Family Ties

by Mandy Monster

I stood staring at the house, Everything in my being told me to leave, yet I proceeded. I walked slowly to the door, creaky porch beneath my feet. The house had been in the family for centuries and had long been neglected. My Grandparents, the last occupants. I walked through the door and smelled the musty air rise up around me. I'd heard stories of my grandparent’s travels. The posters on the wall chronicled their life and the places they’d been. They say a magician is only as good as his wand. Well, a ventriloquist is only as good as his Dummy, and my grandparent's dummies were possibly the creepiest things I had ever seen.

A boy and girl made of wood and porcelain, stuffed with care, and painted to perfection. Pictures on the mantel showed the dummies posed like children on laps, sitting around the dinner table, tucked in bed, pushed in a stroller. The more I stared at the dummies the more unnerved I felt. Maybe it was the permanent smiles or the way the expressions never changed? I took the pictures down and placed them in a box.

The Grandparents had passed on about a decade ago. My mother inherited the house. Now it was mine. I never expected mom to pass so suddenly. She never spoke of her childhood or her time living here. When I got curious and asked, she changed the subject. Now I understood why. It now fell upon me to deal with the decaying property. I looked around pondering if I should renovate or just tear it down and sell the lot to some high-end strip mall investor. The cleaning crew I hired would be here in a few days to empty the house. As far as I was concerned, it could all go. I set things to keep near the door and stressed about where to go next. Upstairs or basement? To be honest, I didn't want to do either. I took a deep breath. Decided basement.

Butterflies rose in my stomach as I found myself staring at the basement door. I opened it, flicked the lightswitch, and to my surprise a dim bulb lit at the bottom of the stairs. I descended, feeling goosebumps on my legs. I contemplated turning around, but continued. I reached the bottom and found a laundry area, work station, boxes and a small play area with toys and a table. I opened the boxes and found what looked like doll clothing. No, children's clothing. I rummaged and found a photo album.

The album contained pictures of three adolescent children. Playing at the very table before me, at birthday parties, and Christmas. Two boys and one girl. Who were they? Seeing a close up of the girl smiling, I dropped the album and ran upstairs. That smile! Haunting. I grabbed the mantel pictures from the box. It was her! It dawned on me why the dummies where so creepy. They weren't dummies at all, but mummies! I ran downstairs again, tearing through more boxes. Trying to find what? I had no hesitation about running up the stairs. Opening every door, looking through drawers and closets.

I finally came to the last room. I knew instantly it was mother's. The quilt on the bed was the same as at home. I lay down and stared at the ceiling. A wave of emotion came over me, I sprung up. Perhaps mother kept important things under the bed? I got on my hands and knees and sure enough, I found boxes. One was heavier than the others. Could it be what I was searching for without realizing it? Papers, journals, pictures, birth and death certificates. An old newspaper article grabbed my attention. An advert for a Nanny want ad phone number circled in black. Attached to the article was a picture of my mother standing on the once immaculate porch holding the hand of a child. She looked young and beautiful. Written on the back was, "Patricia’s First Day."

I felt shock and anger. So many questions. Mom wasn't even their real daughter and I had a brother I knew nothing about! Anger turned to sadness. Sadness turned to horror. I could see why she left it here, buried and forgotten. “A runaway with a bastard child can never go home again.” That was her first journal entry. She had found a new family. A new home. Children to love. She took care of everyone, and everything. The Grandparents lost their daughter in an accident and they had her children to take care of now. They had shows to perform and my mother reminded them of what was missing in their lives and they opened their home and hearts to her. “Funny thing about love” she wrote, “ people will go to great lengths to bring it back once it's gone”.

I didn't understand until I saw the entries about illness that spread through the house affecting the children and then the adults. The adults recovered...the children...did not. My grandparents couldn't cope with another loss. My brother was buried, but the other two corpses were taken to the basement. My mother didn't dare go down there, but what emerged from that basement was not quite human, not quite doll. A boy and girl made of skin and porcelain, stuffed with hair and painted to perfection. They felt guilty for being gone so much that they vowed to have the children with them at all times, and they did, even after death.

I couldn't read much more beyond that. My mother eventually left. She couldn't live there knowing what others thought were beautiful dolls were once her beloved wards. I gathered her things and took them downstairs. I looked around and realized that it would be best to condem the property, and the past. I packed my car, locked the door and said a prayer. "I will never come back," I whispered. Oddly enough, that was my mother's last journal entry.

The Littlest One

by Vaughan Grey

Andrei sat down in his chair just as the four-minute lockout began. The Company did not want anything interrupting their dark Magic Pageant introduction. It was not exactly the strongest introduction, but he had no say in what The Company did. 

