Hey, kid
I know you can hear me
You're shivering like a leaf under that blanket
I can see you
Come with me, kid
Come with me
Comecomecomecomecome
They were yelling again, mom and dad. It was probably their worst fight, with chairs flying and abuses screamed. Yet again that's what I always thought when holes started getting punched into the walls. The sharp sound of glass breaking added a mock elegance to Frauline's singing.
Humming, rather. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Or maybe it's Baa Baa Black Sheep. It could even be the alphabet song. It felt like a mockery, this innocent song being sung over such gory circumstances. I bet that mom would have to be sent to the hospital again. That dad would leave flowers by her bedside table. Again.
"Sing with me, Jack," Frauline said in almost a plea. I hated that song, more so then when she was singing it. I ignored her. Her face was yellow against the linoleum light that hung in our shared bedroom, the purple bruise on her face a revolting tattoo. It's been a week. I wasn't sure if such bruises should've swelled down by then.
Like a broken radio, she kept humming the same melody. I tuned her out, trying to remember what it was mom and dad were fighting about this time. We can never seem to recall. Their fights happen like heavy rain in winter - the sky an endless grey, and suddenly, lightning strikes, thunder crashes, and the storm happens so quickly you have no time to find shade.
I hear mom mention Sally, the blonde dad brought home two nights ago when mom was out and dad told us not to tell her. That Sally was a friend. They did sound friendly when they crept into mom and dad's room and stayed there the whole night. Frauline had pressed my ears closed and locked me and her in our room and forced me to play dolls with her. I hated that night too.
"We should sleep," I said, not sleepy at all. Frauline obliged anyway. Better than tuning them out by humming, I reckon she supposed.
Another sound of glass breaking. I imagined dad or mom sent the dinner plates flying, lasagna all over the walls. It was meat stew last time. My stomach grumbled. It's hard to sleep on an empty stomach, but it is better than winding up in a hospital bed with a broken arm and bruised eye. Frauline has learned as much.
I'm drifting off into sleep, Frauline already snoring away, when I heard a clutter in the corner of our room. "Mom?" I called out. She did that sometimes after fighting with dad - she'd come to our room and tuck in with me. I sat up in bed. A figure crouched in the dark, playing with Frauline's dolls.
The figure imitated crying. "I'm so hungry," it said, its voice whiny. It shook one of the dolls in its long hands, as if to imply it was the doll's dialogue.
The other doll in its hand produced something in its miniature hands, and somehow the smell of food wafted in the room. The first doll made a satisfied noise, taking whatever it was in the doll's hands and feasted at it.
"I wish I could eat like this every day," said the first doll. "I feel so safe with you."
"I'll keep you safe and fed," said the second doll. The figure turned towards me slowly, white eyes like two distant flashlights in a dark tunnel. In a voice black as tar: "Would you like to be safe and fed?"
My breath caught in my throat. My eyes casted a quick glance to Frauline, but she was already under this creature's arm, sound asleep still.
"Are you going to hurt me?" I asked, pulling the covers further up my legs.
"No, child," the creature seemed to chirp. "I will keep you safe. And feed you."
It produced a plate of food from its cloak. It smelled so good. I ate it hurriedly, in a rush, unsuspicious of where it came from in a split second. The food seemed to wriggle in my mouth. Something was stuck in my teeth. I pulled it out. It seemed to be an insect's leg.
I dropped my plate of food. Stared at this thing in my room. "I think I'll stay."
It started shaking its head, ever so slowly. Then it quickened, head whipping the air like a whiplash. "No," it said, in its tarry voice.
"No, no, no, no, no."
I jumped out of bed, ran for the door. Bony hands grazed my ankle. I sprinted out of my room, towards the hallway. A shard of glass found my the sole of my foot. Cold lasagna painted the walls.
"Mom? Dad?" I yelled through the house. No reply came. I could not see the figure anymore from where I stood. My room sat empty an ominous, streetlights poured in from thin curtains like a second moon.
Hands gripped my shoulders from behind. I spun around quickly. Mom stood there, smiling at me. I almost opened my arms up to hug her. Then she smiled with her teeth - black as tar.
"I'll take care of you."
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