2 Problem child
Growing up in a sprawling mansion as an only child was a pretty lonely existence. Sure, I had an abundance of friends who all loved coming round so they could relax in the jacuzzi or a swim in our Olympic-sized pool, but I still felt completely alone.
My parents were the quintessential jock and cheerleader who fell in love at school.
My mom, Taylor Forbes, was blonde, blue eyed and slim, with enhanced titties, porcelain teeth and a whole load of injectables in her face.
She was polite and loved to appear to be good, when in reality she was a cold-hearted fucking bitch who took great pleasure in molding me into her perfect trophy child.
Trouble was I didn’t want to be good or told what to do.
She didn’t work per se, but had a website promoting health, mindfulness and clean eating.
Oftentimes she’d film herself doing Pilates with Youri, her Dutch instructor.
I was pretty sure she’d fucked him, and had been doing so for several years, but I guess I could see why since his package looked like a baby’s arm in his Lycra shorts.
My dad, Braiden Forbes, was the founder of a sports television network, where they showed every diversion known to man, even some of the lesser-known ones such as Zorbing.
It was mega successful. That was how we afforded to live such a lavish lifestyle.
He still had a good body, and women still swooned over him with his ice blonde hair, chiseled cheeks and mischievous smile.
But my dad lived for the excess his money could bring.
He loved whores and cocaine. He and mom no longer fucked, in fact, they rarely spent more than two minutes together in the same room.
I didn’t like my parents’ world of ass kissing and rubbing shoulders with bland rich fucks, who all sounded the same and loved to drone on about how much wealth they had or what designer fucking clothes they were wearing.
Whilst I loved having power and the ability to do whatever I wanted, I felt misunderstood and lonely most of the time and criminally fucking bored.
Nothing was a challenge. I could bed any girl, purchase any car or even buy loyalty, but nothing compared with the indescribable feeling I got when I felt warm blood on my hands.
Of course, my sinful desires and wants had been relegated to my dreams that began when I was younger.
The first of these occurred when I was six.
I remember the evening clearly. It was a pleasant night, and the stars were abundant in the sky.
Isabella, my nanny and my world, who I loved more than my cold, self-absorbed parents was tucking me in.
She was Italian and made me carbonara from scratch, which pissed off my mom who said she didn’t want to have a kid that was fat and that I should lay off anything that had dairy in it.
So Isabella was warned to feed me bland food such as oatmeal and steamed fish with vegetables, but she secretly loved defying my mom and when Mom was busy simpering to her online fanbase, Isabella would give me some calorie laden meal saying that I needed to be fed properly to grow big and strong.
Isabella was in her late thirties, only a couple of years older than my mom and was mighty attractive.
I did catch Dad checking her out once or twice, and one time Mom caught him looking and scowled at him.
She wasn’t jealous of the fact my dad wanted to fuck her, she was just jealous of Isabella’s beauty period.
Isabella was curvy and womanly. She had long black curly hair and large chocolate eyes and also something that my mother completely fucking lacked, warmth.
My bedroom looked like a toy shop since my parents thought that spoiling me meant that they loved me.
I had a life-sized toy dinosaur in the corner.
He was a cuddly version of a Tyrannosaurus Rex with big googly eyes.
My bed was in the shape of a spaceship and had lights embedded into the headboard.
Isabella fluffed my galaxy bedspread and got me all snug.
She picked up a battered box from the plushily carpeted floor next to her feet and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked curiously.
“Your mom had all hands on deck cleaning out the attic to make her yoga room and I found this hidden in a corner. I thought you might like it, since it’s very different to all of your other toys, and I don’t know, something told me you should have it,” she said, lifting off the lid.
Inside, laying amongst some black tissue paper, was a porcelain doll.
She was dressed in a white frilly dress with mother of pearl buttons.
She had fiery red hair that hung about her shoulders in tight ringlets, amber eyes that looked like they held smouldering embers within, blood red lips and she had little red booties on her feet.
In her delicate little hand, she was holding a mask that looked like it portrayed some sort of animal. I was drawn to her at once.
Isabella put the miniature mask in the box and tucked her in next to me, then kissed my forehead before turning on my nightlight that reflected the Aurora Borealis on my ceiling.