The lights dimmed and Andrei viewed his colleagues making their entrance before the Queen, bowing before her in a circle, once the red scarf blew off to the side of the stage. A pulsing ball of energy manifested in Andrei's stomach. The stitches on his left hand began to irritate him like a hoard of fire ants devouring human skin. He then glanced into the branches of the stage and spotted a small, gaunt, child-like male performer standing next to a tall, blonde woman of Amazonian stature dressed in a Genie-like costume that didn't leave much to the imagination. Andrei began tapping his foot aggressively remembering how he got here.

Andrei was a juggler. One of the best. He had been recruited by “The Company” when he was a street performer in his native country of Haiti. Andrei won competitions and made his living off prize money. He could even juggle balls that were lit on fire. News of this had caught The Company's attention, won him an audition, and got him on “The Show.”

When he joined The Show in Los Angeles, a ghoulish and demure acrobat known as, “The Littlest One” was the first performer who stuck out to him. No one, who wasn’t an executive, knew the acrobat’s real name. He was Russian and the star acrobat in a Banquine troupe known as “Vnezapnaya Konchina,” which translated to “Sudden Demise,” a very Russian-sounding name. He appeared to be fourteen, but actually suffered from panhypopituitarism, which made him appear much younger than he was. Andrei was stunned when he saw The Littlest One with his normal-sized wife, holding their infant daughter backstage. 

That day he also met, “The Balance Goddess,” the stunning replacement for an Asian performer who did the same act previously on world tour. No one knew why she’d left, but The Balance Goddess was a perfect fit for the Los Angeles market with her long blond hair and voluptuous curves. It wasn't long before Andrei and The Balance Goddess found themselves sleeping together. They began making love in the empty laundry room. Eventually, they moved to the backstage area known as the “Artistic Tent.” One night, The Littlest One caught them together after a show. Not surprisingly, he decided to join the attractive couple. This is when Andrei discovered that, though he looked like a little teapot, he had a big spout! Between the two men, the Balance Goddess earned her stage name. 

Andrei's legs involuntarily kicked as The Show went on, annoying patrons who moved away from him. He felt as irritated as his injured hand as the Balance Goddess did her hula-hoop act on stage. The cast had gone out to explore the LA nightlife the night before. When it got out that Andrei was a juggler everyone in the nightclub wanted to see him juggle. All Andrei cared about was impressing his Balance Goddess. After several mundane feats, The Littlest One produced five of his personal switchblades, basically daring Andrei to juggle all of them with blades unsheathed. As the Balance Goddess gave a come hither nod, Andrei lost himself in her crystalline eyes. He barely felt the blade that  sliced open his palm, spraying blood all over the bar, and the Goddess.

In the following days, Andrei was out of the ER, but could not juggle until stitches were removed. He was offered smaller non-demanding roles on stage as he recovered, but was too forlorn to accept. It was while he recovered that the Stage Manager leveled with him. She told him how The Littlest One was actually married to the Balance Goddess, how he only kept his ex-wife around to raise their child, and how jealous he was of their connection. She told him that they used to live in a two-story dilapidated house in Russia that was collapsing. The Littlest One formed the Banquine troupe in hopes of auditioning for The Show when it came to their area. The stage manager told Andrei she thought The Littlest One was involved in Russian mafia, might be secretly financing The Show with blood money, and that Anrei’s injury was not accidental. How The Littlest One knows how to read performers and to never trust him. 

During intermission, Andrei walked outside to stretch his legs thinking nobody would recognize him without makeup. He met an elderly couple at the entrance and purchased two dolls, one male and the other female. These dolls had been blessed previously using personal items Andrei had provided. 

As the troupe came out for their death-defying climatic act, Andrei's anxiety subsided. He knew the Head Usher was watching him since an empty circle formed around him, making him persona-non-grata. As The Littlest One did his show-stopping flips, Andrei held the male doll and began silently squeezing it. Suddenly, The Littlest One missed a cue and slipped between his partner’s arms - recovered and went on with the act. Suddenly, the Head Usher approached Andrei, telling him he had to leave with her. Andrei obeyed and followed her. Security officers appeared between the two tent doors, and grabbed Andrei, smuggling him through a secret exit and out of the tent. They brought him to The Artistic Tent. When the officers left Andrei, still holding the dolls, The Littlest One appeared. Andrei barely noticed the blades as The Littlest One started cutting.

Back at The Show, the audience stood applauding the ensemble and band, a final guest descended on a wire from the overhead carousel to make his entrance. The Balance Goddess stood beneath him to present him to the crowd. Blood dripped on her like a special effect. She looked up at the carousel and regarded The Littlest One looking down upon her.

