Charlotte

by Keane, Stuart

  “Mummy?”

  Patricia snapped from her reverie and listened. The sound came from downstairs. Patricia ambled to the top of the stairs and started climbing down, the steps groaning beneath her unbalanced weight, her aching back against the wall for support. She reached the hallway, her feet landing on solid ground.

  Amy was standing before her, her back turned.

  “Amy?”

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Goosebumps prickled Patricia’s flesh. She felt it rising beneath her blood-soaked clothing. Amy never calls me Mother.

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  “I’m right here, Mother.”

  Amy turned around and Patricia screamed. A guttural, howling scream.

  Her daughter was covered in blood, from head to toe, every inch of her child was dripping with dark crimson. However, the blood wasn’t the issue. It was the face. More specifically…the eyes.

  Yellow orbs of pure horror, webbed with black evil and sin. They throbbed in their sockets, moved in and out and sideways, sometimes disappearing behind the skin that surrounded them. The sneer on her daughter’s face was vehement, her ashen lips stretched back over yellow, pointed teeth. Skin around the mouth was taut, cracked and frayed, as if the teeth were too big for her daughter’s mouth.

  Patricia closed her eyes and shook her head. “You’re not real, this can’t be happening?”

  “Mummy?”

  Patricia opened her tired eyes and Amy stood before her. She was still blood-soaked but her eyes and mouth were normal. Patricia groaned in relief. She stepped forward. Amy smiled and held her hand out. “Come play with me, Mummy?”

  “Sure, darling.” Patricia reached out and reluctantly took her daughter’s bloody hand. She smiled and Amy pointed into the living room. “Look what I made for you.”

  Patricia looked up and groaned. She felt her brain pounding in her skull and her eyes trying to rip themselves from their sockets. She tried to tear her eyes away, but couldn’t. Her stomach was on permanent rotation.

  Sandy’s severed head was on top of the Christmas tree. The tip of the tree spiked through the bloody stump of the neck and protruded just behind the left eye, pushing the dead orb to the side. Blood and muscle had dripped down the tree, splattering several of the branches and decorations. Below the tree were several objects—probably boxes—wrapped in parched, dead skin. Stitches made of brown hair kept the skin in place around the objects within.

  On the fireplace were two skin stockings, stitched with hair, much the same as the presents. Patricia held a scream in as she realised they were the bottom half of a boy’s foot, severed at the shin and skinned. The crudely stitched stockings wobbled, ambient in the glow of the orange, fake fire. Candy canes and sweets protruded from the tips of the stockings, which swung gently with any slight, nearby motion. A smell of heated flesh caught Patricia’s nostrils and she gagged once again.

  Just to the left of that was a dolls’ tea party.

  “C’mon, Mummy, we can have a Christmas tea party.” Amy dragged her unbelieving mother over to the tree. Gecko, soaked in blood and with a slit in his throat—spilling pink stuffing—sat at one table. Fluffy, minus an arm and both ears, sat in another. He had flecks of blood on his fur too. Opposite Gecko was Molly.

  Patricia recoiled and screamed.

  Molly wore a fur coat, Sandy’s fur, the dog’s skin had been removed and placed over Molly’s unsuspecting shoulders. Lumps of viscera rested on her chest and legs. A single fingerprint of blood smeared her cheek. Molly, and her toy friends, all stared blankly; unaware of the graphic massacre they were a part of. Behind the toys, Patricia eyed the remains of Sandy, headless and skinned, laying on top of the TV remote. It looked like raw mincemeat.

  Patricia gagged for the third time, but held the bile back.

  “One lump or two, Mummy?”

  “I don’t take sugar in my tea.”

  “Yes, you do. One for you.”

  Amy placed an imaginary lump of sugar in an empty cup. Patricia eyed the catastrophe before her and glanced around. The stench of dead flesh and blood was fierce in the room. Everywhere she looked; there was a dead body part. She already knew the answer but she hoped Mike was okay. It was clear the organs and skin belonged to him. Small hopes, she thought. Patricia looked behind her and grabbed her dressing gown from the chair. She whipped the large belt from its loops and placed it to her face, covering her mouth and nose.

