*content warning for themes of sexual assault and graphic depictions of violence and body mutilation*

Room 320 of Shadrock Apartments had been long expunged, for it was in such a state of  disarray that the landlord had figured it too expensive and too much of a hassle to put in the effort of the innumerable repairs it needed. This room at the very top floor of the building had suffered profound water damage from the fiercest summer storm that the townspeople ever had the misfortune of experiencing two years prior. The blood red paint of the walls had suffered the worst of it, peeling in patches on each and every wall and, in some places, extruded outwards like the bubble of a cyst, freshly gashed open where the water fought tirelessly to escape its entrapment. The drywall in a great many spots had been battered and burst open, the crumbles like those of a cookie left on the floor congesting the slits of the walnut colored spruce floorboards. They, at one point, had been polished, yet their coating of crumbles had faded the wood into a sort of ash.

            Despite the state of the apartment, or perhaps because of it, a woman dwells within the dust. The faint smells of rot, mold, and mildew were partially hidden by the aroma of chai wafting through the cold rooms. The appearance was covered, to a certain extent, in an assortment of stuffed animals. Little faces of cats, lambs, bunnies, baby chicks, and bears in an array of pinks and purples, yellows and blues. They huddle together in the corner, their faces peeking over each other, with some solemn and solitude plushes strewn about the floorboards. Yet most precious of all to her was the dollhouse: a two story butter-yellow house with white lattice adorned with purple flowers creating columns on its sides. The first floor kitchen was simply delectable colored in its multiplicity of orange hues. The second floor was the designated bedroom, the extravagant bed embellished with arabesque pink and white sheets and curtains to match. The dollhouse was so lovely that she was sure to regularly throw parties for her array of dolls. She dressed them in the finest matching lavender dresses with periwinkle lace and ribbons. They always did have the most splendid time with one another.

            She had male dolls, too. She was sure never to talk of them, nor even think of them for that matter. They were never appealing to her, even as a child, and so she locked them away in her kitchen drawer: dark and damp.

            It was Tuesday, and so her mother would be coming by with groceries any minute. She loathed Tuesdays. She was appreciative of the food her mother brought her, of course, for she simply refused to subject herself to the violation of a profession. She would not engage with the outside world for it was overflowing with creeps and perverts and no-goods. Despite her appreciation, my goodness, she told her mother she was no longer accepting visitors!

“The nerve of that woman,” she told herself, “coming by and rapping tirelessly upon my door in the midst of my lessons for the little ones!”

Every week on Tuesdays and Thursdays her students of stuffed animals were to receive a formal education in maths, sciences, and English literature–the latter of which was her most favorite subject–for how else are they to grow and better themselves aside from in the company of one another? As a treat for their dedicated efforts and enthusiasm in their academics, she always prepared them a divine dessert with a lovely chai that her mother supplied her with weekly. Today they were to share fresh, delightfully fudgy brownies.

The ever-too-familiar sound of heeled footsteps, the black patent leather kitten heels with little black bows adorning the toes of each foot, thundered down the hallway. Then came the rapping, as per the relentless weekly routine.

“Oh, sweetheart, won't you please open the door and let me see you? It’s been six years to this day. I miss you terribly so, and I would love so dearly to be able to see your face again.”

 She remained still and did not stir, aside from the silent raising of a single finger to her lips to signal to the little ones, studiously propped up in walnut chairs around the circular matching walnut table with a yellow checkered cloth adorning it, to follow her lead and remain quiet.

“Darling, please, I just need to know you’re alive! I don’t know what I would do if I lost my little girl. A part of me will have died alongside you! You are killing your mother, do you know that?”

After several minutes of pounding and pleading, her mother left the groceries at the door and left the apartment, heels clicking, through sighs and sobs. The only signs of life continually provided to her mother were the occasional creak of a betraying floorboard and the groceries that had disappeared the next week she arrived. Once the sound of clicking had been swept up into the air, she peered through her peephole to guarantee her mother had left before cracking the door open just enough to receive the groceries. Her mother had supplied her with the usual chai, saltine crackers, pre-prepared brownie mix, soft honey wheat bread, crunchy peanut butter, raw honey, milk, eggs, chocolate pudding cups, and frozen dinosaur shaped vegetarian chicken nuggets. She and the little ones were surely set for a simply delightsome feast! Leaving the grocery bags on the counter without yet putting the food items into their proper place in the cabinet, fridge, and freezer, she called out to the little ones in earnest,

“Sweet darlings, I am to begin baking you a delightful treat for your efforts today, but you have still not finished your lessons so please direct your attention to the flashcards I have laid out for you! Partner up with a buddy and test your knowledge in addition and subtraction, and do be sure to tidy up after yourselves once the little hand on the clock hits three!”

