This is a story that I grew into as I wrote it, at first it was meant just to be another Short Story, but as all those things go, it very well seems to be a blueprint, something that is incomplete in itself, but helps build a wholistic story, even a novel, down the line. The premise isn't really new, or original to the genre it is written for, (ie, Horror) but it has, like all half-baked ideas, a potential for growth,mand room for improvement. I will be honest, with all the things I have been dealing with these past few weeks, I've become bitter, and not very interested in writing. I'm also doing a bad thing: starting several projects, and not having the inkling to finish them, a bad sign that I'm losing enthusiasm. However, I've been anxious enough to finish this story in the matter of a day, and lately, that seemed to be a myth, but I'm beginning to get my oomph back. But I digress, all that matters is that this post will be up, as we approach the 300th mark, and beyond!
So with that, I present to you:
Ophelia
Ophelia Drewes sat I'm the cold, dark, antiqued mansion, creaking with old spirits and lead pipes. She played with her dolls on the arm of her father's favorite chair. She was not much of talker, but through her little raggedy dolls on that dirty upholstery, she was a quintessential intellect. The stories she told! The games they played, there was something special about her relationship with those pieces of cloth, playing for hours, up until bedtime, where they would both accompany her to sleep. Ophelia would dream of adventures through time and space, through wicked forests tangled and overgrown in reticulate branches. Hands clambering to snatch her like a game of tag and snapping birch thickets.
Cornelia and Cornelius would occasionally join her in these dreams. They we're her dolls, both as lovely as ever with those deep-souled button eyes. They were fraternal twins, and bot of them acted like protectors to Ophelia in even her shadiest of nightmares. She would hug them tightest to her frail chest as the dreams grew darker and darker. They always ended right at the front porch of her home, her father standing above her, the darkest red of eyes, and the pittance of sanity left on his cigar-stained expression.
She placed Cornelius on the edge of the arm, and stopped for a moment,contemplating just what to do next with her to best friends. She couldn't decide, so she turned to Cornelia.
"And what would you like to do, my sweet?" She spoke to her doll like her mother lovingly spoke to her, and with such poignancy, such maturity, it far-stemmed from the mouth of a matron, let-alone an eight-year-old child, if heard from earshot.
The restless black eyes of the doll stare back, as though contemplating the events that should unfold next: should they play in the attic, the stairwell, or dare they test the kitchen table, where play was absolutely not allowed: kitchen tables were for eating, glasses, and the morning pinch. After that, it was strictly disallowed. Forbidden fruit of which Ophelia had not tasted. Her kitchen table was an rather large party-sized table, and she could imagine the hours of fun running about it with her dolls. Mother was at rest upstairs with a sliqht fever, and father was out at the company. Ophelia knew better, but what were children to do? She decided today was a better time than ever to test out new waters, and Corneilus was in ardent agreement, shaking his empathically "yes" with help from Ophelia.
With a hop, she came up off the dusty old chair, bring several decades along with her off the ass-end of her skirt. The dust shook the spirits of the ancient home, as she skipped happily into the kitchen, the two dolls trailing behind, their sack-seen bodies dangling from Ophelia's hands, strong clasped about their arms like a shark with lockjaw. She was ecstatic, not able to contain her excitement, giddily running as carefree as children do, especially when they think they're going to get away with something they know they should best avoid.
She leaped with bounds of a bunny rabbit with Spring rockets atop the table, landing no more gently than a piece of loose-leaf, the dolls dangling like twigs stuck in mud. She gallantly dodged about the table, whimsy smoke from sugar cubes spilling over with the potter patter of her feet, whisked through the air, with Cornelius, and Corneila in tow flopping in the wind.
Ophelia giggled and jumped with joy, the long table only fifteen feet,could've been miles to her, as she tossed her dolls up, catching them lovingly in a heartfelt embrace. She made them play with spoons, battling with forks, and clipping the edges of the table with thuds of soft putters.
She played out dramas, using castles made of glasses, and drawbridges of fine China. She played for what must've been hours, if-not days. Then she felt that tingling heat of being scorned by lava eyes.
"And just what do you think you're doing?! That table was perfectly set! Go to your room immediately! Wait until Father gets home! Move it now, Ophelia Constance Drewes!"
Speedily, like a scurrying mouse stealing the last crumb of cheese, and tears flowing from her little peepers, Ophelia in the company of her dolls, flew up the stairs, and slammed her store shut. The door spread upwards towars the ceiling, looking like giants of stone marvel, than imported wood, and it took her all but straining to open them, and slam them with an echoing thud. She fling herself onto the bed, and cried into her pillow, tears as golden as the bank statements that came about each-and-every week.
