Tom and I looked at each other with horror-stricken grief as the sound of footsteps grew louder outside. The soft click of shoes on cement was getting closer.
Our captor was home. But I hadn’t even known Mommy was keeping us prisoner until that moment. Even then I was still confused.
But I knew one thing for sure - she would be PISSED if she saw what we had been up to. Trying to break locks with a hammer, getting up to mischief in the middle of the night…
“We need to put everything back,” I whispered. “Now!”
Tom ran to return the knife to its place in the drawer, then was climbing up onto the counter again to return the hammer to its proper place. Meanwhile, I closed the door and made sure it was flush against the wall once again. Once it was back in place it was nearly invisible, the seams blending perfectly with the wall.
Except it wasn’t. There were black marks where the hammer had struck the paint when Tom had tried to break the lock. My eyes had missed them initially but they were obvious now that I saw them.
“Oh no,” I said aloud, using my shirt sleeve to try and wipe them away.
At first I thought they would stay visible, but after a few moments of hard scrubbing they began to fade. But they were still faintly there, despite my best efforts. I had a bad feeling Mommy would notice them. If not today, then tomorrow or the next.
But it was too late. I could hear footsteps at the top of the stairs, from just outside.
I looked around the room to see what else was out of place, and my eyes settled on a few things immediately. Luckily, I knew exactly how Mommy liked things to look - I had been punished more than once for getting it wrong. And her punishments were best avoided at all costs.
As I went around the room in a frenzy, tidying everything up and putting it back the way it was, I heard locks being undone from outside. There was more than one lock on the door at the top of the stairs. More obstacles to prevent our escape. And we still hadn’t figured out a way to get the one door open yet!
My heart sank as I realized the same thing Tom had known for a while. The frustrating truth that knowing there was a way out wasn’t the same as being out. And we were a long, long way away from being out.
The thought of that brought back some strange, otherworldly memories that I felt uncomfortable even entertaining for a second. Jarring, bright, warm memories that made this place I was in feel dark, cramped, and ice cold by comparison. I pushed those thoughts back down - deep, deep down where I couldn’t dwell on them.
The claustrophobia began to ease up, just slightly.
“Okay, does everything look alright to you?” Tom asked, getting back into bed.
He looked very worried. He knew how she could be when we defied her. And getting out of bed during the night was against the rules. Even if you needed to pee, you held it until morning.
“I think we’re good,” I whispered. “I hope so anyways.”
We both returned to our places beneath the covers and laid down.
Outside the door, I heard footsteps. Mommy was heading down the stairs toward us.
I felt like I was forgetting something, but what?
Suddenly I remembered the blood!
Tom had hurt his knuckles on the door frame when he missed with the hammer. In our rush, we had forgotten to clean up the drops of blood that had dripped on the floor!
She would be inside at any second.
I bolted up from bed, rushing over towards the red spots on the floorboards.
“What are you doing!?” Tom whispered from the bed. But then he saw the blood spots and could only stare in horror, waiting to see what would happen.
With my shirt sleeve I began to polish the wood clean with desperate circular motions.
She was fumbling with the chain lock outside, and then I heard the door being pulled open, inch by inch.
I jumped back up to my feet, then dove back into bed and went beneath the covers. My lungs were screaming for air but I forced my breathing to stay slow and even, pretending I was deep in REM sleep. My heart was pounding so fast I was sure she would see it upon entering the room and would know we’d been doing something. I tried my best to act as if I were dreaming.
I was terrified to even open one eye for a second to peek, knowing she would not want to be caught going in and out.
She had kept the door a secret for so long…. I hadn’t even known what the word meant.
The sound of wallpaper being pressed back into place could be heard and then her soft footsteps travelled across the floor toward us.
I tried not to stiffen up instinctively at the noise of her approach, and almost winced when her hand reached out to gently stroke my hair.
“My babies,” she whispered.
For a long, long few seconds, she paused. Her hand froze in place on my head, as if measuring my warmth and judging if I were feverish, and then she just watched me, and I felt the cold stare of her eyes as they burrowed into me.
After a while I became convinced she had me dead to rights. She was omnipotent and all-knowing. We never should have even considered questioning her ultimate rule. Her dominion over us. She was just waiting for my confession. My punishment would only grow worse with each passing second I pretended to sleep.
