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His breath stank of Paradise rum, and his gait affected by it too. It was his only consolation after the will reading, which declared that his wife's belongings would go not to him, but to his two stepdaughters. He couldn't stand that.
Babydoll (as she was called) heard him raging in his office. Inconsolable as he was, she had hoped that his rage would subside with the outside cloudburst. Beating down on the rooftops, pouring over the windows. To soothe herself, she resided in her twelve-year-old sister's bedroom in order to make sure she was getting sleep. Babydoll had never known a good night's sleep, so she made sure that her sister did.
The crash of papers and table items on a hardwood floor.
She stroked her sister's hair, gentle fingers lulling her further and further to sleep. Hoping that in this new world of uncertainty, one without their mother, that things would be alright. The thunder clapped outside.
She watched her sister stir in her sleep, face plagued with grief.
The crash of an empty glass ricocheted downstairs.
Her sleeping eyes, heavy with the burden of being alone in the world. Forced to face violent seas on her own.
A torrential yell of intoxication. A roar of fire as angry as he.
Babydoll knew that, despite her best wishes, she wouldn’t always be there for her sister. She was still her own person, with her own desires and own initiatives. She didn't want to stay in a house with her stepfather forever.
She imagined him downstairs, not as the rotund man with an exclusive charm, but as a monster. Tearing the pallid skin off of his body and exposing the outer layer, a form too terrifying to show the rest of the world but just fine for his two stepdaughters. Babydoll had preferred herself to be the one to see it. The scales under his body, how they slithered and pulsated and contracted in such ghastly ways. The widening of his chest, billowing like a bird. Clawlike hands that tore mahogany like paper and played cricket with rum bottles and emotions. Two ogling eyes that knew nothing beyond their own slimy interests, only benefitting his thin lips that sputtered pink nebulae, vomit, and the in-between.
She had imagined him being the severed remains of a chimera, the big bad wolf that was never seduced with the edge of an ax. A ghost that never moved onto the afterlife and spent its time torturing and haunting the living. Making them pay for all that they couldn't endure themselves.
Her sister was fast asleep, and the noise downstairs subsided. She let out a sigh and decided to leave her sister alone for the night. Never had she gone to bed thinking her sister was safe, especially in the days after their mother's funeral. But if the only threat were the claps of thunder, then she had to be okay.
She got up from the bed and left the room, closing her sister's door behind her. She made sure it clicked shut.
She looked over and saw her stepfather at the other end of the hall. She knew it was him; his imposing figure, the way his arms were outstretched, pressing against either wall of the narrow corridor. It was not a drunken one, but a deliberate one. Closing the gap between her and the storm outside.
Without hesitation, Babydoll bolted to her room. She ran through the ajar door and tried to close it, the measure more desperate than she would've hoped.
Her stepfather, in hot pursuit, pressed his body weight against her. Face contorting in rage, the emotions playing like a reel - grunting, puffing, cursing. His arm stuck through the closing gap like a tendril, reaching for her. It landed its grip on the collar of her nightshirt, tugging so hard that a button popped off and tore the rest open.
Horrified, Babydoll viciously scratched his face.
He yelped and stumbled back. The anger coursing through her fingers had made a crimson claw mark down the side of his face, sparing only his eye. The pain energized him, and he forced the door open.
Babydoll tumbled to the ground. Her loose button spun like a dreidel on the floor.
She scrambled away from him, the impact ringing in her ears. He stood in her doorway imposingly, taking a few indulgent steps. She thought she had lost her battle. A scratch on the face meant nothing to a door that couldn't be locked, and that in turn meant nothing to the figure who had prevented it from being locked.
But the look in his eyes was disdainful. Too feisty, she imagined him thinking. She's already taken what should belong to me, and now what? What does she have to lose other than another night?
Her sister's door lumbered in the back, an inanimate witness. He looked over at it.
If not her, then...
She gasped, and started scrambling to her feet. But she was already too late.
He advanced out of the doorway and shut the door. She collapsed against it, desperate to get out, but the lock clicked on the other end. That bastard had the key to every goddamn door in the house. Even her own.
Helpless, she watched through the lock. One eye to witness him open her sister's door, and the other to find that she had already been awakened by his footsteps. His fat fingers started to undo his tie, staring at her as if knowing that she'd leer at him from her holding cell. Distracting him.