She never felt more loved.

Morgan

by Valentina Abate

"What were you saying about the dolls again?" Morgan snapped out of her trance, meeting the gaze of the woman with glasses sitting across from her.
"Those things are alive!" Morgan swallowed hard, undoing the last button of her shirt while the woman let out a high-pitched laugh, "Come on now. Don't be silly!" Morgan shook her head, looking around nervously.

"You don't understand, Pamela. They tried to kill my baby."

The woman stared at her, pursing her lips. "Morgan, we talked about this, they’re just toys." Morgan's eyes darted toward the other end of the hallway, where she swore she could see those tiny wooden faces staring at her. "No." She got up quickly and moved away from the table. "I will prove it to you." She nodded, glancing one more time at Pamela, then walked in the direction of the dolls, standing at the end of the hall.

"I should've never come here. My baby doesn't like you." She growled, pointing a finger at the puppets, which were looking right back at her. Their lips curled into evil grins, their eyes wide open. "She cries every night. You make her cry. Every. Single. Night." She reached for one of the puppets, the female, grabbing it and throwing it against the wall. That was when the male puppet started to laugh, [Nobody is going to believe you, Morgan. Everybody loves us! You saw it for yourself].

The doll she had just thrown against the wall sat up on the floor, its neck unnaturally bent, one of her eyes now cracked. [Everybody loves us, Morgan]. The doll laughed and laughed until Morgan couldn't take it anymore. She covered her ears and ran the other way.

"I'm getting out of here!" She screamed as loud as she could, deciding it was time to go. She only needed to find her baby.

Pamela quickly approached the girl, trying to take a hold of her arm, "What are you talking about, you don't have anywhere else to go!"

Morgan wouldn't have it. She walked away from her and tried to put some distance between them. "We are going. I won't stay here one more night!" Opening one door after another, she kept calling for her daughter, hoping to hear her cry. Except, she was nowhere to be found.

*

"Morgan? Morgan, can you hear me?" A deep male voice called her name.

Morgan frowned, she didn't want to open her eyes.

"Morgan? You got us all worried over here. You hit your head pretty hard." Morgan gave up. She uncovered her eyes with her hand as she opened them. The light from above was too bright. "No! I need to find her."

The Doctor standing by the side of her bed looked into Morgan's eyes with a small flashlight. "You are going to be alright. Gauze please." He held his hand out to a nurse in glasses standing next to him. "Right away, Dr. Schneider." Pamela picked up some more gauze from a tray then handed it to him. She glanced at the girl with a worried face. "She was going on about the dolls today. I am so sorry, I shouldn't have let her run around the first floor."

The doctor bandaged Morgan's wound. She started struggling.

"No! Not here, not safe." She pulled a knife she had stolen from under her pillow. She’d stolen it from the cafeteria earlier that day. She tried to slash the doctor's arm, but Dr. Schneider held her down. "Nurse, we are going to have to sedate her." Morgan felt tears falling from her eyes. She tried to fight his hold, but the doctor was stronger and with the nurse's help injected the sedative into Morgan's arm. "I want to go... I just want to go..." Morgan still struggled to get away, but she started to feel weaker and weaker.

Then everything went black.

*

When she opened her eyes again, Morgan realized she was sitting in a wheelchair. She was drowsy and couldn't see very well. She looked up and met the gaze of the Doctor, sitting behind his desk, "Can you hear me, Morgan?"

"Mm," she mumbled. It was hard to put words together.

The doctor scolded, "You can't run off like that. Have you been taking the medication I prescribed you?"

Morgan looked around him, noticing the details of the office, which were looking familiar to her. She had, in fact, been there many times.

"Morgan? Can you answer me?"

But she really couldn't. She was staring at those two ugly puppets sitting on a corner table, just staring at her with their eyes wide open and their evil smiles. Morgan trembled, "M-my baby..?" She whispered, remembering all at once that she still needed to rescue her child and escape.

"Morgan..." The doctor brushed his hand over his forehead and took off his glasses. "Morgan." He whispered her name, setting the glasses on the desk. "You don't have a baby. You never had a daughter..."

Morgan looked up at him and Doctor Schneider could swear he heard the sound of her heart breaking.

She looked down.

Recognized the familiar straight jacket.

Screamed.

½ Price Shakes After 8 PM

by Vaughan Grey

            After dropping off his final fare of the evening, all Elias wanted was a chocolate milkshake. He’d been driving non-stop for almost twelve consecutive hours, which was the maximum time the TotalRide rideshare company allowed. Elias gazed in the rearview mirror and saw his gaunt double chin and bags appearing under his eyes. He casually glanced at his earnings tab, which showed a grand total of $111.22, a fair amount for a weekday. His app screen chimed, making him jump, “You have been tipped!” Elias rolled his tired eyes. “Three dollars?! What can I possibly buy with that?”

