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One week later…
The house smelled faintly of lemon polish and air freshener, a desperate attempt by Elena to mask the staleness that had settled into the walls. She stood in the hallway, kneeling in front of her daughter.
“Lyla, listen to me very carefully,” she said, gripping her daughter’s small shoulders. “Leo and his mom will stay with us for a while today while their things are being moved into the new house. It is very important that you are nice.”
“Okay, Mumma,” Lyla said. Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were darting around the room, restless.
“Be on your…” her mother paused, waiting.
“Best behaviour,” she finished the sentence, her tone robotic. “I will.”
“Good girl,” she stroked her hair, hesitating. “And remember… we won’t play ‘Doctors’ anymore, okay? No scissors. No bandages. We play normal games. Like tag. Or colouring.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“That’s my girl.”
Ding-dong.
The doorbell chimed, slicing through the tense silence.
“Lyla, wait! Wash your face!” she shouted as the child bolted toward the door. “You have ice cream all over your mouth!”
Lyla ignored her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the sticky residue across her cheek, and skidded to a halt in front of the door. She took a deep breath, composing her face into a wide, slightly too bright smile, and yanked the door open.
Standing on the porch was Diana, looking impeccable in a dark trench coat. Behind her legs, peeking out timidly, was a boy. He had neat brown hair, round glasses, and was clutching a small toy car.
Lyla didn’t give him a second to breathe.
“Hi! Are you Leo?” she demanded, leaning down to stare him in the face. “Do you like tigers? I don’t like tigers. Do you go to school? Are you also in kindergarten? Do you play with toys? Is red really your favourite colour? I saw your bike, it’s red-”
Leo shrank back, his eyes wide behind his fake glasses. He opened his mouth to speak, but she barrelled on, her words tumbling over each other in a breathless rush.
“Lyla! Get inside, ask him later,” Elena said, rushing over and gently pulling her daughter back. “I’m so sorry, Diana. Come in, please.”
“It’s quite alright,” she said with a tight smile, nudging Leo forward. “Leo, go on. Say hello.”
Lyla didn’t wait for a hello. She grabbed his hand, her grip tight, her fingers sticky, and pulled him into the living room.
“Leo, do you want water? Juice? I have apple juice. Or grape. Do you like grapes?” she asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
He blinked, overwhelmed. “Sure,” he squeaked.
“I’ll get it for you!” Lyla shrieked happily. She spun around and sprinted into the kitchen.
“Mom! Leo wants juice! He likes juice! Just like me!” she yelled from the kitchen, banging the cabinet doors open.
Elena winced at the noise. “That’s nice, sweetheart. Take this outside then, don’t spill it on the carpet.”
Lyla grabbed the plastic cup, filled to the brim, and ran back to the living room. She was moving too fast. As she rounded the corner near the sofa, her sock caught on the rug.
Thump.
She slammed into the floor, the cup flying from her hand. Juice splattered across the hardwood, soaking into the rug and splashing onto Leo’s shoes.
He looked down at the mess, then at Lyla sprawled on the ground. A small, bubbling sound escaped his throat. He giggled softly, his hand covering his mouth, trying to hold the laugh in.
She pushed herself up. Her knees were wet. Her hands were sticky. She looked at Leo, who was laughing at her. Her sweet smile vanished. Her face went blank.
She stood up slowly, wiped the juice on her dress, and handed him a napkin from the table.
“Here,” she said, her voice flat. “You spilled.”
“I didn’t,” Leo said, taking the napkin but still giggling. “You fell.”
Lyla sat on the sofa, staring at him intensely. “So, you’re Leo?”
“Yes.”
“You like red?”
“Yes.”
“You like juice?”
“Yes.”
“Do you play with toys?”
“Yes.”
“Do you really go to school?”
“Yes,” he answered, getting annoyed by the repetition. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
Elena walked into the room, carrying a tray of cookies. “Why don’t you take Leo to your room, Lyla? You guys can play there. It’s more fun than sitting here.”
He immediately walked to his mother and whispered loudly in her ear. “I want to go home. She’s weird.”
Diana stiffened. She patted his head firmly. “Leo, it’s alright. Go to her room. Be polite. We are guests.”
Leo pouted but nodded. “Okay, Mother.”
He followed Lyla out of the room. She walked stiffly, her earlier enthusiasm replaced by a robotic march. She led him into her bedroom.
