“Annabelle,” a man whispered in the woman’s ear. Her head lifted upward as if she was a zombie rising out of her grave. Her chocolate eyes met small emerald orbs.
“The doctor bequeathed the all-clear for Troy, Anna. We can take our withdrawal from the hospital.” Anna gazed upon her husband, Christian, as she hummed and nodded, tightly grasping the dull blue chair for momentum balance. Anna hauled her child into her youthful, smooth arms, his dirt-colored hair colliding with the waterfall of brown covering all of her hair.
“Mmm, Chris, let’s get Troy home yeah?” Her voice was reminiscent of a drunk individual enveloped by the cloth of a hangover. Chris had a firm hold of Anna’s bare shoulder as the family departed the hospital.
“Come over here, Troy, toss the ball,” Chris motioned for the five-year-old clutching a tennis ball. Anna gritted her teeth as she observed her men converging on one another, the tennis ball slipping from Troy’s stubby fingers. The blade held high stuck the unsuspecting lettuce bush with fervor; Anna never enjoyed Troy’s, nevertheless Chris’, happiness when she discerned the fate of the optimistic boy.
When Troy was born, his lungs had damaged bronchial sacs and heart tissue not compatible as of the discovery. Both issues were resolved, yet there was always the concern of the resolution backfiring. Afterwards, the couple took the news, Chris deciding to chance the risk of Troy dying on them and Anna sewing her lips shut, comparing Troy to a failed experiment whilst fearing for the boy’s life expectancy. It was obvious as to who named the child. Anna’s worry grew over the years, and the emotional stress grew to a point of pushing over the boundary of schizophrenic mother to miserable killer. Luckily, that boundary hasn’t been crossed. However, as the horror grew, not once did she ever consider requesting relief. Anna now regretted not finding comfort in her plague as she now searched for her knife on the counter, waiting for the blade to appear in front of her like a servant waiting on their master hand and foot. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain strike her palm’s center. Troy.
“Mommy…you dropped this.” Troy’s hands gripped the knife’s handle tautly, and unintentionally forced the peak to create a small, bleeding cut on his mother’s palm. Anna calmly knelt down and removed the blood-striped blade from Troy’s now bloody stubs. When she rose back upward, Troy buried his hand into Anna’s lavender dress.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I promise not to do it again.” He then buried his face into the dress as a hug, and Anna’s face was tight with conflict. While his adorable voice made her want to coo in awe, the push was given, and Anna embraced the radiant epiphany; Troy’s time is over.
It was a few hours later in the day, and Chris had left for his part-time job, leaving the mother and child alone, together. Perfect. Anna peeked into Troy’s room and found the toddler asleep. Smirking menacingly, she gently lifted the boy into her arms and strolled over to her and Chris’ quarters. Laying him down on the clean, white sheets of the bed, Anna revealed a shiny, sharp butcher knife, a keen weapon for dismemberment. Licking the blade’s tip and outstretching Troy’s limbs, Anna loomed over her son, and a single shadow watched as the knife was heaved into the air.
“Annabelle! What in the world are you doing?!” a masculine voice boomed, and in spontaneous rage, Anna turned around and chucked the knife square in the silhouette’s face, the force of the impact shoved the knife into his skull and split his brain a fourth of the way. The shadow fell back limp, and Anna removed the knife from the target, slicing into his elbow, detaching his lower arm before sawing into his shoulder and removing the rest of the arm, blood and other fluids gushing out into a multicolored puddle. The same attack was reciprocated to the other arm and his legs, the deceased body floating in the mixture puddle. Still on her violent tirade, Anna dug up her collection of jam jars from under the bed and filled the items with as much liquid as she could, refrigerating them just in case she needs the shadow’s fluids for something…important. Another idea came to Anna’s mind; she stuffed the shadow’s limbs into the oven, and as she glided away, Anna swore she saw the face melt into one of agony and horror, a gruesome one at that. If only Anna knew that her husband wouldn’t be seeing anyone anymore.
A week passed since the incident, and Anna received call after call and visit after visit regarding her missing husband, to whom she claimed she didn’t know the whereabouts of. The constant ringing and banging tuckered Anna out, thus her eyes fluttered shut for a nap.
“Hello? What’s going on?” a sweet, feminine voice called out. There was nothing but darkness around. No silhouettes, no structures, nothing. Just voices.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Annabelle. I’ve been dreaming of this luscious moment.” A raspy female voice cooed.
“Why am I here? I never decided to fall asleep.” Annabelle questioned the voice.
