Dark Daughter

I can still picture her discovering enchantments amongst the rocks, by the water. Each wave brought a new souvenir, attaching itself to the last memory I had of her smiling. Sand sprayed in curtains around her as she ran up to me, hands overflowing with treasures. Her smile seemed infinite. The rocks and shells lay broken on her floor now. She walks over them, barefoot, pacing back and forth in her small room. I wonder if she feels any pain, or if the darkness I sense has consumed all feelings. My courage fills enough to question her on why she would break her beloved possessions. Of course she won’t tell me why, her glazed eyes hide the truth. Punishing her seems useless. The bruises on my arm, abstracts of purple and blue, show the ineffectiveness. She drops to the floor, crawling like a rat, gathering the broken remembrances.  I hear her whispering something as she throws the fragments under her bed, disappearing under the bed skirt. I open my mouth to protest, her eyes snap to mine, my tongue is stuck. It hurts me to see her and I won’t let her see me crying again. I escape to my room where my tears can flow without mocking eyes. I hear the scratching begin. She starts on the wall by the door, dragging her dirty nails till she reaches the other side, making deep lines in her flowered wallpaper. After the first time, I questioned her on why she would do such a thing. No response came as she picked at the debris from under her long nails. More instances and outburst continued to happen out of nowhere. One moment she was fine, almost herself, the next gone completely.  I confined in our priest on her actions, he reassured me she was just going through a phase and not possessed as I thought. But he doesn’t see her eyes. Some days they look terrified, others sinister. She is a dark shadow of the daughter I used to have. The scratching ends, meaning that she wants me to tuck her into bed. The only time in the day she allows me to touch her. Reluctantly, I go into her room, trying not to look at the fresh wounds in the walls. Laying in a graveyard of torn up or decapitated stuff animals, her eyes closed, a hallow figurine. She opens her eyes as I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Mommy”, she whispers, “I’m done here. Why don’t you check under my bed?” Shocked from the evilness in her voice, I respond only with a smile. I don’t know what she means or wants.  I get on my shaking knees and lean down, lifting up the bed skirt. There she is, my girl, terrified eyes mirroring mine. I yank her out from under the bed, pulling her into me. The house seems to exhale as I look through the tears filling my eyes at the empty bed. 

(I wrote this flash fiction piece for my creative writing class. Its spooky and dark in honor of the Halloween season.)

JAM