“Goddamn it, Betsy, drop it!” Antonio could hear Miss Nancy shout from the street as she continued to retreat.
Once inside her house, Miss Nancy peeked through her window blinds at the Santos’ home. She was left frightened after seeing Belinda’s bloody face. “I bet she killed that bitch whore Jenny too,” she whispered to her dog.
Betsy was still licking the blood off her face after swallowing the last bit of the squirrel. Miss Nancy was so concerned about everything she saw that she forgot to remove the dead squirrel from her dog’s mouth. Later that night, after she brushed Betsy’s mouth with her toothbrush, they had their snack and then headed to bed.
For many months, Antonio woke up to find several dead squirrels in his backyard. Luckily for him, he thought, no one could see the frequent killings. Some squirrels were torn apart, some were just gnawed on, and others appeared to have been poorly skinned. Having no idea what kind of animal was responsible, Antonio decided to install a camera system outside.
After a few nights of unexplanatory footage, Antonio grew weary and confused. Then, the next morning, he found a new crime scene, and this time, blood trailed back to their back door.
He quickly opened the camera app on his phone and reviewed the video history. He could see a shadow moving along the shrubs, but couldn’t identify the creature. He regretted not having better lighting, but he couldn’tchange it without overwhelming the neighbors, especially Miss Nancy. The last thing he needed was her harassing him over a garden light.
After further review, Antonio noticed that the small shadow didn’t quite move like an animal. Although too dark to tell, for a moment he thought that it might be human. Nothing made sense, not even that pointless video.
Irritated, Antonio headed outside to clean up the bloody mess. With gloves and a trash bag, he carefully picked up each squirrel and placed it in the bag. Many of the squirrels fell apart in his hands as he transferred them. He then chucked the filled bag into the garbage for pickup. Whether his actions were right or wrong, he didn’t know; the city had stopped returning his calls.
Unaware of much, Camille went about her day as normal. Although she did wonder about the excessive amount of dirt on Belinda’s clothes, she never really cared to question it further. She remembered her childhood and how much she loved playing with dirt; nothing a quick wash couldn’t fix.
Later that morning, Belinda strolled down the street, enjoying short walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes she’d make her way to the large, creepy mansion down the street. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she felt drawn to the eeriness surrounding the house.
She often wondered why no one ever came out, but then again, she remembered that few people on the street spoke to each other unless necessary. After High School, the animosity among the men in the neighborhood was obvious; no one even offered a simple greeting. Everyone seemed to have an excuse to look away when crossing paths. Most of the children in the neighborhood were around the same age, but they only spoke at school.
She tried not to think about school. Wisteria High was a good school, but she was glad to be out for the summer. Belinda preferred to be alone and away from the other children after being bullied by her peers. Many would call her strange and weird, but she never allowed any of that to brew within her.
As Belinda studied the mansion’s gates, Betsy popped out from behind her. Startled, Belinda quickly became ill and began to vomit thick, chunky black tar onto the ground. Due to Betsy’s learned habits, she quickly licked the tar up. Watching the entire event unfold, Miss Nancy ran towards them, shouting in panic, “Get away from my Betsy, you demon child!”
Nearly out of breath, Miss Nancy tried to pull Betsy away, but not before she licked every single trace of Belinda’s meaty vomit.
“What’s the matter with you? Why did you let her do that?” Miss Nancy demanded.
“I’m sorry, I just got sick and couldn’t stop-” Belinda attempted to say before being interrupted.
“Shh, shh, shh. I don’t care. Stay away from my girl. Do you hear me?"
“Yes, ma’am,” Belinda cried.
“Now go on, get home. You have no business being out here.”
Belinda ran back home as fast as she could, angry at the way Miss Nancy had treated her. Not wanting her parents to know about her secret stop, she decided not to tell anyone about the altercation.
While in her room, Belinda couldn’t help but notice her doll sitting on the dresser as she looked for a fresh change of clothes. Still upset and with no one to talk to, she grabbed her doll and hugged her close. “You are my best friend,” she whispered into her doll’s ear.
After going to bed, in her dreams, Belinda dreamt of her doll. They ran through the fields of white linen and flowers, singing “Pin Pon’s lullaby” as they danced. Belinda never held her doll tighter; her pull towards Pin was uncanny, and she promised to never put her down again.
When she woke up the next morning, Belinda stretched her arms towards the ceiling as she sat up in her bed. Sheimmediately began to gag. Coughing and choking, she shoved her fingers into her mouth and continued to pull whatever was stuck down her throat.
As she pulled gently, a gnarled ball of squirrel hair and flesh came out of her mouth. Belinda examined it, holding it close to her eyes, then quickly fell ill and ran towards the bathroom, leaving her doll behind on the bed. Belinda hovered over the toilet bowl and vomited violently.
Thick, coagulated, tar-like blood filled the bowl, some splattering onto the floor around it. Confused, she grabbed toilet paper, cleaned up her mess, flushed the toilet, and went downstairs for breakfast, where her mom waited. On her way, she grabbed her doll.
Chapter Six - Miss Nancy
For years, Belinda’s family couldn’t explain certain events, such as how Jenny managed to grab an open jug of acid and how the squirrels kept being slaughtered in their yard. As time went by, the squirrels became fewer in number, and their tiny corpses were less frequent.
Antonio couldn’t figure out who or what was killing them; the cameras could never record much other than distorted shadows. But at the same time, he was also glad that something else was taking care of his squirrel problem. His job was only to clean up the aftermath, the following morning on “Squirrel Day.” He stopped questioning the curious events, even though Miss Nancy would often harass him for answers.
“I expect a proper burial for those little angels!” Miss Nancy would shout every time Antonio ran past her house in the morning. “That bitch never sleeps,” he often thought.
“Mind your own business,” he’d shout back.