I almost opened my eyes and began blubbering an apology. I was about to confess everything.
But then she stood up, her knees popping, and walked away. She let out a tired sigh, and for just a moment, looked mortal. I risked peeking at that moment and saw her walking back towards the small kitchen area with a bag in her hands. It was a tiny white paper bag, with small black writing and the letters “Rx” on the side.
She began to open cupboard doors and pulled out a few items, then quietly started grinding something up with a mortar and pestle.
I couldn’t help but watch, fascinated, but I tried to keep my eyelids partially closed, feigning sleep in the dark room.
My sheltered mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I was up against.
*
The next morning things got interesting, as the lights had been turned on and Tom was now faced with the prospect of having to explain his bloody knuckles to Mother.
“You did what!?” she yelled at him while we were eating our oatmeal.
He had just told her about his injuries, holding them up to show her the bloody spots - still oozing.
“DIRTY!” she screamed, looking hysterical.
She leapt up from her chair and marched over to him, looking angry.
“Where have you been dripping that dirty, nasty, vile pollution in your veins?”
Her eyes were narrowed and fixed on Tom, and she looked furious as she came at him.
“I punched the wall. While you were making breakfast. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I guess I was just upset.”
She pulled him up by his ear and marched him to the wall where he’d left four bloody spots. At least it hadn’t dented the drywall, though. He’d made sure to pull his punch.
“You will be cleaning this up RIGHT NOW! And no breakfast, lunch, or dinner for you!”
“Yes, Mother.”
Mother was what we called her when we were in trouble. Mommy was for the “good” days.
“I didn’t hear you apologize for this.”
He had apologized, but it was never good to argue with her. He bit his tongue and spoke as sincerely as he could.
“I’m really, really sorry, Mother.”
“For what?”
“I’m very sorry for punching the wall, Mother.”
“And why did you do it? We need to understand our mistakes if we want to make amends for them, Thomas.”
“I was upset. Because I woke up in the night and I couldn’t find you last night. I missed you.”
This was a bold play. But it actually seemed to catch her off guard. She stammered for a few moments but didn’t explain where she had gone. She just skipped past that part.
“I forgive you. Now for your penance. You can spend the rest of the day cleaning the walls, floors, and all of the fixtures. After that, I’ll find something else for you to do. I keep this home clean for you two and this is the thanks I get?”
He groveled a few more apologies but it was never enough when she got like this. She would continue until we were both in tears, berating us both about how we didn’t appreciate her, and how she worked so hard to keep the place clean - even though it was the two of us who were responsible for cleaning.
It wouldn’t stop until we were both in tears, and then it would get even worse. But I knew why he had told her. It was better to get ahead of it and make something up then to have her find out for herself. That would be the worst thing.
The rest of the day consisted mostly of cleaning the entire place from top to bottom while Mother stayed in bed, sleeping intermittently and watching us with one eye open. By the end of it all we were both exhausted, but the place was sparkling clean.
“The two of you are filthy,” Mother said when she got up from her nap. “Into the tub with both of you. I’ll make you both a nice treat for cleaning up so well.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t be using the brush this time. We could wash up without rubbing our skin raw with wire bristles.
But Tom didn’t look relieved.
“Whatever she bakes for dessert - don’t eat it,” he said with a knowing look in his eyes.
I didn’t understand what he was talking about. She was finally happy with us both again. Why would I upset her by saying no to her bedtime desserts?
“Trust me.”
He got into the tub and began to scrub, while I waited for him to finish washing up so that I could do the same. Afterwards I would clean the tub until it was sparkling, so that Mommy could use it before bed.
“Did you ever wonder why she gives you dessert right before bedtime?” Tom asked quietly.
I thought about this.
“She always says it’s a reward for all the hard work that day. ‘Work before play,’ Mommy always says. And desserts are the same sort of thing.”
He glanced over at Mommy in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl. Then he spoke in the lowest whisper possible.
“The desserts make you sleep. She uses them to keep us out when she-”
“What are you two gabbing about over there?” Mommy asked, her voice pleasant but insistent. “You wanna fill me in on the big secret?”
Tom hesitated, then came up with a lie, much quicker than I expected.
“We were talking about making a present for you, Mother. A surprise.”
She beamed at that and left her baking in the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Well, aren’t you sweet? Tom, you are such a gem.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“It’s alright, you can go back to calling me Mommy again. I told you I forgive you.”