  It helped a little.

  “Now, Mummy, you know Gecko and Molly and Fluffy. I want you to meet Charlotte.” The name sent shivers up Patricia’s spine. “Drink the tea, Mummy!”

  “I’m not thirsty, darling…”

  “Drink it, Patricia.”

  The voice was a mature, female voice, tinged with vehemence and malice. It was dominant in its conviction. Patricia felt her scalp tighten and her sphincter seize at the sound of it. The gravelly voice sent shivers down her spine and she jumped. Her shaking hands picked up the tea, held it in the air, and hesitated. She gulped, lifted the cup, drank some imaginary tea, and sighed. “Nice tea, Amy. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Beside Amy, a mist started to appear. After a couple of seconds, it took the shape of a girl but never solidified. The haze started to move, but was concentrated to one spot. Then, a pair of yellow eyes appeared. They immediately shot to Patricia, watching her.

  “Hello, Charlotte.” Patricia said, defeated.

  “Finally, we meet.” Amy said it, emotionless and calm, her eyes staring at a spot down to her left. Patricia frowned and realised Charlotte was communicating through her daughter. Patricia cleared her throat. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Patricia shivered. Amy chuckled, her laugh one of age and experience. It sounded wrong coming from such a young child. “There were never going to be better circumstances. Let’s face it; you’ve wanted me gone from day one. You tried replacing me with false parental bonding, puppies and, my favourite, you tried beating me out of your daughter.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t me—that was Bruce. Not one of his finest moments…but…I would never hit Amy.”

  “Not your style? Getting involved isn’t part of your parental repertoire, is it?”

  Patricia shook her head. “What do you want?”

  Amy pretended to drink imaginary tea again, oblivious to the deep voice resonating from her mouth. “I want what’s best for Amy. Clearly you have plans to obstruct that in any way possible.”

  “I do no such…”

  “Liar.” Amy flicked her wide eyes to her mother, and stared into her soul. A stoic smile creased her innocent lips. Patricia groaned as her soul froze over and she felt a tear roll down her blood-soaked cheek. “You’ve tried to stop me at every turn. Cinema trips, Dr. Barden—oh, we liked him, didn’t we, Amy?” Amy nodded her head. The words continued spewing from her lips. “The puppy was a nice touch too…pity. And the boy? Don’t get me started on him.”

  Patricia looked around the room, at the blood and devastation. Her heart was smashing against her ribcage. “Is this your handiwork?”

  “Please. I’m not a physical being; I can’t be, unless Amy wants me to be. Do you think I did any of this? True, I put the idea in her head…and she did most of the work, but it was necessary. You had to see this, see what I’m capable of.”

  “Couldn’t you tearing a hole in my husband suffice?”

  “No. You see, Amy is bullied and ignored by a multitude of people. You can blame this on a number of things but it all comes back to your parenting…or lack thereof. Everything that’s happened here is your fault.” Amy stopped looking at her mother and began pouring more tea. She stared at her daughter, who quickly conversed—in silence—with her dolls. Amy looked up and grinned at her mother, the bright white teeth stark against the drying blood on her skin. Patricia lowered her head. “This is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “It’s been overdue.”

  “You…”
>
  “No, listen. The minute you found out about me, you’ve been trying to push me away. Amy has no friends, but the thought of having one—albeit imaginary—scared the hell out of you. You were all like ‘oh, I can’t have a kid who’s speaking to thin air; they’ll think I raised a stupid child. A retard. That won’t reflect well on me as a parent at all’. You should have embraced it. Instead, you fought it. Amy realised—and look where we are now.”

  Patricia’s eyes widened. “This is all Amy’s doing?”

  “Every bit. I can only exist if Amy lets me. Every time you neglect her, or someone pushes her, or she feels useless, or bullied, anything like that—it all goes into me. I manifest and we take out the anger on people who deserve it. The school bully, the boy next door, his mother…”

  His mother? Patricia frowned. “What did his mother do?”

  “She had to pay, just like everyone else. Her hair really gave a finishing touch to the presents.”