“Good night Caspian,” she whispered and left my room. I glanced at the doll, and I swore I saw her head turning to face me.
“Are you going to be my friend?” I mumbled yawning and thought I heard the doll reply that she would.
I fell asleep and began to dream. The doll was alive; I couldn’t believe it.
She took my hand and led me downstairs and out of the house.
My bare feet crunched on the gravel footpath, but I didn’t feel any discomfort.
We continued onto Lull Lane, and further, crossing the boulevard and onto Main Street.
The wind blew and tousled the doll’s hair.
She turned to me and smiled, her tiny teeth looking slightly pointed like a piranha’s.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Wait and see!” the doll giggled, her voice sounding like tinkling bells.
We made our way down the quaint street past the ice cream parlour where Isabella would take me for an ice cream sundae, and then past the butchers where we would buy our prime cuts of meat so that our French cook Florian could whip us up something magical for dinner.
Just around the corner, away from the main thoroughfare, was a creepy looking alley.
Panicked I began to back up. I didn’t like the look of it.
Smoke rose from the vents at the back of the shops, and a dim security light bathed the neatly stacked trash cans in a feeble glow.
In the distance, I saw a man in scruffy clothes, rooting through the garbage.
He looked completely out of place in our upscale neighbourhood.
In fact, in all of my six years I’d never even seen a poor person, let alone someone homeless.
“Put this on,” ordered the doll, and handed me the mask she’d had in her hand earlier, only now it was bigger, and it fit my head.
She began to walk towards the homeless man humming a song that sounded like one of those nursery rhymes that Isabella would sing to me sometimes.
Weirdly, I no longer felt frightened, but had this insane urge to hurt this odious man and rid him from our beautiful neighbourhood.
The melody began to form into words, which I began to sing, like I’d known them all along.
Hear the gargle, feel the drip, gushing from your temple. No remorse and no regret, pop goes the weasel!
The man turned in shock, but relaxed when he saw me and smiled, showing a row of crooked, uneven, brown teeth. He was very thin and dirty, and he smelt bad like rotten eggs and vomit. I felt insulted that he dared to come into our perfect world.
“Hey small fry! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Where’s yo’ mama?
” I ambled forward, realizing I must have looked real strange in my mask and tartan pajamas.
I looked for the doll and saw her creeping up behind the man, a broken beer bottle in her hand.
Her eyes were no longer embers but burned bright as if lit by some unseeable flame.
Her smile widened, the sharp teeth glinting, looking terrifying in the grim light of the alley.
“It’s time Caspian,” she said, her voice oozing menace, “time you became the weasel.”
The man turned at the sound of her voice and almost jumped out of his skin.
“Oh man, that son of a bitch must’ve sold me some spiked shit!
” he said rubbing his eyes. But when he blinked again, the doll was still there.
She skipped towards me and handed me the bottle.
My breathing became ragged, and my blood was rushing through my veins at a gazillion miles an hour.
I felt my face flush and all I knew was I had to hurt him; it was like a silent force that egged me on to do bad things.
I rushed forward growling like the feral animal I represented and jabbed the bottle towards the man’s stomach.
Bewildered, he jumped out of the way. But I knew what my end game was, and I was more agile than him and I spun back around and drove the broken glass through his threadbare trousers into his leg.
He wailed in pain and fell to his knees, knocking over the trash cans.
“Stop! What are you doing?!” he said, grimacing at the blood dribbling steadily from the wound.
“We don’t want your kind around here,” I replied, my voice not sounding like my own, but disconnected and cruel.
“I ain’t doing no harm small fry,” he answered, a pain filled smile gracing his lips, “I’m just hungry and here’s got the good stuff that gets thrown away. Might be trash for you, but for me it’s like eating at the country club.”
I softened slightly. I had never known hunger or having to do without. I got everything I wanted without even having to ask, it was a given.
“Don’t go soft on me Caspian!” the doll urged, “weasels aren’t kind, they’re vicious. This is your test to see if your worthy to wear the mask and if you will be able to do what’s needed to avenge what’s happened in the past.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, feeling confused and unsure.