But to his surprise, the sister was quick. She jumped out of bed, tremoring, and ran past him while his gaze was averted. Slick like a rabbit, she grabbed his keys and made a mad dash for it. Catching him off guard.
Babydoll gasped. Her sister was clever, but this had only made her circumstances worse. She needed to save her.
She looked over at the window. The storm roared outside, pounding against her. It would have to spare her just this one time.
-
The sister hid in the closet. The keys were stuck in the lock, jangling as her stepfather slammed his weight against the door.
The room was lit by a single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling and made her surroundings feel helpless. As if she were being put on a table for an operation that she didn't need, orchestrated by men that she didn't want touching her. The thick coats hung on the wall and the shoes cluttered at their hems held memories, but they were all useless in a time like this. Vague hints of perfume and love, ones that would've kept her warm on cold, wet nights. But not alive.
She thought of evil, the concept of evil. How it sprouted from the thighs of people who wanted nothing more than to do bad. How it made her turn her pink bunny towards the wall so that it wouldn't see anything it didn't need to see. Terrible things that only she and Babydoll were doomed to face.
The door shook with each kick and the hanging lightbulb quaked in fear. Shuddering, tearful, she balled herself up and buried her face in her knees.
What would happen, she thought to herself, if he closed in on her? Oh, stupid, you know what's going to happen! Mom's not here, and all that's going to happen to us is what he wants to have happen to us. Stupid, stupid.
Please don't do it. My mom is dead and my sister is locked in her room. Please, for the love of -
The door swung open with the urging of his foot. She gasped, whipping her head up.
A ferocious dragon with silver-lined scales and tobacco-stained teeth stood at the door, growling for her flesh. The growl was guttural, shaking the core of the house. Making the lightbulb quiver in terror, the coats go limp like dead fish, the shoes scatter. The craggly claws on his hands and feet, which had wounded the door and insulted the floor, made sure of this. Only she could confront him now.
Her mouth remained open in terror, unsure what to do. She was going to die, or at least end the night wishing to die.
But then they heard a click.
She blinked.
The stepfather looked over to find the heroine soaked to the nines in her clothes after a long, romantic journey, wielding a long sword, lined with a glare. Holding it up with a dirt caked hand, letting the edge stare him down like prey.
The sight was shocking, seeing fear wielded like honor, like chivalry. For them, small acts of defiance were the main course. And the stepfather, even if for a moment, was fearful. He stuck his hands up, looking at her. Trying to reason with her.
He spoke with a grin. Don't do this, you know you can't do this. I despise when you act like this.
The heroine clamped her other hand on the sword, still pointing it at him. The sister could see that she was trembling with fear, but neutralizing herself with determination.
Baby, don't be so stupid. Your mother would hate this -
And then, a hole widened in his head. Eviscerating the air.
A slice. No, a bang that slayed the dragon.
His weight hit the floor, a satisfying thump on the hardwood floor. Only countered by the panting of Babydoll.
The sister couldn't help but sob, the blood on her skin. Warm and uncomfortable. Was his head still on his body? Some of it had to be.
"Hey, hey," Babydoll said.
The sister looked up, and her face was cupped by Babydoll's hands.
"Don't - don't look, alright? Look at me."
The sister nodded, scared. The .45 was on the floor next to her, discarded for the present moment. Her sword that she could put down, now that the fight was over. The princess was saved.
The sister collapsed into Babydoll’s arms, sobbing.
“I don’t wanna be here!” she declared.
“I know, I know,” Babydoll replied. “We’ll go and be free.”
She sniffled. “Are things going to be okay?”
Babydoll was silent for a moment, letting her sister collect herself. They met eyes, and she saw Babydoll’s smeared mascara, weighing on her like dirty eyebags. Remarking all that she had been through, all that they had been through.
“Yes,” she said. “As long as we’re together, things will be okay.”
-
When the eye of the storm had passed over Brattleboro, the police, clad in raincoats, found the sisters huddled at the site of their mother's grave. Warmly accepted by the dirt and the slugs, which had clung to their soaked nightclothes, they were shaking from the cold.
The storm would come back, suggested by the tiny trickles of rain. But the sisters didn’t seem to care. Locked in an embrace, the police couldn’t help but notice the unshakeable grins spread across their faces.