  Patricia groaned, looking behind Amy. The presents disgusted her. “This is sick and wrong. My daughter is innocent, a child! How can you fucking do this to her?”

  “Oh, but you did this. Have you not been listening?” Amy stood up, her eyes back on her mother. She pushed the table sideways, tipping it over, spilling cups and saucers all over the carpet. Gecko toppled over, crushed by the table. Molly, weighed down by the puppy skin, slumped to the floor. Patricia backed up. Amy faced her mother. “While you and Bruce were focusing on your careers, Amy was crying herself to sleep. She didn’t have help with homework, any bedtime stories, anything. She was all alone. You wonder why I came about…well, that’s your answer.”

  “I didn’t neglect my child!”

  “Yes, but you didn’t mollycoddle her either, you stupid bitch.”

  Amy’s blackened lips stretched over her teeth into an evil sneer. Her eyes narrowed and she cackled, a demonic, guttural laugh. Patricia felt urine spraying down her thigh. She shot a look behind Amy and Charlotte was gone.

  “Shit.”

  “Mummyyyyy…all I wanted was a little attention, a little love. Is that so much for a daughter to ask?” Amy held her hands up, her fingers pointed, clawing the air.

  “I’m sorry, baby, I really am. I didn’t…I didn’t realise.”

  “Too late now.”

  Patricia wiped the tears from her eyes. Backing towards the dining room, she cringed as her feet slipped on the bloody floor. You can’t reason with it, she thought. Try a different tactic. “I want to speak to my daughter.”

  “Now? You left it long enough.”

  “I realised my mistake. I deserve a second chance. Let me speak to Amy.”

  “You only get one chance in life. So no, you can’t speak to her.”

  “I know I fucked up, I can change…”

  “Amy has changed. Too much. There’s no going back.”

  “Be reasonable.”

  “If a shrink could see you now. Asking an imaginary friend, who you refused to acknowledge, to be reasonable. They’d lock you up and toss the key in the river.”

  Patricia’s rump knocked against the dining room chair. Amy kept coming, the eyes black in the low light, the sneer still stretched across her innocent, young face. A clawed hand shot out at her mother, who flinched. She moved sideways, along the table, towards the front door. “Amy, if you can hear me…”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Amy, Amy! If you can hear me, Mummy is sorry, okay?”

  “I told you it won’t work.”

  “Fuck you, Charlotte.”

  “Really? We’re going to do this. You can’t fight us, Mother. You can’t win.”

  Patricia edged past the dining room table. “I’m not your mother, Charlotte.” Patricia looked at her daughter and noticed life in those eyes, only briefly.

  Was she getting through to her?

  “Amy, this is your mother, listen to me! Please!”

  “You lost the right to call me your daughter when you watched Dad hit me.”

  “I didn’t…please…”

  “Let’s see how you like it.”

  A thunderous slap shattered the conversation and Patricia collapsed to the side, spilling onto the side table by the front door. Her hair trailed in her wake. The objects on the table fell to the shining, wet floor with soft splats. A white bolt of pain erupted through her face. Another slap thrust Patricia against the door, her legs gave way and she fell on her rump. She felt the spilled blood seeping through her trousers and into her underwear.

  “How do you like it, huh?” Amy turned and stared at her mother. She thrust her chin in the air, a defiant act.

  Patricia felt two invisible hands in her hair, ripping it from her scalp; slight tearing noises rattled around in her ears. She yelled in agony as they yanked her away, launching her through the air. She crashed against the wall in a winded, beaten heap. Patricia groaned and sat up, looking for Charlotte, but only seeing her daughter. Amy was methodically stalking her, her eyes fixated on her mother, darkness swelling around them.

  “Amy, stop this. I’m your mother, I never did anything…”

  “Wrong,” Amy said, without emotion.

  Patricia’s nose snapped under an invisible punch and blood squirted out of her nostril. A sickening crack erupted and Patricia cried out. A second punch smacked her in the gut, doubling her over, the wind escaping her lungs. A kick sent Patricia flying up in the air and she crashed into the wall once again, falling to the floor for a second time. A picture frame toppled and shattered on her back, spraying her with glass.

