4
I walk back into the store. I pass the doll again before I exit — I swear its eyes were following me. The bell dings as I open the door again.
“See you again tomorrow Cassie,” a high-pitched girly voice whispers just loud enough so I can hear it before the door shuts. I open the door again to respond to the voice, but there’s no one there. All that’s left are the quiet ticks of the clocks, the final twinkles of music boxes, and Murray’s quiet chuckling. As the sun starts to set, the lights shine through the windows making all the dust floating around visible. A few stained glass artifacts hanging from the ceiling paint the floor with reds and blues. The store feels unsettlingly empty.
The voice was probably just my imagination, or maybe the door made a weird sound. As I close the door again though, I hear a soft giggle and immediately run.
After I’m a few blocks away, I decide it must be safe enough to slow down now, right?
As I walk the rest of the way home, I go over my plans for tomorrow in my head.
* Get to school without being hit by a car (Florence won’t forgive me again after last time)
* Avoid any/all human interaction (Speaking with people is an easy way to make friends → friends means no free time for me/they’ll ask about me and it’ll be awkward when I can’t tell them)
* Any free time will be used for doodling (Yay!)
* Do homework during lunch/Virtual meeting with Dr. Andreev (Eugh)
* Go to work and try not to think creepy thoughts (help?)
It’s dark by the time I get to my apartment complex. All the bright lights are on, they’re doing a better job at keeping the street illuminated than the street lamps. Someone is sitting on the curb. They’ve got their head nuzzled between their legs and a broken skateboard and a bag on the road next to them. I walk around to try and get a better look. It’s a girl. The bag next to her has the tag my new school gives its students to hold their IDs, so she’s probably around my age. She’s twirling her dark hair around her fingers, fiddling with the bright red streaks.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
She sighs and grabs her bag before she gets up. I move away so she doesn’t bump into me. She keeps her eyes down and turns around — it’s like she didn’t even notice me.
Out of the blue, she says, “How long were you watching?” Her voice is breaking, she must’ve been crying.
“I just got here, are you oka-”
“Mind your own fucking business, whore,” she spits at me.
Well shit — she didn’t need to be so rude, I was just being considerate — which was going against everything I stand for. I’ll never talk to another human being ever again, thank you for teaching me that, Random Bitch. I would’ve been able to come up with a good comeback too if I wasn’t so distracted by the destruction of melting eyeliner on her face. It looks like someone took an ink well and fucking dumped it on her — damn if only I could say it out loud.
She storms into the front doors of my building. I stand outside and stare through the windows, making sure she’s in the elevator before I walk in after. The lights glare in my face as I walk in, approach the elevator, think — what if she’s still in there — then take the stairs.
I sigh as the door satisfyingly clicks closed behind me. I breathe in the fresh air of home, except the air isn’t fresh, it actually smells like something died in here. I open the balcony door and the cool spring breeze fills my lungs.
I sit on the white balcony chair that Aunt Florence insisted I had and take deep breaths — close my eyes — and let the wind blow on my face.
It’s calm — silent. Then I hear a giggle. It’s a soft one, it sounds welcoming. A little girl having fun. It’s so quiet I question if I’m actually hearing it or if I’m going insane. The laugh rushes into my ears all at once — so damn loud!
My eyes fly open.
Something feels off.
The air smells of vanilla.
A golden butterfly flutters past my face.
My eyes instinctively follow it.
I shouldn’t have.
I see the butterfly.
I see the train.
I see the crash.
I see my parents die all over again.