right next to me after my mom had gone upstairs to bed and he put his hand down her skirt and started to take off her shirt and then he looked at me and when he looked back at the girl she started whining and all her hair fell out and she took off all her clothes except for her skirt. Then her big lumps on her chest—I had never seen them on a girl before, and they had little nipples like I do—fell off and melted on the floor, and then her body got all gross and its fingernails grew and it started to turn into that thing. And then it grabbed my brother’s mouth and opened it, and then threw up into it. The throw-up came out really fast but it didn’t make a mess; it just all went into my brother’s mouth. Then my brother ran upstairs. Then the thing looked at me, and then at Alexa. Alexa likes to bark sometimes, but she wasn’t even barking. She was just sitting very still with her head down and whimpering, and it sounded sad. Then the thing smiled slowly and then moved fast like a fly and grabbed Alexa, and I ran upstairs to my room.
I almost don’t know if the morning will ever come again, even though there’s light outside. I can’t see this thing staying here all day with the sun very bright, but I also can’t see it leaving. It doesn’t want to leave and I don’t know what it wants and now it’s tapping its foot really fast and lifting up its arm with that something in it and I don’t want to look at it. Because of what it used to be.
After I ran up to my room I sat on my floor. I kind of had to go to the bathroom but I didn’t really care. I sat for a long time. Then I saw something move outside in the dark. It was that thing, and in one hand he was carrying Alexa by the collar—she was crying loud and squirming—and the other hand had my little brother by his hair. The thing put him in the swing and walked away. I sat in my room for another very long time, and heard some noise out in the hall, but I didn’t want to get up. Then the door opened slowly. I could see my mom on the floor, and my brother crying over the toilet. Fast like a fly the thing came into my room. It was still holding Alexa and I wanted so bad to help her, to take her away from that thing and hug her soft black fur and pet the skinny white line that goes down from the top of her head to her white nose. She was crying so loud, like how she would cry and try to jump away whenever we tried to give her a bath outside. Then very slowly the thing brought its hand up to her—she tried using her little paws to push the hand away because she was scared of it, she was very scared and afraid, and she was only a puppy—and it put its long nail against her throat and pushed it in. She started crying louder and sadder and then the thing moved its fingernail across her throat and pulled her head back and it was like her throat just opened up like her head was a can lid. She was still trying to cry but she couldn’t because blood started coming out of her mouth and out of her throat and I could tell that it cut so deep that her head was almost cut all the way off. She kept moving in his hand for a little longer, and sometimes I would hear a soft cry come out of her, and then just her little paws moved for a bit, and then soon she didn’t look sad anymore. She just looked dead.
Then I cried, because when she died she looked so frightened, and I loved her. I cried and cried, and then I stopped.
And now, it’s still holding her in its hand, her blood is soaking up my stuffed brown bunny, and I still can’t reach it, and I still have to pee really bad. Maybe I should try saying something, even though it probably won’t listen to me. I look up at its smiling face, and I sniffle, “Can you please go aw—” “PLAZE GAHWAAAAA?” it says loudly back to me in a loud voice that’s very high and like it’s asking a question. It didn’t sound like it was talking to me, but like it was just copying me without knowing what the words meant. But then I try being polite: “What’s your name—” “WASSERNAAAAMMMMM!” and then it throws that thing in its hands on my lap,
And I pee my pants, and I start screaming and it starts screaming back at me, and now its voice is low, lower than I could ever think anyone could make their voice go. My pee gets all over my pajama bottoms and all over Alexa’s fur, and I can feel it getting mixed up with her blood, and it’s very warm. I can’t look away from that smile on its face, and it makes it seem like it still really likes me, like it wants to be my friend. So I say: “Do you want to be my frien—” “WANNABAMAHFRANNNNN!” and then it does its fly walk at me again, and its head is moving and twitching so fast I can’t even see its face and now I could reach out and touch its legs if I wanted to. But now all I want to do is wake up, snuggled close with my stuffed brown bunny, because I know this can’t be real. And I know that until it moves, I won’t be able to move either. It’s still standing there its head going crazy and it’s screaming and it’s screaming and it’s screaming and until it moves or someone comes to find me I’m stuck here trapped in my bedroom
With my little dog Alexa.