Her face looked hard and stern again as she said this, and I thought to myself how amazing it was, just how fast she could flip. Like a light switch being turned on and off.
“Thank you, Mommy,” Tom said, his Adam’s apple rising and falling with a dry gulp.
She was towering over us both as she stood there, staring at us. The woman had to be at least six and a half feet tall, and wide as a fridge.
Or, maybe that was just my perception of her.
“I love a good surprise,” she said, finally walking away after several long, silent minutes of inspection. “You’re such a good son, Tom. I’m so happy I decided to have you all those years ago. Your father would be so proud of you today.”
Tom was silent. I wondered if he was thinking about his real parents. His real dad.
“Do you know you were born at 3:33AM? Did I ever tell you that? That’s good luck. Some might say that’s the best luck.”
“Thanks for sharing that,” he said, his tone slightly less warm than it had been, as if he was getting fed up with acting.
She spun around as if she’d been kicked in the back.
“Is that how you act when I tell you a story about your birth? About where you came from?” she spit, storming over to him. “Your father would be spinning in his grave!”
“My father is alive! And he’s coming for me one day! He’s gonna find me, and…”
Suddenly she was on top of him, pulling him up by his hair and his throat as he made gagging, choking sounds, his feet kicking desperately on the slick, wet porcelain. The water in the bathtub sloshed over the sides, spilling onto the floor and going everywhere.
I winced and turned my head away, watching as the water turned bloody and his head went under.
All the while a thought was running through my mind and I hated it.
Dirty, dirty, dirty - the water is dirty, it’s full of blood. Everything will need to be cleaned again. Everything needs to be clean.
Mother wouldn’t even need to ask this time.
*
There was no dessert for Tom that night. Only a hypodermic needle to the thigh which caused him to get very sleepy very quickly.
Mother said I could take a brownie, or I could have the same as Tom.
I chose the brownie.
*
The next time I woke up I felt as if I had been asleep for days. I was groggy and disoriented, feeling like I couldn’t think straight. I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to get rid of the fogginess, but was unable to see clearly for several long minutes.
Tom was snoring loudly next to me, but I couldn’t see Mother anywhere.
After fighting to stay awake for a few more minutes, my eyes still blind with sleep, I passed out again.
It felt like I was falling into an infinite black void, as the nightmares came again, even worse this time.
I dreamt the room was getting smaller, the air more difficult to breathe. No matter how hard I tried to find the door, it was no longer there - just smooth, blank paint beneath the wallpaper as I tore it off strip by strip, searching for it.
Finally I looked around to see I was standing in the middle of a huge mess of torn wallpaper. The entire room had been destroyed by me in my search for the door which no longer existed.
One sheet of wallpaper was mostly intact, its white backing facing upwards. It lay on the floor, the edges fluttering as if a small breeze were coming in somewhere, through a window that didn’t exist.
And then it began to bubble at its center, as if a flame were lighting it from underneath. It started bulging upwards in the shape of a head. The white wallpaper continued to balloon and bulge like a lava lamp, being deformed into a phantom who stood before me as I backed away. I hit a wall which then pressed in on me another foot, the room compressing yet again as I stumbled forward.
The white wallpaper phantom in the middle of the room began to move towards me, shambling like a dead person beneath a shroud. And then it spoke, and when it did, it was Mother’s shrieking voice.
“Clean! Make it clean again!”
*
Waking up, I coughed and hacked for several long minutes, feeling like my lungs were full of fluid.
How long had I been asleep?
My mind was dizzy and drowsy and was telling my body to lie back down, but my body was screaming to get up, to get out of the bed and move around. I was stiff and my muscles were aching painfully.
“Good morning, sleepy-head!” Mother said from the kitchen. “I made waffles! Your favourite!”
I tried to say something back, knowing how she would be if I didn’t. But all I managed was to mumble something incoherent.
Still, she seemed to understand.
“You’ve been out for quite a while! It looks like the three of you just needed to catch up on your sleep.”
It took me a moment to comprehend this turn of events.
“Three?”
I looked to see that another sibling had joined the group. A girl, this time.
She was sleeping soundly as Mother stared at me.
“You better get up and start cleaning, since your brother and sister decided to sleep the day away. Be good and later tonight you’ll get dessert. I baked cookies this time!”