>> Did You Miss Me?

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Golden light bursts through the doorway in a shining roar. Ripping away shadow and darkness. Burning the edges of my outline, until…..

A whisper…. A murmur…..

A woman’s voice, twitching at my ears.

Almost singing, almost not. Wordless, tuneless, and gentle as it wraps around me like blankets and fireplaces. And what do I smell? Chocolate melting over hazelnuts, all baked together in a warm sweet dough. I can almost taste the molten fudge and caramel. The soft flesh of her most delicate treats, piping and hot from the oven.

I touch my mouth, and shudder.

And the light dims away.

A table, taller than any I’ve ever seen. Wider, and bigger than any I’ve ever known. Towering higher than I could climb. But not nearly as tall as the warmly-painted walls, which stretch up and up forever. With brown oak beams, and a dresser by the wall. My eyes drawn to brassy pots and old copper pans. To toys strewn across an old stone floor. And the gentle suggestion of a middle-aged woman, in a worn old apron…. Monumental, as the statue of a long-ago god. Yet burnt away to shadow and silhouette by the blazing window behind her.

“La-de-de….. La-de-doh…..” She hums to herself, as the dishes clink. All the stains upon them washed away by that rich aura of warmth. Of kindness. A radiance of glory that blooms from the window, as if it came from her…..

I take a little hop on all fours - clumsy, and childish, like I'm suddenly a little kid again. A little pat, on the warm stones that turn that Lovely head. That head so huge and high above me, it seems pressed to the ceiling itself. Her face blotted by shadows as deep as holes. And yet I feel her doting eyes, all crinkling up in Love. “Oh! But ~there~ you are, My Little Poppet…..!” She gushes, from within the light. So loving. So kind. So proud of me, and all I have become.

Even though I’m only little.

With a delicate step as long as a City-block, she turns from the counter. Wreathed in storms of shadow and light, as she leans down to me. Billowing wafts of strawberry perfume and good things from the oven.

And there…

…arising from mere shadow and suggestion….

….is the most wondrous….

….the most glorious….

…most delicious and sumptuous smile you ever did see. Oh-so kindly, and generous. So full of warm care. Like a child’s worn woolly blankie, tucking you in.....

Tight.

And then tighter still.

Wrapping around your-

Our Good And Lovely Stepmother brushes back my babyish floof with a too-large hand. “Oh, there you are My most Precious Little Poppet! Oh, welcome right home…. And won’t…. won't you ever come in?” She breathes, and it’s the most wonderful sound there has ever been. It’s that perfect scoop of ice-cream sizzling atop a delicious, hot, buttery, cookie taken right from the oven.

Just like the one she places on the table.

All for me.

She lifts me up, and up, and up. Into The Highest High Chair. She drops me into the wobbly seat, so far above the stones. Cooing to me in my panic, and laughing that tinkling laugh, as my toes dangling above a thirty-story drop. My babyish head dragged toward it, as the distance twists into infinity.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don't dare.

“Oh how you must have had fun, off playing with all your Little Friends!” Our Stepmother sighs, as gently as the beads of melted cream upon my sizzling Treat. In a voice that melts, so slowly..... so very slowly..... in my ears. “All skipping off to hide at the Bottom Of The Garden.... But, oh! What a to-do! Mummy didn't know where you were at all! And Mummy was oh so very ~very~ worried.....!” Her hand, so perfect, presses deep to her chest. And I feel her pain, like it's my very own, as she leans down upon the chair to breathe her breath upon me. A sigh as gentle as a slip of silk….. slithering in through your lips…. filling up your mouth…. and.... “Mummy wept at the window for you to come back..... Oh, for you just to come back..... my poor little Poppets.... But oh! She's never had such trouble finding any of her Poor Little Dears….”

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Such a sad little shake of her head. She really means it.

Really, really.

I hurt her feelings when I ran away….

I hurt her. I HURT HER.

The unforgivable crime.

A hot tear scalds my cheek, and she dabs it away with a hankie. “Oh! There there! There there, my little Poppet! Come, come, My Dearie! My silly, silly, Little Poppet! Don’t you cry! Mummy won’t bite! And she baked such a lovely Treat for you, for coming home to Mummy! Don't you even want to try it....?” And I do. I really do. My little nose drawn in by the scent of butterscotch cream. And Fudge. And Chocolate. My little clawed hands reaching out for it, as she grips my elbows with motherly fingers. Pushing me to crawl right out of the terrible High Chair. Mind screaming as I pull myself up, and crawl over its little eating-tray, and onto the table. Crying out as the whole thing crashes to the ground behind me.

But something in my heart has eyes only for that hot, fresh, cookie draped in half-frozen cream. A motherly hand on my back, as the radiant titan reaches out my hands for the plate. “I want you to try all my latest recipes, you know!" Whispers that haunting, drifting, slithering voice of Sadness and Love. "I’ve been working so very hard to get better..... so you won’t…. Run Away From Home again….. and…. OH! …..I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so….! Didn’t you like all My Presents and Toys? Mummy worked so ~very~ hard to make them for you, too…."

"Don't. Worry. Mummy." I say, as she moves my mouth. "I. Won't. Ever. Run. Away Again!" My pudgy baby hands are dragged to the spoon. A nearly-whimper held back in my throat. "Not. Ever. Or. Ever. Or. Ever....."