“Guilty as charged. Pull a few strings and push some boundaries, and what you desire will serve itself on a silver platter. Woeful to know you never conjured up the idea.”
“How exactly do you know that?”
“I guess being your embodiment of misery is not something you’d enjoy. Shame to know loyalty was gift-wrapped to the wrong person to trust. Oh, I’m sure what you’re doing is to protect a loved one, right Annabelle?”
“Like I actually consider you to be a loved one in my circle.”
“I don’t mean me, I mean your diminutive tike. You love him to the point you would kill him for his own nobility. However, what you call prey is not so easy to murder.”
“What are you implying exactly? Christian wasn’t easy to officially kill off, and in return, I’m going to be miserable by his haunting?”
“Perceptive of you, but not the correct answer. Little miss, misery is what drives you to kill. You’re more like an unfortunate protagonist.”
“Stop with this nonsense! Release me now!”
“Fine then,” the area began to glow white. “Oh, and for the record, I hope you enjoyed the little present I left in the oven as Chris’ face melted.”
“What?” Anna asked loudly as she woke up, her upper body perpendicular to her lower body. She then felt small hands on her chest, and looked down to see a mortified Troy inches away from her face, his deep green eyes vibrating.
“Mommy,” Troy began, “Are you okay?”
“Troy, I’m alright, I promise. Is there anything you need?” Troy was reluctant, as he had a gut feeling his mother has something to do with his father’s disappearance, or hypothetically, his death. The boy gulped.
“Where’s…D-Daddy?” Annabelle donned a stoic expression as she gathered Troy in her arms and marched to her bedroom, laying him on the bed. Anna exited the room and saw the moon spying on her through the window curtains. Anna blindly felt around the kitchen counter for her Swiss Army knife, her favorite one she called ‘Killer Red’. Her fingers smoothing over the cracks in the red paint, Anna equipped the box-opener blade and elegantly dashed back into the room, belly-flopping onto Troy, the blade airborne in her hand.
“Mommy, what are you…MOMMY!” Troy’s soft question turned into a scream of pain as the blade made a long slit into his upper arm. Despite its skinniness, blood gushed out like water from a faucet. Troy was trembling in tears, and Anna pressed a finger to his quivering lips.
“I’m sorry.” She stuttered through tears as she made another slit into his lower arm, “I should’ve told you about Daddy, Troy.”
A slit into the other upper arm. “I killed him, Troy. I burned his body after draining his fluids. I did that…b-because…” A slit into the other lower arm. “I wanted to kill you. I couldn’t bear being miserable about losing you at any moment, thus I decided to kill you myself.” Anna cleaned off the blood-covered blade with her dress before moving to his legs.
“M-Mommy,” A slit was made into his lower leg as Troy began to speak. “I didn’t think that you would kill Daddy since you loved him, and you loved me, right?” Anna uttered out sobs as the knife slashed Troy’s thigh from under his shorts.
“Mommy, in all of this, I want you to know that I still love you. Even after killing Daddy and hurting me, I still love you. Thank you for being the best Mommy I could have.” Anna moved the blade to the opposite leg and copied the same slits and slashes while screaming out tears. Troy’s loyalty to her was beginning to bite her mentality, almost as if Troy was the puppetmaster in this escapade. His tyranny continued as Anna stepped back to watch him bleed out, puddles of crimson painted over a fourth of the rustled bed. Anna, lost in her misery and guilt, covered herself in Troy’s blood before opening the refrigerator, removing Chris’ fluid jars, and coating herself in the freezing-to-the-touch liquids. Wandering to her bedroom closet, Anna pulled out a thick rope and tied one end to an unmoving blade on the ceiling fan, the other end tied around her neck.
“That’s enough, Troy. Your game of misery is terminated.” Annabelle concluded as she had her fingers were ready to yank the chain, if not for hearing an attempted bloodcurdling shout first.
“Don’t abandon me in this fashion! I still require you!” the raspy female voice shattered the room. Anna didn’t dare speak as thoughts zoomed in her deteriorated brain. The voice’s riddles…they came true. However, it was all a game, a game that the voice used to lure Anna into her miserable state, using the one thing she cherished: family. Anna heard blurred words fighting as stubs climbed up her legs, one voice sounded like Troy and the other sounded like the voice, and since Troy was considered to still be alive, the solution was simple, and Anna’s fate was sealed. Her hands yanked Troy up, his head slipping into the noose.
Anna kissed her son on the cheek. “Little Miss Misery is no more,” she whispered in happiness as Anna yanked on the chain, the fan’s blades spinning around with two dead bodies dangling, the true end of Little Miss Misery.
