“What are you going to do with me? Why did you take my hands?” she asked again.
“I am going to brush your hair now. Can’t have you looking all messy.”
Long, skinny fingers ran through Miss Nancy’s hair as they massaged her scalp; the fingers felt cold against herskin. Belinda’s hums were subtle and calm, and she was careful not to tug too hard.
“Why are you doing this?” Miss Nancy asked.
“She told me to,” Belinda answered.
“Who did?”
“Pin, my doll. She is sitting over there. Can you see her? She is watching us.” Belinda grabbed Miss Nancy’s head with the old woman’s severed hands and turned her towards her right. The doll was propped up on the other couch across the room; her face was smudged and filled with darkness. The finger-brushing continued for a few minutes; Belinda kept singing while Miss Nancy remained quiet. A cold glare filled Miss Nancy’s eyes as she looked at the doll, her strength fading. At this point, she longed for death.
“All done!” Belinda announced as she walked around the chair to face the old woman.
Miss Nancy’s blood slowly dripped from the stubs of her arms as she felt her life fading. Her eyes felt heavy from blood loss, and the alcohol began to wear off. The skin remaining on her hands pulsated, and she could feel the wetness of her own blood; she was too weak to scream. Her heart pounded faster than it had in decades, and her stomach sank when she saw Belinda in front of her with her dismembered hands.
Belinda held both hands like two bony combs, a grim smile adorned her face.
“Oh, you little bitch, how dare you brush my hair with my own fingers. Burn in hell, you demon!” Miss Nancy shouted. Belinda quickly dropped the hands on the ground, ran around behind her, and pulled the old woman’s fragile head back.
With one hand, she opened Miss Nancy’s mouth. With her other hand, she grabbed Betsy’s box of ashes and, using her index finger, snapped the hook open. Opening Miss Nancy’s mouth wide, she poured the ashes into it. Miss Nancy choked and coughed, but the thick powder clogged her throat. After a minute of struggling, her body went limp, leaving her lifeless eyes staring wide open.
“Well, that was no fun,” Belinda said.
She hated how fast Miss Nancy had died: her death brought her no joy. She untied the old woman’s arms and body but left her in the recliner. Standing tall in front of Miss Nancy’s limp corpse, Belinda’s bloodthirst grew at the sight of the blood on her arms. Curious, Belinda held one of the old lady’s bloody stumps.
Slowly, she brought her mouth towards the sewn limb and began to suck on it. Her teeth rubbed against the threads, making it feel like nails on chalk. She didn’t care, however; she sucked long and hard. Blood slowly filled hermouth, giving her shivers down the back of her skull. The blood was still warm, tasting sweeter than the squirrels she’d been feeding on for years and less metallic than her own period blood. She sucked hard, and swallowed deep, draining every ounce she could get of that morbid nectar.
Belinda opened the kitchen windows, allowing the animals to come inside. “It might take days for her to smell, but by then, the animals would have done some serious damage,” she thought to herself.
After removing the threads off the arm stumps and leaving them on the ground, she packed the hands into plastic bags. A trail of blood leading back to her house would not be ideal, so she triple-bagged them. Belinda then walked over to her doll, grabbed her, and snuck back into her house through the front door as the sun began to come out.
Without fear of her mother finding them, Belinda placed the bagged hands in the back of the refrigerator. After changing into clean clothes, she lay in bed with her doll. Her eyes cleared, and she quickly fell asleep. It wasn’t long before she drifted into dreams where her Pin awaited.
Chapter Seven - Succumbed
Awakened in her dream, Belinda sensed something different. She struggled to breathe the thick air around her; her body felt heavier, denser. Most dreams would begin with a bluer sky, but the clouds had already made it darker. A storm was nearby.
Belinda walked across the valley, looking for Pin. She followed a muddy path, her knees splashed with dirt. Her dreams were so different now that she wondered what had changed. “Has she upset Pin?” Her thoughts clouded her mind. Everything looked scarier now; she thought of turning back. She looked in every direction for a sign of her doll and their picnic site, but she could barely see around the shadows of shrubs and trees.
Exhausted, she began to run. “Where are you?” she cried.
“I am here,” a voice said.
Belinda didn’t recognize the voice.
“Over here!” the voice repeated, followed by a malevolent giggle.
After walking what seemed to be forever, Belinda found their picnic site. Pin had been waiting for her, sitting down with a straight back and perfect hair that waved at the ends. A kettle rested on the red quilted blanket, with freshly brewed chamomile tea beside it; the air smelled sweet.
“I’ve been waiting for you, B-” Pin said.
Pin speaking again in this new dream was strange. A doll’s voice after eighteen years can shake anyone’s mental state. Still, Belinda was happy to hear Pin, fleshing out their lifelong friendship.
“How come you never spoke all these years?” Belinda asked
“I never wanted to scare you. You mean the world to me.”