I have to..... I can't....

My hand touches the spoon, and suddenly it's free. I'm free. And, in a single practice motion, I rip the SMG from my back. Twisting upward, and upward, towards the gargantuan face of the-

But when I pull the trigger, it’s nothing but a cheap toy gun that wizzes and lights up.

Red, and plasticy. Like the one I had when we were five…..

“Oh! Bang! You got me!” Mother clutches her heart, and tinkles with joy. “You are such a good shot, My Best Little Poppet! I always did say!”

“What the H-” Something sharp as blood-soaked knives presses in around me, like a skinsuit of knives. And I slam my fangs shut on the swearword, just in time. It’s instinct. I don’t even dare. There are Things You Don’t Do around…. ‘Mummy’….. But I manage to force out some words that aren’t just baby noises. “How are you here!? We-”

“Shhhh….” Our Evil Stepmother breathes, and - just like that - I’m sitting back in the chair. And there is her perfect, pleasurable, hand rubbing my back. So soothing. So insidious. “Oh Poppet…. Oh Poppet…. You know you’ll hurt Mummy’s feelings if you don’t try her Lovely baking that she spent hours and hours and hours on….”

I stare down at The Treat. The Perfect, beautiful, Treat. My mouth watering at the very thought of it.....

...as something cold and nasty sticks in my throat.

"But it does look so very, very delicious…." Mummy breathes. "I really really should."

"Yes. I. Really. Really. Should. Or. Mummy. Will. Be. So. So. Frowny. And. Sad." My mouth is made to say.

“Oh go on, then, Sweetie! It’s all for you! And it's not like I’d do anything Naughty to it!" That laugh drizzles in my ears, like chocolate melting onto the desert. "Oh, that would be very Silly now….. wouldn’t it….?” And I feel the expectation. The whisper of her want: For me to Do As I'm told. For me to Please Mummy…. And….

My little hand lifts up the spoon that's suddenly in it, just as the Treat slides itself along the table.

Drawing out a sound - like a long, low, growl.

It stop, right before me.

Staring up at me. Like the threat of something nice.

And my hand shudders as it turns the spoon sideways. Slicing, down, through molten cream and fudge. Sticky, and cold, and molten, and hot.

I lift it, shaking. Sizzling cookie-dough melting together with icy caramel chocolate on my tongue.

Hot and cold. Thickly creamy, and oh-so frozen.

But all of it Sweet.

So very, very, very, very Sweet.

Like her.

Mother’s smile is radiance itself. It makes you want to smile right back, with desert all round your mouth. Just so she can dab it away. “Wonderful! I hope you’ll tell me what you think! Oooh! I can’t hardly wait!!!”

“Thank. You. Mother.” I say on pure, robotic, reflex. “It’s. Very. Very. Scrummy. Mother." Something warm dribbles down my lip. "I. Could. Eat. It. Forever. And. Ever. And. Ever." I swallow, hard. "Mother.”

Her hands clutch tight. Her voice swells. Her whole body glowing with golden Love, and Happiness. “Oh! My Sweetie! That’s all Mummy ever wanted to hear!” She sighs, and melts, as my hand forces me to take another huge - indulgent - bite. And it really is the very best thing I have ever, ever tasted. It heats and cools and burns and freezes its way all down my throat…. like magic and molten toffee. I take another bite. Another.

Until….

….it’s….

….all….

….Eaten Up.

“Oh! I’m so glad you like it, my Special Poppet!” She wipes away a tear. “And now it’s all inside you! Tucked in snug, and tight, like a little Secret! And you can keep it Forever And Ever…..” Her hand touches her lips. Her smiling lips. Her Lovely, warm, moist, perfect lips. “Oh! But do look at the time!I think a Special Poppet needs to go and play with their friends…..!”

“For...ever….”

“Oh yes…..” Our Good Stepmother delicately wipes away her tears, though I don’t see even one. “But now…..” The smile is wider, like a cuddly toy with a cartoony grin. “Now…. Now…. Now….. I know you Won’t Mind if Mummy comes to see you….. every so often!”

“Come see….. But you can’t…. We…. We hid. We ran away, where you.... can't.... ever.... find.... us.....” I stare at the spoon. I stare at the plate. The empty plate. I clutch at my mouth, and I feel sick. “No…. No…. NO! You-”

A huge, warm, finger presses to my nose. Freezing it with chills and cold. “Don’t worry. My Sweet. My Poppet. My Little Treat…..” The Smile….. “You may have all Flown The Nest, but…. Mummy Has Her Little Ways to find her Little Dears, you know….! And you can’t all Hide Behind The Curtains! Not at all!” A gentle dab at the tear in her eye, and then at the cream around my mouth. The cream that cracks like tar. Like concrete. “And, you know….. we do have so ~very~ much to talk about. So very much! And I really do hope….” Flecks of cream tinkle on the table, like blackened glass. “I really ~do~ hope….. that one day….. One day….. you will all come home…..” Her breath on my cheeks. Warm as sweet fudge, and cold as ice. “That you’ll tell Mummy what she did to make you hate her so….” The fingers tighten on my cheeks. “….so….” Tighter and tighter. “….so, very, very much….”

And, just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving me choking.

Gasping.

Huddled on the hallway floor…..

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