She wasn’t quite sure where and how it first began. Perhaps it was the afternoon in the nursery when Captain first spoke to her.
Mother and Father were arguing downstairs and Nurse had gone to fetch her snack.
Her doll’s comb had slid through her fingers and was somewhere on the rug, but she couldn’t quite find it.
“Try under the bed,” a voice said. It wasn’t quite a voice really and it sounded like the radio between stations.
She got down on her knees, pushed back her hair and spotted it just behind the Silly Putty. She reached out and grasped it.
“Thank you, “ she said to no one in particular.
There was a crackle and burst of static.
Strange. Perhaps the radio had been left on. She got up and checked, but it was off.
At that moment, Nurse returned and eyed her curiously.
She picked up her crayon and began coloring. When she looked up again, Nurse was gone and the house was still.
She pushed the incident from her mind.
Later that night, when Mother tucked her in she said Father had gone to Dover with Uncle Gordon and they’d be alone all weekend.
“Would you like to play with puppy or go to the zoo?”
Cyn starred at Mother curiously. It wasn’t like her to offer treats.
“Of course, Mummy,” she said and then blushed. She knew it upset Mother when she was too familiar. Already the woman’s face had gone hard.
“Well then, we’ll have to see how the time goes.”—and with that, she swept out, leaving her child and in her wake the faintest scent of hyacinth.
Cyn wept in the darkness, marooned on the huge white bed.
“We’ll have fun,” a voice rasped.
The hair on her arms stood and a shiver passed down her spine.
She slid beneath the freshly washed sheets while Captain rattled the cupboard doors.
“Let me out, Cyn,” he whispered, his voice dry like wind in the hayfield.
She pretended not to hear and turned on her carousel lamp.
The music box melody tinkled icily, but it helped cover the rough whisper and rattling doors.
“You want Pig thrown in the dustbin?” Nurse looked shocked.
Cyn stared at the pink stuffed animal and felt her stomach turn.
“I hate it – I want it gone!”
Nurse hesitated, then shrugged and scooped it up with the laundry.
“You’re becoming very precocious, Miss.”
In her child’s head, she sensed rather than understood the rebuke, nevertheless, she wanted the horrid thing out of her room. Later, she began to feel calm.
All afternoon she waited, but Mother didn’t come.
She played with her toys, but still felt sad. She set out her tea set and invited Nurse, but she refused saying she was too busy. The afternoon dragged on.
At supper, she and Nurse dined alone and then afterward, Mrs. Upper, the housekeeper put her to bed.
Again, she lay marooned in her huge white bed.
By midnight, she could stand no more.
She crept out of her covers and stole down the stairs. In the drawing room, she could hear Mother talking. Her hand was on the doorknob, but changed her mind.
She walked back through the darkened house toward the kitchen.
Her slippers padding over cold tiles found their way.
She felt drawn as if she were sleepwalking—pulled toward the porch—where they kept the dustbin.