“The doctor bequeathed the all-clear for Troy, Anna. We can take our withdrawal from the hospital.” Anna gazed upon her husband, Christian, as she hummed and nodded, tightly grasping the dull blue chair for momentum balance. Anna hauled her child into her youthful, smooth arms, his dirt-colored hair colliding with the waterfall of brown covering all of her hair.
“Mmm, Chris, let’s get Troy home yeah?” Her voice was reminiscent of a drunk individual enveloped by the cloth of a hangover. Chris had a firm hold of Anna’s bare shoulder as the family departed the hospital.
“Come over here, Troy, toss the ball,” Chris motioned for the five-year-old clutching a tennis ball. Anna gritted her teeth as she observed her men converging on one another, the tennis ball slipping from Troy’s stubby fingers. The blade held high stuck the unsuspecting lettuce bush with fervor; Anna never enjoyed Troy’s, nevertheless Chris’, happiness when she discerned the fate of the optimistic boy.
When Troy was born, his lungs had damaged bronchial sacs and heart tissue not compatible as of the discovery. Both issues were resolved, yet there was always the concern of the resolution backfiring. Afterwards, the couple took the news, Chris deciding to chance the risk of Troy dying on them and Anna sewing her lips shut, comparing Troy to a failed experiment whilst fearing for the boy’s life expectancy. It was obvious as to who named the child. Anna’s worry grew over the years, and the emotional stress grew to a point of pushing over the boundary of schizophrenic mother to miserable killer. Luckily, that boundary hasn’t been crossed. However, as the horror grew, not once did she ever consider requesting relief. Anna now regretted not finding comfort in her plague as she now searched for her knife on the counter, waiting for the blade to appear in front of her like a servant waiting on their master hand and foot. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain strike her palm’s center. Troy.
“Mommy…you dropped this.” Troy’s hands gripped the knife’s handle tautly, and unintentionally forced the peak to create a small, bleeding cut on his mother’s palm. Anna calmly knelt down and removed the blood-striped blade from Troy’s now bloody stubs. When she rose back upward, Troy buried his hand into Anna’s lavender dress.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I promise not to do it again.” He then buried his face into the dress as a hug, and Anna’s face was tight with conflict. While his adorable voice made her want to coo in awe, the push was given, and Anna embraced the radiant epiphany; Troy’s time is over.
It was a few hours later in the day, and Chris had left for his part-time job, leaving the mother and child alone, together. Perfect. Anna peeked into Troy’s room and found the toddler asleep. Smirking menacingly, she gently lifted the boy into her arms and strolled over to her and Chris’ quarters. Laying him down on the clean, white sheets of the bed, Anna revealed a shiny, sharp butcher knife, a keen weapon for dismemberment. Licking the blade’s tip and outstretching Troy’s limbs, Anna loomed over her son, and a single shadow watched as the knife was heaved into the air.
“Annabelle! What in the world are you doing?!” a masculine voice boomed, and in spontaneous rage, Anna turned around and chucked the knife square in the silhouette’s face, the force of the impact shoved the knife into his skull and split his brain a fourth of the way. The shadow fell back limp, and Anna removed the knife from the target, slicing into his elbow, detaching his lower arm before sawing into his shoulder and removing the rest of the arm, blood and other fluids gushing out into a multicolored puddle. The same attack was reciprocated to the other arm and his legs, the deceased body floating in the mixture puddle. Still on her violent tirade, Anna dug up her collection of jam jars from under the bed and filled the items with as much liquid as she could, refrigerating them just in case she needs the shadow’s fluids for something…important. Another idea came to Anna’s mind; she stuffed the shadow’s limbs into the oven, and as she glided away, Anna swore she saw the face melt into one of agony and horror, a gruesome one at that. If only Anna knew that her husband wouldn’t be seeing anyone anymore.
A week passed since the incident, and Anna received call after call and visit after visit regarding her missing husband, to whom she claimed she didn’t know the whereabouts of. The constant ringing and banging tuckered Anna out, thus her eyes fluttered shut for a nap.
“Hello? What’s going on?” a sweet, feminine voice called out. There was nothing but darkness around. No silhouettes, no structures, nothing. Just voices.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Annabelle. I’ve been dreaming of this luscious moment.” A raspy female voice cooed.
“Why am I here? I never decided to fall asleep.” Annabelle questioned the voice.
“Guilty as charged. Pull a few strings and push some boundaries, and what you desire will serve itself on a silver platter. Woeful to know you never conjured up the idea.”