"mommy is awfully sore with me! I didn't meant for it to turn sour, but I s'pose it's normal for mom to be upset, but I know she's even more upset now than before, what with her headache. Oh acornelia, what am I to do?"
The doll stared at her with concern in her beady eyes, a distraught sort of aura fell upon the doll, knowing her good friend was in trouble, a rustle of wind burst up through like a quick breeze through raspy branches.
"Fret not, my child. She will forgive in due time. You knew the risks of playing on the table, but perhaps it was unwise to test her patience."
Ophelia nodded, the doll, flopped over on the bed, as she looked over to Corenlius, who would always rebutle the sister doll.
"Nonsense! It was fun, and that playtime was worth a thousand lashings! I can still feel the rush! The problem isn't that you're not allowed to play on the table, it's that adults don't know fun, because their souls have died a long time ago! Take it from me, Ophelia, you did well, and I'd tempt fate to tell you to do it a thousand more times! It'll be simple, all you need to do is make the grown-ups go away. Then the house is yours! You can run around, play games, and be free to play with us for all hours on-end!"
"But now could I get rid of all the adults? Mommy and Daddy aren't the only ones here, we have Fredrick, his wife, and all the help in-between. I would have to send them all away, and they will not listen to a little girl!"
Cornelius fell over to coincide with his sister doll.
"Then it was all for naught, and thwt will be the last taste of freedom. You must be rid of them all!" He screamed in a demonic temper.
"How though? And who would take care of me, I'm much too young to cook, and too short to even reach the burners without scarring myself for life! Surely you two wouldn't be able to mange to cook and clean this hole place!" Ophelia was still crying tears from her mother's verbal lashing. She despised that harpy shriek. It was piercing and the sound was a shrill as a night wind when mother was having a migraine headache. Still, she wanted to run on the table, she was safe,,she had Cornelius and Corenilia to watch over her; what possibly could've gone wrong?
Corneila, listening to her brother doll babble on like a ruckus-causing ruffian, sat up with a jolt of energetic severity.
"Do not listen to my brother, Ophelia! He will lead you down paths that only house darkness. Discipline is a required staple to maturation! Please note that he has not the mind, nor the stability to give out advice, especially on this quandary!"
Ophelia was a child,wise in many ways beyond her years, a vocabulary built up from conversation with adults who saw her more as a miniaturized equal with slightly less decision-making properties. One was only allowed to suggest ice cream for dinner one too many times when left out of the dinner conversations.
"Do not bother sister, my yarnish claws have been set, she's mulling it over, trying to reconcile the idea so it's more clarity than cloudy judgement. This is merely a game; Coreneila, one I've chosen to win, what about you? Another tie for no dinner, no dessert?! I refute to have it happen again!! No! Ophelia has had enough, she is nothing more than a side story at soirées! She's unappreciated, and I refuse to let it carry on any longer! My dear-" now addressing a no-longer crying Ophelia, now only holding on to the demonic words coming forth from her best friend's seven mouth. "-you will be taken care by yours truly, and certainly Corneilia will fashion herself a Suzy Homemaker, come now, darling! Let us play! Quickly, before Daddy comes home!"
Before she could hear the cries of Corneilia, the sister doll was shoved into a dresser, and on impulse, you Ophelia jostled out of bed, and flew to her mothers bedroom. Ther heirloom master was nothing short of splendorous in fine details, and hatched forth a menagerie of trinkets and pieces that were scruples of the family fortune. Her mother laid on the bed, a bag of ice stop her brow, nursing the delicate the nature of spasms that haunted her for years. Ophelia listened greatly to her mother's breathing, excruciating pain flustered her very bosom to rock like mountains in a tectonic shift. She was brazen with coughs that sent shivers up her spine. The woman was always ill, but with Ophelia's birth, she had been eight and a half years now with one foot dangling just above the grave.
"Mommy, Corneilus wanted me to ask you if you'd like to play a game." The young girl asked innocently enough. The doll grew with intense excitement, snickering like a mischievous child in the back of Ophelia's mind.