The door closed behind them. The room was dim, the curtains drawn. In the corner, the pile of broken dolls sat like a shrine.
Leo looked around, wrinkling his nose. “Your room is ugly.”
She stiffened. “No, it is not.”
“It’s messy,” he said, pointing to the dolls. “Why are all your dolls broken? Did you break them?”
“Because they were perfect,” she whispered, turning to face him. “And I don’t like perfect things.”
“I like it,” he said, shrugging. He walked over to the pile and kicked a doll’s arm across the rug. “It looks like a garbage can.”
Her hands curled into fists. But she still walked over to him and extended her hand, remembering what her mother said, her fingers trembling slightly. “Will you be my friend?”
Leo looked at her hand, then at her face. He scrunched up his nose in disgust. “No. I don’t like girls. Especially not weird ones like you.”
The air left the room. She stared at him. The rejection hit her like a physical blow.
“What?” she whispered.
“I said no,” he sneered. “You’re sticky, and you ask too many questions.”
Something snapped inside Lyla. Her face twisted into a snarl. She shoved him hard in the chest.
Thud.
Leo stumbled backwards, his legs tangling in the pile of dolls. He fell onto the carpet, his toy glasses flying off.
“Hey!” he shouted.
He scrambled up, his face red with anger. He wasn't a timid boy anymore. He shoved her back, harder.
Lyla fell back onto the bed. She bounced up instantly, her eyes dark. She lashed out with her leg, kicking him squarely on the knee.
“AHHH!” he screamed, clutching his leg. Tears sprang into his eyes instantly. “MOM! MOM!”
The door burst open. Elena and Diana rushed in, breathless.
“What happened here?” Her mother asked, her eyes darting between the crying boy and her daughter, who stood breathing heavily by the bed.
“She pushed me!” Leo cried, pointing an accusing finger at Lyla.
Elena turned to her daughter, panic rising. “Lyla? Is that true?”
“He said he didn’t want to talk to me,” she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and tears. “He was mean?”
“Leo! That is not how we behave,” Diana insisted, grabbing her son’s arm. “Say sorry to her right now.”
“She was being rude!” he shouted through his sobs. “She pushed me first! She kicked me! It hurts!”
“He said he didn’t want to be my friend,” Lyla wailed, her voice turning into a high-pitched shriek. “He said I was weird!”
“Leo, that is not how we talk to people!” Diana scolded, her face flushing with embarrassment. “She is our host.”
“She is dirty!” He yelled, stomping his foot. “Look at her mouth! Look at her ugly room! And she’s a girl! I don’t play with girls!”
“LEO!” His mother’s voice was sharp. “She was waiting for you for one week! You will apologize!”
“No, don’t,” Elena interrupted, holding her hands up. She looked at Lyla with desperate, pleading eyes. “It’s Lyla’s fault. If anyone, she should be the one saying sorry. She’s the one who got physical.”
Diana’s eyes narrowed. “Leo wasn’t too good either, Elena. He insulted her room.”
“She pushed him,” she insisted, desperate to keep the peace. “Lyla, say you’re sorry. Now.”
Lyla looked at her mother. The betrayal stung worse than Leo’s rejection. “I won’t say sorry.”
“LYLA. APOLOGIZE. NOW,” she screamed, her voice cracking.
“No.” The child’s face hardened.
“Lyla, I am not asking you again.”
“I won’t!” she screamed.
Without thinking, she spun around and slapped her mother’s arm hard, a sharp smack against Elena’s skin.
She gasped, clutching her arm. The room went silent.
Lyla looked at her mother, then at Leo, then at Diana. She didn't cry. She didn't look guilty. She just turned and bolted, pushing past Diana and running out of the room, her footsteps thumping heavily down the stairs.
“Lyla!” Elena called out, but she was gone.
The three of them stood in the wrecked room, surrounded by broken dolls, the sound of Leo’s sniffling the only noise in the heavy silence.
“Lyla!” she screamed again, but the house swallowed her voice, returning only a hollow silence.
Elena spun around, looking at Diana and Leo, who were standing at the top of the stairs. Leo was still sniffling, clutching his knee, while Diana looked pale and uncomfortable.
“I... I have to find her,” she stammered, clutching her stinging arm. “I’m so sorry, Diana. I don’t know what got into her.”
“Go,” Diana said, waving her hand dismissively, though her eyes were sharp as they scanned the empty hallway. “Leo and I will wait in the living room”
Elena bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She checked the kitchen, empty. The pantry, empty. The living room, empty.