She turned her attention back to the kitchen, putting her freshly delivered food into their proper houses, leaving out the brownie mix, eggs, and milk, and grabbing both a small and a large mixing bowl from the cabinet housed left of the refrigerator. Preheating the oven to 375° fahrenheit, she thought aloud to herself,

“Why, those silly people who prepare this box mix know nothing about baking! For they instruct you to simply mix everything together at once, while any properly trained baker would pass on the knowledge that dry and wet ingredients must be prepared separately before mixing!"

She softly giggled to herself before whisking the dry ingredients in the bigger bowl to remove all clumps, then cracking three eggs into the smaller bowl and pouring one-third cup of milk before rapidly whisking until it had reached a creamy consistency.

“And for that matter, any skilled baker would tell one the importance of baking with a profound love in one’s heart!”

After mixing all the properly prepared ingredients together, pouring them into the baking dish, and setting them in the oven, the clock had just passed three and she found it best to check in with the little ones to ensure they had cleared the table and neatly put their flashcards back in their cubby with the rest of their school supplies.

“Why, you silly darlings! Are you in need of some assistance in cleaning? I will help you just this once, but you simply must learn to clean up after yourselves!”

Gathering together the school supplies and putting them back properly in their spots in the cubby, she glanced over at the doll house adoringly. But then she noticed…no no no this can’t be happening, how could this happen who did this to my precious girls? She looked over to the forbidden drawer and noticed the key, still in the keyhole, had unlocked it. The male dolls had invaded the dollhouse. Their dirtied, stained clothes had been stripped, abandoned on the floor of the pristine pink and white bedroom. No no no pink and white do not go with blue and brown! You do not go here you are not allowed here how could you do this to my girls I will fucking get you for this you snot-nosed bastards you ruined me and you ruined my girls they were clean pure pristine clean I tell you and you’ve soiled them you soil everything everything I tell you you weren’t supposed to be here you’re not allowed here how could you?!

She let out a guttural scream,

“you fucking swine I’ll murder you I’ll torture you I’ll gouge out those eyes of yours clouded in filth and smog how could you!”

 Kicking the dollhouse in and demolishing the orange hued kitchen she adored so dearly, she wailed,

“GOD DAMNIT!”

Fucking pervert bastard swine they always know how to get to you they always know how to sweeten you up and then grab you and swallow you whole filthy filthy miserable creatures, all of them! She thrashed her body as if a spirit had her in its brutal grasp, throwing her against the walls to free herself. Her fit of dance, spinning in circular motions against what had become her home, was like that of a ballerina, posed, pristine, and pained. The walls battered and burst, covering her in rose petals and applauding her for her performance.

“Well now look at me, look at what you’ve done to me. I’m soiled, I’m filthy just as you are now I must wash I must freshen up I need to become clean yes I need to become pure and good again yes yes!”

She rushed to the bathroom, balling her hands into fists so hard the sharp, pointed nails had pierced the palms of her hands and became coated in blood. Seeing her appearance, the blood red face, the burst blood vessels in her eyes, and the tear-stained makeup smeared down her face like a melting witch, she grew viscerally disgusted.

“Who is this miserable wretch staring at me? Don’t you know it’s not polite to stare? Huh? Haven’t you a shred of decency? Clean your face, you look simply horrid. Maybe you should be the one to take a bath and not I.”

Running the bath water for herself, the woman in the mirror disappeared.

“Good on her, maybe she’s decided to take my advice and make herself more presentable. My goodness, was she an ugly wreck.”

Oh, gracious, I’m so glad she is unable to hear me any longer, I am being far too rude. She had taken off her light sky blue dress with its white laced apron and butter yellow bows and slid into the bathtub while the water slowly rose. I can’t believe him the swine the bastard he smells of sweat it smells of sweat I smell of sweat I’m drenched in his scent it’s all over every inch of my body but soon I will be clean again yes. She lathered her loofah up in honey scented body wash and began vigorously scrubbing her skin. And that frigid bitch six years she says six years it’s only been six days six days of freedom and she has to disrupt it she doesn’t like that I’m free, she made sure to it that I’d never be free and I broke it I broke from her grasp and I put up quite the fight, quite the fight I did.

Scrubbing her skin rougher, faster, she turned the color of bubblegum. She had me locked tight she did I was her precious yellow canary in the birdcage singing a high pitched squeal he too squealed though he squealed like a pig and she closed her ears cleaned the closet called me filthy when I tried to tell her. I am filthy and it’s all because of him he made me this way and I’ll forever be tinted in this gray this haze this smog. Without realizing, she had scrubbed so hard she had broken skin–gashes, the holes, the cake crumbles of flesh knotting themselves up in the mesh of the loofah. It was as if the spirit had gripped tighter, firmer, until its claws had drawn to trickle blood into the tub from its marks in her flesh, transforming the water into the same bubblegum as her skin.