"What? What is it?! Oh, my dear, my sweet dear, what is it now?! I am much too tired to play any games, and you are to be punished rightly when Father arrives. Surely he'll make sure to send you to bed without dinner, nor dessert tonight. The staff had to reorganize the whole layout for supper! You left marks all about the kitchen table with your shoes, knocked over the sugar cubes, and one of the chairs has to be replaced! I don't understand you sometimes Ophelia. All these years, and all you've been is a pain in my side; doing precisely the opposite of what I ask. I can understand some discontent, and acting out for attention, but you've been given gifts and opportunities that most children can only dream of at such a young, and provisional age! I'm disgusted with you,please go for now, and await Father's arrival! He'll. not be long now."
Corenlius escaped the tight grasp Ophelia had on him, and snatched something from off the bedside end table, and hoped back into her pudgy little fingers before she could notice. She felt the tears welling up, but this wasn't the case, it wa like phantom crying, she felt no intensity, only something cold, and thin between her fingers. Ophelia caughtt her breath, and listened to the doll's voice whispering in her mind:
Don't feel scared.
Just like I've taught you.
Just caress her hair lightly.
Don't be scared.
It'll be hard at first become easier each time.
Just remember that I love you, and to her, you're another trinket. An heirloom.
With tears in her eyes once more, this time for real, as though her spirit came to haunt her body once more, she pounced on the bed, and hugged her mother closely, a grievance of forlorn in her voice, as she sounded out words between wails
"I'm sorry Mommy, I love you ever-so-dearly! Please forgive me, I love you so!"
Her mother smiled, and held her closer as well
"'Tis alright my love, I know you meant no harm, we all do such dreadful thing as childr-"
The penknife went slowly into the neck of Ophelia's mother, a gurgling bloodbath of a sound shot forth, and Ophelia's tears of clear purity, turned into the blood that nestled her young body for the better time of ten months, caressing her once more like a welcoming womb, her tears subsided. Her smile grew maniac. Corenlius eyed the gallery with great approval.
"Excellent, that was the tough one, we always have the trouble with the ones we want to love us the most, fills us with animosity. Father will be much easier, and less...dramatic. Come, let us prepare dinner!! Perhaps some split pea soup will suffice the staff."
Ophelia moved with a new-found lease on life, a burden sullied from disadain of an I approving mother that blamed her shortcomings on a child's existence. She went down to the kitchen, Corenlius snatching a towel for her to wipe away the blood, giggling all the way atop her shoulder.
In the back of her mind, Ophelia heard the pounding of a soft fist of lace against eh cupboard. Cornelia's voice was still in the back of her mind, urging Ophelia to cease her madness, and turn away from the devilish brother. Ophelia would have none of it, and pressed on towards the kitchen. Daddy would be home soon.
She found the rat poison under the cabinet, Corneilius picked the lock I open, and poured it into the split pea soup that was accustomed to precede Safurday's meal. He poured it in, and covered the smell and taste with some spices, and plenty of pepper. Then he spooned it out into the seven bowls for the seven staff members and help, respectively, making sure to guide Opnelia towars the help's dinner table, and to make sure not to let a drop of it spill. Then he cleaned out the remaining evidence and bleached the pot. Cornelius was smart, and very, very, motivated.
The staff smiled and clapped, as the little girl presented the bowls to them. They slurped with glee, and she watched as they downed enough poison to kill a million strong rat king monstrosity. Minutes later, all the staff were gone, riddled and vomiting on the floor. Little Ophelia hopped around the bodies, and took the leg of lamb out to the dining room, as a pair of lights shined in from the driveway. Daddy was home. Corneilus' grin was a large as the moon.
He came in,mounding towards his little girl, an oblivious grin upon his face. Ophelia's father was more a caricature than a man, and she had little respect for his Indicative demeanor, and lack of judgement. She also hated that he talked down to her, while other raised her up, but of both parents she knew that this was the one she could not do herself. Soon, Corneilus, and with time, Corenila would become her surrogate parents, and watch over her without a frown, and they'd live happily ever after, just like a fairy tale, except this one would be less bloody.
She led him towards the dining table, and explained mother was too tired to join them, and told her to tell Father that she had already eaten, and would await him after he had dined. Ophelia's father was concerned, not sure to believe his daughter, and looked to see if something else was astray. When it appeared that everything was as Ophelia had stated, he sat down to his meal: a leg of lamb, his favorite, but with no insight as to the amount of poison that had been baked in, he feasted.
