The Dollhouse
A morbid tale by Megan Harris

Welcome to the dollhouse, full of dreams that will never come true. Welcome to the world where everyone's fate is decided with each new sunrise and altered by every sunset.
Time in the dollhouse never exists. One minute your awake and happy the next your alone in the attic with a noose around your neck ready to end it all.
The clock strikes noon and its teatime already. You, the man of the house, the father have got to take a break from murdering the maid so you sit in blood drenched clothes sipping that empty cup with people bought at a crafts store for $10.00 each and who you've been trained to call your family in a lovely little parlor room. While the poor maid now rests in dining room a plastic knife near her back with a wide smile on her face as the girl on the outside removes her to under the table, under the dollhouse. What a fine evening it must be, sitting around a wonderful plastic feast as your butler is moved through the motions of cutting up the turkey, but its never actually cutting. Sitting stiffly in the velvet-lined chair the father tells of his day at work, and what a busy and fun day it was! All words from an outside little girl's mouth spill out to other plastic figures enticed with interest and unmoving features. "Oh how lovely, darling" the mother says, smile never faltering. The lady of the house, the one sitting next to the father, the man in the dark suit.

"Splendid father!" says the little girl, eyes sparkling with dulled plastic made by the fine people at some random craft store. The boy sits quietly and alone, while the girl on the outside imagines he is contemplating the bully that's been picking on him.
Tomorrow, the boy will be dead and there will only be the small girl in the house. Oh and what a lovely girl she'll be tomorrow. Tomorrow her pink dress will still be pink, but much cleaner. Tomorrow she'll have not been resting on the floor waiting for her time in the dollhouse. Tomorrow she'll know the keys to Mozart and play it on the black grand piano in the living room that very night for her father, who now hates his job and has to fire the butler, the blood from the last one staining his only plastic clothes, because now they can no longer afford one. She'll play for the mother who will soon lose herself again in martinis and other upper-class drink.
After all she had lost her only son to bully at recess. How was the bully to know his head could be crushed in at the single whim of a god still contemplating algebra? Thought the girl on the outside with morbid curiosity as she leaves the boy under the table, under the dollhouse.
Vodka sparkles in the mother's hand as she sits stiffly listening to her daughter play. There really is no vodka but it's a nice thought to the doll. Her husband's going to lose his job any day; the girl on the outside makes her think. The woman claps the girl on in a drunken slur, before wandering into the parlor where she then proceeds to pass out on the velvet Victorian couch, her eyes still glazed open and a white-toothed smile still spreading from her plastic lips. The floral print dress never wrinkling, after all it's painted on. The girl's hand leaves the mother and on to the father.
"My dear, I'm going to go to sleep now." The father says to the girl playing the piano. His lips still in a perfect smile. His bottom half bends straight as the girl on the outside makes him stand nearer to the piano. "I love you Mandy, always know that" he says as he is being marched up the stairs by the girl his perfect tie never mussed.
"Yes, Papa have a nice night." Mandy says "I love you too papa" and she continues on unaware of her father's final thoughts and her mother's drunken stupor.
The father now in the attic rests on a wooden trunk. But to say rest is a lie. He leans up against the old piece decoration standing and ridged awaiting his fate while his god is called down for dinner from a fast food place by a man who sometimes plays dangerously with too many pills.
Now he has a real noose and won't have to pretend. His god, returning with some thread her mother gave her after hiccupping and taking another sip of vodka.
There we go, thinks the girl as she ties it carefully around the little man's neck. Where to hang it? She asks herself. Trying not to hear the screaming from below. Her soft face crinkles in a soft frown. Not to worry, knowledge spills into her blue eyes and she decides she'll hold the rope for him; she can always have the mother cut him down in the morning, even though that's not what she wants to happen. In the dollhouse things often change.
The girl holds the thread as she knocks him off the trunk with her hand. Dead instantly the girl thought while the man, the father smiles. His Features never slacking. His clothes never wrinkling.
Mandy, the daughter plays more furiously on the piano. She then decides its time for bed, she finds herself on a stiff board of a mattress with a light pink tissue like cloth pulled nice and tight over plastic pink dress as she stares at the ceiling never blinking.
The mother passed out on the couch, her stiff body leaning against the red velvet back is placed so she's lying on it. Her hands by her head, as if she was a simple house wife who settled for a nap rather than a passed out manic-depressive whose on more pills than she can count on her left hand.
The father swinging from the noose, the little girl is holding falls to the floor with a sharp "thwank" as the girl lets go. Plastic hitting wood. His bottom half bent by the trunk. It looks as though he is sitting, except where his legs poke out his back is visible rather than the front.
The mother awakens from the couch, her hair nice neat and brown, not hung over, covered in puke and blonde runs to the stairway of the attic.
"Jim? Jim?" She calls, "Jim are you up there? Are you ok?" the girl on the outside mutters, trying not to hear a bottle of whiskey being thrown at a wall. The mother wanders up the attic herself. Pearls gleaming in the little light she has.
The attic is dull and dreary, white walls and a dark wooden floor. The only furniture is a trunk.
There lies Jim all smiling on the floor, with a noose around his neck lying disfigured on the floor. The girl makes the mother near the stairs as she hears a scream in her head as the mother dies, falling down the stairs.
Then the girl realizes. He forgot to leave a note. Down the stairs the mother is dragged back to the parlor where she was last alive and then once again the scene is replayed.
The day after Mandy will wake up and cry alone then will be found by her auntie and uncle who will look extremely like her parents. They will then take her back to a house looking like a twin of this one, to live with them, there son John, the butler, and the maid who, her uncle plans to murder the next day. The day she comes to live with them, they will be the perfect family. They will live the perfect life, she'll call her uncle "papa" and her auntie "mama" and then it'll all start to become more like real life.
The outside girl hears her mother slurring a goodnight to her in the hallway and her father in the next room crying himself to sleep while playing dangerously with too many pills for the 10th year in a row.
So ends a day in a dollhouse.