“Lyla! Please come out! We can talk about this!”
Nothing. No giggle. No sarcastic reply. Just the hum of the refrigerator.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. A minute ago, she was angry. Now, a cold dread was pooling in her stomach. The back door. She turned and saw it. The latch was flipped. It was slightly ajar, a crack of grey afternoon light spilling onto the kitchen tile.
She rushed to the door and threw it open. The wind hit her face, carrying the scent of rain and wet earth.
“Lyla?”
She scanned the overgrown lawn. The swing set swayed creakily in the breeze. The patio was empty. Then she saw it, a flash of pink near the edge of the property, behind the hydrangea bushes.
The tool shed.
Elena ran across the damp grass, her slippers soaking through instantly. She rounded the bushes and saw the heavy wooden door of the shed standing wide open.
She slowed down, her breath hitching. A shadow was moving inside.
“Lyla?” she whispered, stepping into the doorway.
It was dark inside, smelling of gasoline, rust, and damp potting soil. A child was sitting in the center of the dirt floor, her back to her mother. She was illuminated only by a thin shaft of light coming through a crack in the roof.
“Lyla, baby, you can’t run away like that,” Elena said, her voice trembling. “You scared me.”
She didn’t turn around. She was hunched over something in her lap. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Lyla? Are you crying?”
Elena took a step closer. The smell of gasoline was stronger here. And something else. Something metallic.
“Go away, Mumma,” she said. Her voice wasn't tearful. It was cold. Hard.
“Lyla, come inside. Leo is leaving soon. You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to.”
She stopped shaking, sitting up straight. “I don’t care about Leo. Leo is small. Leo is boring.”
“Then why are you-”
Lyla turned around.
Elena gasped and stumbled back, hitting her shoulder against the doorframe.
Author's Note: This scene contains dark themes, including psychological horror and depictions of animal cruelty. Reader discretion is advised.
Lyla wasn’t crying. The shaking had been laughter. Silent, suppressed laughter.
In her hand, she held a pair of heavy, rusted garden shears. The kind used for trimming thick branches. They were far too big for a five-year-old’s hands, but she gripped them with terrifying strength.
On the floor in front of her lay a large garden frog. It wasn’t moving.
“Look, Mumma,” she said, a bright, twisted smile plastered on her face. “I found a new patient.”
“Lyla, put those down! Those are dangerous!” her mother shrieked, lurching forward to grab the shears.
Lyla snapped the shears open and shut with a loud clang. She pointed the rusted tip at her mother.
“No,” she said. “You said I was bad. You said I should say sorry. I’m not sorry. I’m helping.”
“Lyla, please...”
“The frog had a bad leg,” she explained, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper. She looked down at the creature. “It couldn't jump right. It was broken. Like Papi. So I took the leg off. Now it doesn’t have to worry about jumping. It can just stay here. With me.”
Elena felt bile rise in her throat. She looked at the frog. It was still alive, its breathing shallow, one leg missing.
“Lyla, stop it! That is cruel!”
“It’s not cruel!” she screamed, the sudden outburst making Elena jump. “It’s helping! You keep and help things you love! You make them stay! If I cut off Leo’s legs, he can’t run away! Then he has to be my friend forever!”
She stood up, the heavy shears dragging on the ground. She looked at her mother with dead, shark-like eyes.
“Don’t make me come inside, Mumma. I’m busy.”
Safe to Resume: You may safely resume reading from this point forward.
Elena didn’t recognise this child. The girl standing in front of her was a stranger wearing her daughter’s skin. The fear paralyzed her. She backed out of the shed, her hands trembling so hard she couldn’t make a fist.
“Lock it,” she whispered from the darkness. “Lock the door, Mumma. Lock me in. Like the monkeys.”
Elena grabbed the handle of the shed door. She hesitated, looking at her daughter one last time. Lyla was already turning back to the frog, humming a lullaby.
She slammed the door shut with a bang. Her hands fumbled with the rusty padlock on the outside. She clicked it into place.
She backed away from the shed, her chest heaving. From inside, she could hear the rhythmic snip, snip, snip of the shears, followed by a soft, childlike giggle that drifted out into the cold air.
The mother sank to her knees in the wet grass, burying her face in her hands. She wasn't just dealing with a tantrum. She was raising a monster. And she had no idea what to do.
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