Tinted in gray tinted in ash from my eyes to my thighs stuck like rubber cement but I can scrub and I can become pure again yes! Just a little water and maybe a touch of makeup I’ll be fixed I’ll be better. I’ll be pure. I’ll be pure. I’ll be pureI’ll be pureI’ll be pure yes yes yes it will be so splendid I will be pure again just like the little ones…The little ones! Their brownies!

Quickly she rose from the tub, water splashing drops of pink against the brown tile below her feet. She dried herself with a fluffy yellow bath towel and rushedly adorned herself in her former attire before running to the sink in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection not as if it was herself, nor as a separate woman, but a sacrificial lamb. The red of her skin, ritualistic symbols as if for a god or the betterment of man. An offering, all dolled up in gore. The blank stare of pure black eyes. The feeble little legs shaking, rattling with each step. She made her own ritualistic markings on the lamb, a deep red lipstick applied heavily, circling the lips trancelike ten times over.

“You are so beautiful.”

Her body felt as if it were floating–walking on the ceiling with her hands and not her feet–drifted out of the bathroom and into the kitchen like the crisp breeze chilling the room. The brownies were done. She pulled the pan from the oven with her bare hands. She didn’t feel the burns that bubbled from her fingertips to her palms. The only thing that had filled her mind upon exiting the bathroom was the dollhouse, that damn dollhouse the seedling of suffering. It’ll pay. They’ll all pay.

Coolly and calmly, she gathered together the plastic bags that her mother had dropped her groceries off in. With a grocery bag wrapped around one hand to avoid contact, she picked up the filthy dolls as well as their abandoned clothes on the dollhouse floor, putting them into a second bag she carried in her other hand. After a moment of staring at the bag in hesitation, she picked up all her beloved dolls and threw them into the same bag. She strolled over to the window on the wall opposite to the dollhouse and emptied the contents of the bag out of the window. The sounds of their plastic bones shattering carried throughout the streets, turning the heads of shocked and aghast passerbys. Their limbs tore from their bodies, popped out of their sockets. Their heads, as if sliced off by the thin blade of a guillotine, rolled into the street and collided with the oncoming traffic. She could nearly hear their screams peeking through the roaring of the passing cars.

“Au revoir, poor fucks!”

She slammed the window shut and wiped her hands clean of the viscous blood of the gruesome murders. But she wasn’t quite finished yet. Despite her calm demeanor there was a vicious rage dwelling within, a bubbling cauldron over spurting flames. She walked over to the kitchen to lift the now cooled brownies from their baking dish. She grabbed the baking dish and floated to the dollhouse, gazing with the longing of bloodlust.

“All must pay. All must fucking pay.”

 Dish in hand, she demolished the dollhouse, room by room. Evoking blunt force trauma upon the bedroom, the white walls collapsed into crumbles that devoured the neatly made pink and white bed she formerly adored. Maniacally cackling, she shouted,

“How does it feel, huh?! How does it fucking feel to crumble?!”
            The woman smashed through the aspen colored floor of the second story, bits and pieces of plastic littering the already disheveled kitchen, which she had kicked in yet again, and again, and again until she felt content. The dollhouse, reduced to piles of plastic twigs and ash, scattered throughout the apartment. Little pieces of white, purple, and orange intertwined in an embrace with the drywall embedded within the floorboards. With a giggle of delight she spun towards the little ones,

“I am so terribly sorry for the interruption to our tea party! Please allow me to freshen up and I will set the table for our most joyous feast!”

She mirthfully skipped her way to the bathroom to wash her hands. Glancing up at the mirror, she noticed not herself, not another woman, and not the beautiful lamb. Rather, her focus was directed to the bathtub behind her.

“Why, pink lemonade! Teddy must have left this out for our tea party tonight, how lovely! Surely they all must have grown quite tired of chai tea after all this time and wanted to provide us all with other options, how kind!”

Returning to the living room, she grabbed six teacups to fill with the delightful pink lemonade, methodically dunked them one by one and placed them delicately in front of each chair at the round table after each cup had been filled. She had followed this by preparing six plates adorned with delicate forget-me-nots, situating fudge brownies atop each one, and placing them, one after the other, alongside their teacups. The stuffed animals, already sat straight in their chairs, revelled in delight at the scene, drooling before the very sight. Firstly preening her dress, she sat down in the single empty chair alongside her little ones. She tilted her head downwards, clasped her hands in prayer, and encouraged the little ones to mime her actions.

“Bless us O Lord, and these, Your gifts, which we are about to receive from Your bounty, through Christ, our Lord, Amen. You may now dig in.”

She delicately cut her brownie with a fork and knife before lifting up a small bite to her mouth. The taste was simply heavenly, and she could not help but applaud herself for her creation. I told you, box mix, the secret ingredient has always been love. To cleanse her palette of brownie in order to truly savor the taste, she took a sip of the lemonade her little ones so graciously supplied.

“Goodness me, this pink lemonade must have surely gone bad by now, for it tastes of pennies and daisies and decay!”