Homecoming | Chapter 9 of 32

Author: Christie Golden | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 2320 Views | Add a Review

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She is alone, as she usually is, sitting in a corner far away from anyone’s notice. Wetness soaks her bottom, but she says nothing. She is too fearful of the Hand. The Hand descended without any reason she could fathom, to strike hard against her small, soft cheeks, or seize her chubby arms, leaving bruises that would later disappear with the hum of something shiny and metallic. Young as she is, she already knows it is best to say nothing, to draw no attention to herself, to sit alone in the corner and play with the one small toy she is permitted to have.

Vaguely, she remembers a time before the man had come, when her mother’s eyes shone and her lips parted in smiles and she laughed like the sun. When the [2] girl was held close and kissed, and slept deeply, and dreamed dreams of moonbeams and ponies.

Now her mother is silent, sending that same message to her daughter. Her eyes are dull and she no longer laughs. Her mother, too, lives in fear of the Hand. And the girl’s dreams now are of screams and blood.

She plays with Dolly, making the toy dance and sing as she, the flesh-and-blood girl, cannot.

A shadow falls over her. She freezes in terror.

The Hand reaches down, and she shrinks back. But the Hand has not come for her, but for Dolly. It grabs the old-fashioned toy. There is a bellow of something incoherent but very, very angry, and the Hand rips Dolly’s head from her rag shoulders.

The girl whimpers, very softly. She cannot help herself. The Hand descends and she falls hard on the floor. She knows better than to rise or cry out, so she lies quietly, blood trickling from her mouth, her heart beating as fast as a rabbit’s, until the shadow leaves.

The owner of the Hand has lurched off somewhere else. She hears the voice of her mother, high and strained and tight with fear, and turns away. The girl cannot let herself hear her mother’s cries. If she does, she somehow knows, she will go mad.

For a moment, she simply stares at the mangled toy. Then, slowly, she picks up Dolly’s torn body in one hand, her severed head in the other, and continues to play.


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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