By now, Camille was quite comfortable with Jenny in their home. Although she had decided to be a stay-at-home mom, Camille spent most of her time shopping and visiting her new friends. No one understood how a woman so isolated could find friends so easily, as if she belonged to a secret, unheard-of club for lonely mothers.
Jenny stayed with Belinda to babysit; she never minded. The pay was good, her housing was covered, and the job was easy. It also gave her time to attend school and have plenty of free time in the evenings.
Sometimes she would cook, but that was a task Camille prided herself on. Sometimes Antonio would come late from work and miss dinner, but Camille always made sure to have a plate ready to heat up for him. Life was good for them; routine was a gift, and time continued to pass.
For years, Belinda had the same recurring dream, running through a field of flowers with her doll in her arms. White butterflies would fly all around them as they ran; somewould even land on them. The sun was often bright and warm, a little paradise. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and spring hyacinths, her dad’s favorite.
After exploring the field, Belinda sat on the ground across from her doll. Ladybugs crawled on the doll’s dress before flying away, their backs reflecting the sunlight majestically like lightning bugs. Both sat up straight, wrapped in each other’s gentle embrace. Belinda felt drawn to the depths of her doll’s eyes, a hypnotizing gaze that sucked her in.
While sharing the moment of peaceful bliss, Belinda began to hum a lullaby. It came to her organically and effortlessly, as if she had known the song all along. She didn’t know how she knew it, nor did she care. She hummed and hummed as she drew closer to her doll to play with her hair. Pulling a small hairbrush out of her pocket, she turned the doll away and began to brush her silky strands. As she continued to hum, Belinda then started to sing.
“Pin Pon es un muñeco …”The doll’s head quickly spun back to face her, drawing her into a trance as Belinda’s eyes turned completely black. She sat upright, her arms limp at her sides. Suddenly, the skies darkened, and all the bugs began to fall to the ground, slowly melting around her, and those that landed on her seemed to dissolve into her skin.
Belinda was awakened by her mother’s shaking. Camille had heard a loud scream coming from Belinda’s bedroom. She got up, panicked by the howl, and ran to check on her. Belinda’s body felt a whiplash after being awakened; sweat ran down her face, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked at her doll before turning back to her mom but did not remember what had happened in her dream, only recalling the field of flowers.
Puzzled, her mother hugged her and reassured her that everything was alright before tucking her back into the blankets. While Belinda managed to fall right back to sleep, her doll hovered over her with eyes peeled wide open, watching her sleep from within the stillness of the night.
Despite the dreams, Belinda felt drawn to the doll. She experienced no fear or discomfort in her presence, which she regarded as her closest companion. Belinda carried the doll everywhere she went. Initially, it was too big for her, but as she grew, the doll seemed smaller and easier to carry. Now at age eight, her parents began to grow concerned about her unusual attachment. Camille tried to convinceBelinda to leave the doll behind from time to time, but she would refuse by throwing a fit.
That same night, when her parents tried to get Belinda to let go of her doll, she had another nightmare. Although small, it came with more power than she would understand. In her dream, she walked in absolute darkness. She felt dizzy, as if her surroundings were spinning.
The ground felt wet and sticky, but she couldn’t tell what she was walking on. Belinda could hear a faint hum that sounded like a lullaby. She felt in her heart that it was her doll trying to guide her to a pathway out of the darkness. Trusting the sound, she followed it blindly. After a while, the hum grew louder and more pronounced.
When Belinda took one more step, she fell into the void. As she was free-falling, her cries for help were muted. Her arms swung, hoping to grasp something. Anything.
When she finally reached what seemed like bottomless depths, a loud splash echoed in her ears. Belinda had fallen into a pond where the water was sticky, feeling to her like glue. She kicked and tried to swim, but the goo felt heavy and thick, making her tired very quickly.
Panic set in as she started to go under, her chest tightening. Gasping for air, she reached out again, trying to grab onto something beyond the slimy, dark water. Suddenly, a hand clamped around her fingers and tugged her up justenough so she could breathe the bitter air through her mouth. The black, oily stuff on her face looked darker and redder as Belinda slowly floated back to the surface. But the hand that pulled her out was clean and smooth, not sticky at all.
Exposed down to her neck, Belinda saw the gently illuminated face of a beautiful woman with black hair and forest-green eyes. The woman’s face moved close to hers and began to whisper into her ear. Belinda’s heart sank the more she heard. “He- they could never do that.” Belinda begged. The whispers grew louder, echoing and bouncing around them.
Before the whispers ended, the woman said, “Now you go, but you must wait.” Looking deep into Belinda’s eyes, she let go of her hand, and Belinda went under before she could say anything else. Like in Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam,” the tips of their fingers parted away. Darkness took over.
Belinda woke up to a violent jerk that shook her bed. Feverish and soaked in sweat, she reached over for her doll, which seemed to be staring at her, and drew her close to her chest for comfort. “It’s only a nightmare,” she breathed out.
Feeling uncomfortably wet on her bottom, Belinda uncovered herself. The sheets were covered in blood, a periodthat was a little bit too early for her age. Ignorant of where the blood came from, she reached under herself with one hand to find the source. Nervously, she realized the blood was coming from within her once she saw the blobs of blood she had pulled out.
Her mother hadn’t talked about periods with her yet; Camille had hoped to save that conversation for her tenth birthday. Although Belinda wasn’t fully ignorant about the subject, she had known about other early bloomers at school. The facts didn’t scare her any less; she didn’t know how or who she would have to tell.
While she sat up on the blood-stained bed, she admired the grape-size clots she had scooped out. Without giving it much thought other than her new discovered yearning for blood, she popped a few blood pearls into her mouth. Metal-tasting jelly blobs, popping like boba, in her mouth, she felt satisfied as the blood bathed around her buccal cavity.
Recalling the woman’s whispers from her dream, Belinda cleaned up the blood, bagged the stained items, and threw them into the driveway’s garbage bin. With her doll in her arms, Belinda decided to walk down the street.
Later that morning, Antonio received a phone call from Jenny at work. Belinda had gone missing, and she couldn’t get a hold of Camille’s cell phone. Panicked, Antonio left work and headed home. As he turned onto the neighborhood, he caught a glimpse of Belinda standing at the gate of the mansion. Overcome with disbelief, he parked the car in the cul-de-sac and promptly ran toward her.
“Honey, honey, honey. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I know what you and mom did,” Belinda replied.
“What are you talking about? Let’s get you home. You should never come here. It’s not safe.”
“Why did you hurt her, daddy?”
“What do you mean? Has that woman been speaking to you?”
Antonio’s heart sank deeper than an anchor in the sea; his lips turned pale, and his skin flushed. He looked past Belinda and redirected his attention towards the mansion.
“Leave us the fuck alone, you hear me? Fuck you!” he shouted.
