The Disappointment Room

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door.”

I always wondered why Papa kept the little door locked. Mama would never look me in the eye whenever I asked her why. She sure cried a lot. I kind of remember back when she used to laugh when I was much younger. I think they were happy then, back when I was young and I was happy too. Then she let me touch her tummy, it tickled my hand and I laughed. It took a long time, but one day they went to the hospital and brought home a little pink wiggly thing, pretty as a picture it was. After that, they forgot to make me happy, I watched them giggle and coo as everybody admired the pink pretty thing. One day it stopped moving. It was all bloody and broken, as if someone had pulled the strings of a marionette and the pieces had fallen...one...by...one. Arms, legs, head...unrecognizable......................They hid me away, I guess they didn't want me to see the pink thing. But...why? It was such pretty shade of crimson red.

Days passed, them weeks, months...years...I was filthy, I stank. They fed me, but they never made me wash myself. I would hear voices, but I couldn't speak, angry voices and loud shouting...Mama cried and Papa shouted back. Then one day, Mama and Papa disappeared. They left me.

There was only one rule, they said to me, we will never open this door.

They buried my sister beneath the floors inside this tiny, windowless room in which I am locked, then they bricked it up. I could smell the fresh paint. She stares at me constantly, accusingly. She haunts me even as I draw my last breath and the hounds of hell salivate.