“How exactly do you know that?”
“I guess being your embodiment of misery is not something you’d enjoy. Shame to know loyalty was gift-wrapped to the wrong person to trust. Oh, I’m sure what you’re doing is to protect a loved one, right Annabelle?”
“Like I actually consider you to be a loved one in my circle.”
“I don’t mean me, I mean your diminutive tike. You love him to the point you would kill him for his own nobility. However, what you call prey is not so easy to murder.”
“What are you implying exactly? Christian wasn’t easy to officially kill off, and in return, I’m going to be miserable by his haunting?”
“Perceptive of you, but not the correct answer. Little miss, misery is what drives you to kill. You’re more like an unfortunate protagonist.”
“Stop with this nonsense! Release me now!”
“Fine then,” the area began to glow white. “Oh, and for the record, I hope you enjoyed the little present I left in the oven as Chris’ face melted.”
“What?” Anna asked loudly as she woke up, her upper body perpendicular to her lower body. She then felt small hands on her chest, and looked down to see a mortified Troy inches away from her face, his deep green eyes vibrating.
“Mommy,” Troy began, “Are you okay?”
“Troy, I’m alright, I promise. Is there anything you need?” Troy was reluctant, as he had a gut feeling his mother has something to do with his father’s disappearance, or hypothetically, his death. The boy gulped.
“Where’s…D-Daddy?” Annabelle donned a stoic expression as she gathered Troy in her arms and marched to her bedroom, laying him on the bed. Anna exited the room and saw the moon spying on her through the window curtains. Anna blindly felt around the kitchen counter for her Swiss Army knife, her favorite one she called ‘Killer Red’. Her fingers smoothing over the cracks in the red paint, Anna equipped the box-opener blade and elegantly dashed back into the room, belly-flopping onto Troy, the blade airborne in her hand.
“Mommy, what are you…MOMMY!” Troy’s soft question turned into a scream of pain as the blade made a long slit into his upper arm. Despite its skinniness, blood gushed out like water from a faucet. Troy was trembling in tears, and Anna pressed a finger to his quivering lips.
“I’m sorry.” She stuttered through tears as she made another slit into his lower arm, “I should’ve told you about Daddy, Troy.”
A slit into the other upper arm. “I killed him, Troy. I burned his body after draining his fluids. I did that…b-because…” A slit into the other lower arm. “I wanted to kill you. I couldn’t bear being miserable about losing you at any moment, thus I decided to kill you myself.” Anna cleaned off the blood-covered blade with her dress before moving to his legs.
“M-Mommy,” A slit was made into his lower leg as Troy began to speak. “I didn’t think that you would kill Daddy since you loved him, and you loved me, right?” Anna uttered out sobs as the knife slashed Troy’s thigh from under his shorts.
“Mommy, in all of this, I want you to know that I still love you. Even after killing Daddy and hurting me, I still love you. Thank you for being the best Mommy I could have.” Anna moved the blade to the opposite leg and copied the same slits and slashes while screaming out tears. Troy’s loyalty to her was beginning to bite her mentality, almost as if Troy was the puppetmaster in this escapade. His tyranny continued as Anna stepped back to watch him bleed out, puddles of crimson painted over a fourth of the rustled bed. Anna, lost in her misery and guilt, covered herself in Troy’s blood before opening the refrigerator, removing Chris’ fluid jars, and coating herself in the freezing-to-the-touch liquids. Wandering to her bedroom closet, Anna pulled out a thick rope and tied one end to an unmoving blade on the ceiling fan, the other end tied around her neck.
“That’s enough, Troy. Your game of misery is terminated.” Annabelle concluded as she had her fingers were ready to yank the chain, if not for hearing an attempted bloodcurdling shout first.
“Don’t abandon me in this fashion! I still require you!” the raspy female voice shattered the room. Anna didn’t dare speak as thoughts zoomed in her deteriorated brain. The voice’s riddles…they came true. However, it was all a game, a game that the voice used to lure Anna into her miserable state, using the one thing she cherished: family. Anna heard blurred words fighting as stubs climbed up her legs, one voice sounded like Troy and the other sounded like the voice, and since Troy was considered to still be alive, the solution was simple, and Anna’s fate was sealed. Her hands yanked Troy up, his head slipping into the noose.
Anna kissed her son on the cheek. “Little Miss Misery is no more,” she whispered in happiness as Anna yanked on the chain, the fan’s blades spinning around with two dead bodies dangling, the true end of Little Miss Misery.