Satan's Affair

The girl turns, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry,” she rushes out. She’s got pretty white-blonde hair and brown eyes with beautiful porcelain skin.

She’d be real fun to cut up.

I glare at her and step into her space. She freezes, flinching away from me when I put my nose to her neck and inhale deeply.

“Dude, what the fuck?” she bursts, snapping out of her stupor and stumbling away. “Did you just fucking smell me?” she asks incredulously, staring at me like I’m a creep. My dark brown hair is piled into high pigtails, sloppy red lips and my face painted to look like a doll’s glass face is cracking must look creepy.

My eyes nearly roll when I pick up her sweet aroma. She smells like daisies.

“You smell good,” I answer, smiling so she’s not mad at me anymore. I’m not mad at her anymore, and she’s the one that ruined my cotton candy.

Her friend, who was standing behind her, walks up beside my little daisy. She’s also staring at me like I’m a freak.

I don’t like that. I just was trying to make sure she wasn’t rotten.

“Do you not understand personal space?” her friend snaps. Her orange hair is frizzing, and too many freckles cover her face. I sniff her, too. She smells like poppies. I like her smell, and if I didn’t want to preserve the good people in this world, I’d try to bottle her smell. Maybe soaking her flesh for a little while to see if that’ll collect the scent.

“You’re at a haunted fair. Get used to the creepiness,” I retort. When they just stare at me, seemingly at a loss for words, I give them a wide toothy smile and continue walking. They’ll probably stay away from the dollhouse now, but that’s okay. My dollhouse is meant to trap the bad people in the world.

I prance off, getting sucked into the crowd. I feel their lingering, nasty glares and it hurts my feelings. I freeze again, mid-step, remembering my cotton candy is stuck in the mud. Tears spring to my eyes and I frown dee

ply. I really liked that cotton candy. It was a pretty pink color, just like my pretty pink knife and pretty pink dollhouse.

I’m not happy. I’m not happy at all.

Stomping through the crowd, I no longer care to be polite. The daisy and poppy girls ruined my whole day. They really, really hurt my feelings. Anger begins to curdle in my stomach, replacing the hurt with rage.

“This is why you don’t have friends, Sibel. You’re a freak and everyone can see it. God has seen the illness in your brain and made sure everyone else can see it, too.”

Fuck what God thinks. I had said it then, too, and Daddy forced my hand on a hot stove for it. The scar from that isn’t physical, but I feel it in my sick brain.

The potent fury rises, building in my chest and climbing to my throat. My hand trembles with the need to curl a knife in my fist and plunge it deep into someone’s throat. I long to hear the gurgling as they choke on their blood. Their dull eyes, wide with fear. I can almost see their lives flashing in their dilated irises.

I ache for it.

Curling my fist tight to abate the shaking, I focus on the smell.

My fiery eyes search the crowd, the rotten odor growing stronger as I plunge through people. One girl pushes me after I shove past her. I stumble, righting myself just before my face plants into the ground.

I’m so angry, and it’s starting to make people notice me. I don’t want Management to catch wind of the angry doll pushing people around. It’s just… I just wanted this to be a good day!

Huffing and storming off before I do something silly like kill someone in cold blood, I rush back towards my dollhouse. My anger is overwhelming me, and I can no longer concentrate.

Killing someone without a good reason would be a sin. Most people don’t have the guts to do what I do, serve this world the way I do. But to kill an innocent person? I don’t even want to consider it.

I storm back into the house. Dusk is approaching, which means staff will start trickling in my dollhouse, preparing for when the doors open. I need to hide. I turn towards the small door hidden in the corner of the room, hidden behind a life-sized doll. With the house being cast in darkness and flickering lights, no one has noticed it thus far. I make sure to cut out the doors in the walls in precise locations, as to not draw the eye.

Quickly climbing in, I shut the door gently behind me. It’s eerie inside the walls, but I’ve grown accustomed to them. Haunted houses aren’t built like normal housing. They’re not meant to sustain life, and long ago, I discovered that they create large gaps in between the walls when building them. They do this on purpose so they can hide the wiring and mechanisms but make it accessible if something breaks. In all my time here, I’ve only had one electrician come in my space to fix a power outage in one of the rooms.

When I pick a new haunted house, I puncture holes in the walls to access my own tunnel system, and then carefully place peepholes in every room and hallway for when it’s time to cast my judgement. In the end, this is where I end up spending the majority of my time during operating hours.

I don’t mind the seclusion. It gives me time to myself, to relax and focus on all the ways I’m going to fuck my henchmen in the demon’s blood that dare enter my house.

I slide my pretty knife out of my white nightgown, just to bring me some type of peace in the midst of the raging storm in my head. My dresses are gaudy and frilly, but I love dressing up in them. Plenty of doll costumes are provided to the staff, all I need to do is take what I want and leave the rest for them to pick through.

Wooden beams cut through my pathway. There are dim LED strips that line the bottom of the walls, lighting the path for any electricians who need to walk through here. It provides the perfect amount of lighting without being bright enough to cast any of my shadows through the cracks in the walls.

In every nook and cranny in the tunnels, spiders spin their webs. I wouldn’t dare swipe them down. I love spiders. I love what they stand for. Predators—no matter who or what you are. They’re viewed as dangerous and something to be feared.