He ate, and ate, until he could eat no more, and sat back in his chair, smiled, and unbuttoned his pants. Then he died, and Ophelia made sure to check for a pulse, as Corenilus insisted her to do. There was a faint pulse, and a somber heartbeat, so with no hesitation, she picked up the steak knife, and rammed it down into her father's skull. No point of being subtle with a mutilated corpse in the bedroom, but it was great practice, and Coreilus was proud of his surrogate daughter, who he figured would have to be shared with his goody two shoes sister, but a proud papa always wants to see their child surpass them, and tonight, Corenilus saw that his influence would create a beautiful monster in little Ophelia.
Days passed, weeks, as the two dolls shaped and molded, both vying for the the soul of their adopted child, when police and commissioners came knocking. They found a child living by herself, and not a sign of staff, or the parents. Turns out, Corneilia was great at cleanig up messes, even if she did so with a dire loss of will. She covered for the child, but only to fight for her soul, and with only a handful of tries left, it was now up to Opheila to decide whether she would align herself with the Fates of the Heavens, or with Corneilus at her side, conquer the flames of hell.
The police questioned her for hours, brought her a spot of cocoa, and searched every corner of the mansion for clues, it was as though the world had vanished in that microcosm, and all was left was a little orphan named Ophelia. The lead detective, after days of throroughly searching, with missing persons reports filed, and all point bulletins released, came up to young Ophelia, and addressed her as every adult not tied to her family (other than Father had, that is) did, and explained the situation.
"So, Miss Opheila Drewes, we can't really hold you much longer, it's actually unusual to hold a child in a precinct, but given then circumstances, the guys feel you've really brightened up the place, you got charm and sass, like a lyoung Shirley Temple. But it seems that until your parents are found, and we by God know we will do our best to uncover their whereabouts, you're going to have to go to a foster family. Now I know that this can be quite scary, but I've met with the couple, and they are both young, and simply delighted to have you join them.
"You've been a very brave girl, and I've told them you're a funny, and charming young lady, and that you're proper, respectful, and you say your prayers every night."
Opheila smiled and nodded, clutching both Corneilus and Corneila as tightly as possible. The detective, having an eye for these sorts of things, noticed that the two dolls had never left the child's side. Even when he was trying to hold them for her to go to the bathroom, she didn't throw a fit,mbut began to well-up, and shot him a look of both ferocity and fear. So he let her hold onto them, even nestled tightly on the bench of the office, where she slept the past two nights. There was something he just couldn't shake about those dolls, but he was also working back-to-back double shifts.
The couple came in,mand toomOphelia with them, announcing themselves as Henry and Amber Grey. The two smiled as they led Ophelia with her two dolls out of the precinct. The detective looked over his paperwork, but looked up once to see a shot of Ophelia looking back at him, with a sick demonic look, something that nearly made him fall out of his seat. He began to wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him, or if those prayers she said every night were heading South. He shook it off, but with the hunch of a too damn many years on the force, radioed in another investigation onto the mansion,which sat upon nearly one-hundred acres.
"Hey!" He said to the officer over the radio. "See if you can go check out that mansion again. I got a sick hunch that something's not sitting right. That Drewes kid, she seems a bit too calm considering her parents are missing,mand she didn't even flinch when she went with the foster family. Do another sweep! Especially and/all acres that have a six in them, especially acre 66. It's probably just a hunch, or I need less coffee, more sleep, but something stinks of...devilry here." He wiped a pale flush from his eyes, as the police officers getting the call sent back a resounding "10-4".
The girl...she seemed normal....but those dolls, they almost seemed to possess her. Still, a cop doesn't shake a feeling that strong, that obvious, and in twenty years, you know anyone is capable of evil, especially those who appear the most innocent. For now, he'd have to wait, and as the girl rounded the corner of the long hallway out, he watched that frail, innocent figure leave, with two dolls clinging to her palms, staring back blankly. Staring back with demons flocking, as the child rounded the hallway, and the front door closed sharp with a resounding click!
Thank you for reading the Malacast Editorial. We are now five posts away from 300, and I have several. Ore posts prior, including that the very least two more Short Story Weekly posts. I cannot believe that these fingers in all their aching glory are about to have written enoug/published enough to account for at least three books, that is in-itself, remarkable. But I'll leave all that for later,for now, I want to thank you all, and let you know that there will be a rather large, on-shot post for Short Story Seekly coming after 300, so be forewarned that it will be a very long story, that calling it short is almost shameful false advertisement. I will put an exceptionally detailed warning on that post once it's been thoroughly cooked through-and-through. For now, thanks again, and have a wonderful day/night/morning whoever you are!
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