“You will learn in time. For now, I need you to show me how strong you are. Can you do that?” I nodded, feeling tearful. I wanted to go home. I wanted Isabella to sing me to sleep.
Suddenly, a strange feeling came over me.
I felt like someone else was moving my body.
I heard an animalistic howl and was stunned when I realized it came from me.
I jumped on top of the man, and he tried to push me off whilst also ensuring not to injure me since I was a kid.
But I wanted to hurt him. I slashed at his arms, the blood splattering all over me, but I didn’t care.
The warm liquid spurred me on, making me feel invigorated.
Frenzied, I used the bottle to rip at his cheeks; bits of his skin coated the glass, and his eyes were wide with abject terror.
He began to cough, his mouth filled with blood, but I carried on and he was either in shock or resigned to the fact that I was going to kill him.
Gleefully, I began to laugh and sang my song again, the doll pirouetting and dancing animatedly, singing in unison.
Hear the gargle, feel the drip, gushing from your temple. No remorse and no regret, pop goes the weasel!
I leapt into the air and aimed for the man’s head.
The bottle hit home, piercing his temple.
He began to convulse, and his eyes fluttered as he lost consciousness, along with copious amounts of blood.
There was a warm pool of the stuff all around him, the spicy scent of it overwhelmed the stink of his filthy body and stained clothes. He was still alive, albeit barely.
“OK Caspian, finish him,” said the doll, her teeth looking larger and more pointed than before.
I sprung into the air for the final time and rammed the bottle into his neck where it broke in two and the blood shot up into the air, hitting me in the face.
The man breathed out a blood drenched death rattle and then he was still.
I stood up and looked at my hands, rubbing them together and enjoying the consistency of the blood that coated them.
“Well done. You are worthy,” the doll said pleased, “when it’s time I know you’ll be ready.”
“Can we go home now? I’m tired,” I said, yawning. I took off the mask and handed it back to the doll. She took my hand, and we walked home.
“You can’t tell anybody about this,” she warned, “it’s our secret.” I figured this was just a dream, so technically, it didn’t matter, so I readily agreed.
“Are we best friends now?” I said, my voice sounding innocent and childlike once more.
“Yes,” the doll chortled happily, “I will always look out for you Caspian, no matter what. You can trust me. Nothing will ever happen to you if you follow my guidance and do exactly what the Dollmaker wants.”
“Who’s the Dollmaker?” I questioned.
“I will tell you in time,” she said cryptically as we climbed the grand staircase back to the safety of my room. We got snuggled back into bed and exhaustion consumed me. Just before I drifted off, I turned to face the doll and gently kissed her cheek.
“Goodnight. What’s your name?” I asked sleepily.
“It’s Bess,” she replied and with that I drifted off into a deep sleep.
* * *
“Caspian! Get up this instant!” My mom’s shrill voice squealed, making me wake up with a start, “what’s all this mess all over the carpet?
! You’ve trodden dirt all through the house!
And what were you doing wandering around outside at night?
!” She yanked the duvet back and blanched when she saw that I had cuts all over my feet.
Panicked, I glanced down and saw that I had on a different pair of pajamas than when I went to sleep. I was baffled. Who had changed my PJs?
“I’m sorry mommy,” I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, “I guess I must have been sleepwalking.”
Mom then noticed Bess sat comfortably in my bed.
“What’s this doing here?!” she snarled and picked Bess up launching her against the wall, “this thing gives me the creeps! I’m getting rid of it. You have plenty of new toys to play with. You don’t need this horrible thing!”
I dashed forward and picked up Bess, noticing that she now had a hairline crack on her face from hitting the wall. Mom tried to pull her from my hands.
“No mommy! She’s my friend!” I wailed.
“Caspian I give you everything you want, but I’m not having you getting attached to a doll, You’re a boy.
I don’t want a gay boy for a son!” And with that, she prised Bess from my aching grip and stalked out of the room, leaving me in floods of tears and feeling afraid because I didn’t know what was real anymore.
As I wiped my tears, I noticed a red bundle slightly poking out from under the lid of my wooden toy box. I lifted the lid, and there, screwed up amongst my childhood diversions were my blood-soaked tartan pajamas .