Gina Easton is a former registered nurse who has decided to pursue a career as a writer. She has had five short-stories selected for publication in horror anthologies and magazines. Recently she had her first novel accepted by a publishing house. It is due for release in 2020. She lives in Torornto, Canada, with her husband.
“Babydoll” ~Featured Horror Fiction
Where has that child got to? Gran wondered crossly. Always running off, playing those silly games. Doesn't she know that by this time of day I'm so tired I can't hardly drag these old bones around?
Gran sighed, rubbing her left hip as she lumbered down the hall. Her arthritis was acting up again sure enough. The weather had been nasty and damp all day. Gran knew with a certainty born of wisdom and cynicism that it would rain before the night was through.
She poked her head through the open doorway of the living-room, her eyes peering nearsightedly, trying to penetrate the twilight gloom. The sparse furniture looked oddly lumpy in the deceptive light, as though if you'd looked only a moment before, you'd have seen a bizarrely different configuration of shapes, now masquerading as the objects they were supposed to be.
Gran shook her head, muttering to herself in disgust. Her old eyes were playing tricks on her again. To be sure, sometimes she thought she lived in a house full of phantoms that lurked in shadowy corners by day and crept out from under beds, and from the attic and basement to caper under cover of the darkness. While I cower in my bed, trying to shut out the nightmares and the voices, Gran thought glumly.
She straightened her tired shoulders and turned from the living-room. No, the child wasn't here. She was plainly up to her old tricks again, playing her favourite hiding game. Gran continued down the hallway and hesitated, hand on knob, at the parlour door.
The child knew she wasn't supposed to go into this room to play. Gran had warned her many times before. This was where Gran kept her nicest furniture, all the beautiful relics from the family's past. Guarded like carefully-preserved treasures, they were unveiled only when Gran entertained guests, which was precious little nowadays, what with most of her friends having already preceded her to the grave.
The child, usually so obedient, was nevertheless a child, with the mischievous nature inherent in that age group. Gran was about to enter the dusty parlour when she thought she heard a soft giggle from upstairs.
“Babydoll,” Horror Fiction by Gina Easton
She turned to face the narrow, shadow -lined staircase. "Babydoll!," she called. "You up there, child? Playtime's over. Time for your bath."
She listened for a response, but the only sound in the quiet house was her own phlegmy breathing. The house seemed unusually silent, holding its breath, waiting for her to respond.
Gran moved to the foot of the staircase. She looked up, squinting, but the landing was enshrouded in darkness. If Babydoll was hiding up there Gran couldn't tell from here.
Gran frowned, puzzled. It seemed strange a child so young would hide in the dark, all by herself. Gran thought back to when she was that small. She'd been scared of the dark, as she supposed most kids were. You'd never have caught her alone in the dark, not even for a moment.
As her hand moved back to her hip, massaging it for relief, the sound came again, a little louder, unmistakeably a child's teasing laughter.
"Babydoll !," Gran called sharply, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. "You come out now, you hear? Gran is tired tonight. I got no mind for hide-and-seek. It's bath-time."
There. That should do it. The child usually listened, especially if Gran was close to losing her temper. Not that Gran minded fun and games. There was a time and place for having fun, but tonight wasn't one of those times. She wanted to get the child's bath over as quickly as possible and tuck her into bed. She hoped that Babydoll wouldn't request a bed-time story. Gran shook her head in annoyance, unable to remember whether she'd told the child a story the night before. Her memory wasn't what it used to be, something that worried Gran more than she cared to admit.
“Babydoll,” Horror Fiction by Gina Easton
All she wanted now was to drag her own tired carcass to bed and hopefully get a good night's sleep for once. Lately she'd been having trouble, what with the nightmares disturbing her. She used to sleep just fine, but now most every other night she'd wake up in a cold sweat, feeling like she was having a heart attack.
She couldn't always remember the dreams, which maybe was a small mercy, but she always remembered the dread that crept up her spine like an icy spider. And sometimes, too, she'd hear the voices. Vague, confused whisperings that nestled in the air and nudged at the edge of consciousness. It was bad enough when she was sleeping, but recently Gran could have sworn she heard those voices when she was awake, too.