  “Amy…”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Stop this…”

  “No. How does it feel to be ignored, Mother? Huh? I know how it feels to come second in priority to a career…third if you count fucking your husband.”

  “That’s your father…you’re…” Patricia spat a wad of blood on the floor and looked up.

  “I don’t have parents. Not anymore.”

  Patricia felt herself hoisted into the air; three tufts of hair flew off to the side where Charlotte was getting its grip. Patricia’s scalp screamed in pain as she was levered to a standing position by her bedraggled hair. Amy stepped up to her mother.

  “You know the worst thing?”

  Patricia groaned. Blood was spilling from her nose and mouth, her scalp was on fire and her legs were like jelly, flopping below her. Her body was running out of adrenaline. “Wha…t.”

  “You’re the worst one. Dad may have hit me, but you didn’t stop him. You suggested Dr. Barden, you suggested the cinema and the goddamn puppy. You’re getting what you deserve.”

  Amy’s fingers moved to Patricia’s face. She slid a finger along her mother’s cheek and tickled the side of her eye. She moved the finger inwards, beneath the eyeball. The soft orb slipped a little on her finger. Then, she retracted the finger. “See how easy that is, Mummy?”

  Patricia spat blood to the side. Her mind, on some primitive instinct for survival, kicked into gear. It was life or death and she knew she would die easily. Her daughter’s life was on the line and she, as a mother, had to do something drastic.

  It was them or Charlotte.

  Amy moved both hands to her mother’s face, a finger sliding under each eyeball. Patricia braced herself. Amy smiled and tensed, ready to push the fingers in.

  “Any last words?” Charlotte asked through Amy’s mouth.

  “Nope.”

  Patricia pulled a hand away from her scalp and smacked Amy on the right side of the head. Hard. The sound reverberated around the house. Amy cried out as she toppled to the floor. The grip loosened on Patricia’s hair.

  Now’s your chance.

  Patricia swung back and forth, loosening the grip. Hair ripped from her scalp, but she didn’t care. Amy came for her, but she kicked out, lashing Amy in the face, sending her sprawling to the ground.

  The grip loosened a little more.

  Patricia struggled and felt her hair give. She slumped forward, free from
Charlotte’s invisible grasp. Immediately, she charged forward, towards Amy who was climbing to her feet. Amy turned to face her mother, who slapped her in the chest with the palm of her hand. Amy staggered and grunted, gasping for breath. “You can’t do this…”

  “I just did, Amy.”

  Patricia slapped her daughter in the chest again. She groaned, slipped onto her rump and passed out on the wet floor.

  “Thank God.” Patricia slipped to a crouch beside her daughter.

  The room fell silent.

  Patricia glanced around for any signs of Charlotte. None remained. She forced a smile, looking down at her fallen daughter, whose eyes were closed. Patricia placed a hand on her daughter and sighed in huge relief.

  She lay on the floor, resting her head, exhausted. It’s over, she thought. It’s all over.

  Patricia closed her eyes, groaning in pain, and let the blood-stained darkness consume her.

  FIFTEEN

  Charlotte ripped Patricia’s arm from its socket and tossed it across the room. It smacked against the wall like a newspaper on the porch. Blood splattered the furniture around it. Charlotte then thrust a hand into her stomach, pushing through flesh like a hot knife through butter and removed her intestines, smearing them all over its hazy visage, gobbets of blood and viscera pattered the floor like heavy rain. A floating, red haze wobbled towards Amy’s mother.

  As Patricia died, Charlotte solidified as a girl and stepped up to her. Patricia cried and tried to scream but her tongue fell out of her mouth. It slapped the floor and rolled over twice before dying.

  Her eyes started to close but Charlotte stepped up and patted a bloody, childlike hand on her cheek. “Hello, Mummy.” Patricia saw her daughter, Amy, staring back at her. As she screamed, her scalp slipped off her skull…

  Patricia sat straight up and screamed. Her throat vibrated and pain shot through her lungs. Glancing down, her blood-soaked clothes were stiff and stagnant. The strong smell of copper assaulted her nostrils. Sweat coated her red, grimy arms and neck. She scratched her irritated flesh, a hundred irritations prickling her skin.