            Elias drove onto the main street, distracted by the intense neon lights of the local Sonic restaurant. All he could think about was annihilating his otherwise vegan-friendly diet with some unnecessary lactose product.

            Elias pulled into the drive-through, scanning the copious list of delicious options on the menu kiosk. He cleared his dried-out throat. The intercom malfunctioned so he repeated his order several times. Too tired to care.

            Elias pulled within spitting distance of the rear bumper of a 1996 VM T30 van. He observed a young female employee, around 18, walk out of the restaurant delivery door, approach the van, and argue with the driver. Elias couldn't make out what was said, but could tell the young woman had a lot to say. Twenty minutes since Elias pulled up. Still no shake.

            When the young woman finally brought out his milkshake, Elias noticed the girl’s uniform nametag, “Carmela”. He didn’t believe it was her actual name. She seemed like one of those girls who worked an extra night shift to pay her salon bill, judging by the amount of product and bleach in her hair. He suddenly remembered that his Emile was one of those girls, too...once.

            “Chocolate milkshake?” the “alleged” Carmela asked.

            Elias nodded, pulling out his phone to access Google Pay. Rear lights dimmed on the van in front and it drove off.

            An older female employee shouted to Carmela, “The van. Was it that woman?”

            “Yeah, she's stalking us again,” Carmela handed Elias’ phone back, “Know what? This one's on us! Sorry for the wait,” and she waltzed back into the store.

            Elias sipped his free milkshake. Then, he recalled Emile holding their infant son in their kitchen in better times. Until two years ago, Emile was his wife. They had a son, Israel. They lived in a two-story house that looked like a condemned building from a drug war film of the early 90s. The town had fallen on hard times after the crash of 2008. Soon, everyone's house fell into disrepair, if they had a house. Elias and Emile's house was the worst of the lot, but they refused to leave. They had a child to shelter.

            They couldn’t afford electricity but found ways to amuse themselves by candlelight. They’d play hide and seek with Israel. Emile had gotten so good at hiding, sometimes it took Elias hours to find her in the nooks and crannies of the house. Hiding was one of Emile's hidden talents. A day came when no matter how hard Elias tried, he couldn't find Emile. Day two, he contacted the police who declared Emile a missing person. Naturally, Elias was the #1 suspect in her disappearance. There was no corpse, so he wasn’t charged. Despondent and overwhelmed as a suddenly-single father in financial depression, he soon found himself declared an incompetent parent and arrested for child neglect. His last vision of Israel was being dragged screaming into a C.P.S. van, and into foster care. Elias served three years and another five of supervised probation. Now, Elias was trying to live out the rest of what remained of his life.

            The “honk” of a vehicle behind him snapped him back to the present. He squinted into the mirror and recognized it was the van from before. He couldn't see the driver through bright headlights. He couldn't shake his unease. He drove around the corner of the Sonic, parked the car and exited, milkshake in hand, determined to figure out the ominous van. He saw an odd elderly couple sitting at a table under fluorescent lights holding Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls.    

            Elias sat, back to the old couple, waiting for the van to circle around again. He looked up, startled to find the old woman staring down at him.

            “Would you like a doll?,” she mumbled.

          Elias was shocked when the old woman’s husband grabbed him and lasciviously latched onto him. Elias was easily able to force the frail old man to the ground. The old woman rushed to old man’s aid, shielding him from a fight.

            “I didn't realize you were a fella,” the old man drooled.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Elias asked.

            “You look so pretty through my glasses. Thought you were a girl. And your smell! Men shouldn't smell like that. Like roses!”

            “It was the shake, idiot!” Elias threw that milkshake at the couple, knocking the dolls out of their hands. The shocked couple shambled away, leaving chocolate-covered dolls on the concrete.

            Elias ran to his car to find the still idling van parked next to him, headlights blaring. Elias noticed the van driver's door opening. A woman stepped out. It was Emile. She hadn't aged a day since that fateful game of hide and seek.

            Emile walked toward Elias, who noticed her blank corneas, but was too stunned for them to mean anything. It wasn't until he saw fangs protruding from her familiar lips that he questioned. Emile reached her hand out. She held a Sonic milkshake, purchased after 8 PM, he assumed.

            Elias reached for it.

            Emile opened her mouth and devoured Elias' hand. She turned her head and ripped Elias' arm clean out of the socket. Elias felt nothing. Emile faced Elias and he saw her true form serenaded in darkness.

            Emile was still holding the ½ price milkshake, but was sipping it from a straw made of his dripping aorta.