She sighed fretfully. That's what comes of living alone all the time, with only a child for company. Your mind starts playing tricks on you. I used to be fine on my own, she thought, but I'm not getting any younger. And at my age it's no small thing to try to raise a child. For not the first time Gran felt doubts creeping into her head.
Ever since Babydoll had come to live with her, after both the child's parents died in an accident, Gran had entertained moments of uncertainty about this responsibility. True enough, the child was no trouble for the most part. She had a cheerful, sweet nature and was smart as a whip too. Still, she was so young, just turned four this month. Gran couldn't help worrying about the future, how she herself might not be around for too much longer. Then what would happen to poor Babydoll? Gran shuddered at the thought of her only grandchild being sent out to foster care, or adopted by some family who wouldn't treat her right.
She grabbed the banister, just about to climb the first stair, when the sound of running water stopped her in her tracks. Gran raised her head. No doubt about it; the sound came from the upstairs bathroom. Smiling, Gran proceeded slowly upwards. That Babydoll, what a good child she was. Already running the water, filling the bathtub to save her poor old Gran the extra work.
She paused halfway up the stairs, confusion assailing her. Those old bathtub faucets were pretty darned hard to turn. Even Gran, with her work-strong, gnarled hands sometimes had to wrestle with them. How could a little wisp of a thing like Babydoll have managed?
"Babydoll! Honey? You managing there okay?" The house was silent, except for the steadily running water.
"You wait right there for Gran to help you. I'm coming." Gran listened. No childish voice called out in response.
“Babydoll,” Horror Fiction by Gina Easton
The shadows gathered and thickened at the top of the landing.
Gran thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye, a
scurrying child-shape, but it vanished before she could focus
her vision.
The familiar nightmare dread began a slow-march up her spine. She felt the house shift around her, the very molecules of air charged with a crackling black energy. Dark forms slowly took shape, nebulous as trails of drifting smoke. Gran thought of the phantoms of her nightmares. But you're only supposed to come out when I'm sleeping! she screamed in her head.
She felt a sense of urgency, like a physical push, propel her up the stairs. The top floor of the house lay in complete darkness except for a light from the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Gran felt along the wall for the light switch, but when she flicked the button, nothing happened. Cursing the burnt-out bulb she fumbled ahead, thankful for the glow from the bathroom to guide her.
The water stopped flowing. She heard a gentle splashing, accompanied by a childish voice singing softly and sweetly.
Gran felt some of the dread slip from her as she recognized the song. It was an old lullabye she'd taught Babydoll, one of the child's favourite songs. Still, an uneasy feeling clutched at her heart as she approached the bathrom door, and she held her breath.
Gran stepped into the bathroom.
Babydoll lay face-down in the water, blonde curls spread fan-like around her. Her naked swollen body was utterly still.
Gran let out her breath in a sigh of relief, seemingly oblivious to the fetid stench which rose from the tub. "There you are, Babydoll," she said lovingly. "And what a good girl you are, too! Getting ready for your bath all by yourself."
She knelt by the tub, grimacing slightly as the arthritis twinged again in her hip. She picked up the lifeless body of her granddaughter and adjusted Babydoll into a sitting position as best she could. Babydoll's sojourn in the water had reduced some of the rigidity of death, but her limbs and spine were fairly stiff, resisting Gran's efforts to seat her properly.
“Babydoll,” Horror Fiction by Gina Easton
Gran gently brushed aside the strands of wet hair clinging to Babydoll's face, a face of half-rotted flesh and exposed white skull. Only one of Babydoll's eyes was intact. Once a bright blue sphere it now stared unblinking from the sunken socket, a trail of slimy fluid glistening on the discloured cheek. The other eye had decayed to a viscous mess, a foul-smelling gelatinous blob. The swell of postmortem gases had caused Babydoll's abdominal cavity to burst like rotten fruit, discharging the viscera into the stagnant water of the tub, water that was now the colour of a cesspool.
Gran picked up the bar of soap and began to rub it over Babydoll, heedless of the bits of putrified flesh that sloughed off into the water.
"Such a good girl. Such a pretty girl," she murmured. "We'll soon have you all nice and clean and ready for bed. And tonight, as a special treat Gran will read your favourite story."
She hummed contentedly to herself, the strains of a lullabye wafting out into the hallway, where the dark shadows waited and watched