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She wassohungry.
Wrapping a towel around herself, Gwendolyn hurried to the kitchen without another thought to her new housemates, or the strange ghost hands in the shower. Her hair was still dripping when she jerked the refrigeratoropen, collapsing in front of it as she scanned frantically for something to eat.
Inside was a single container of store-bought guacamole. She had run out of chips the night before, and there wasn’t any bread. But that didn’t stop Gwendolyn. She peeled back the seal and scooped guacamole into her hand and proceeded to shove it into her mouth. Gwendolyn barely got the food to the back of her mouth before she gathered more to add to it. But no matter how much of it she ate, her stomach still churned and growled.
She could hear a washing machine spinning in the hallway, and her neighbors were having sex again. Even the sound of the refrigerator motor buzzing was all too much.
Gwendolyn hastily reached for a stick of butter, messily peeling the paper away before taking a large bite. She washed it down with orange juice and ate the rest of the butter with what was left of the jelly.
It had to be the demon. Maybe it was some sort of humiliation tactic. What else could compel her to behave this way? There was no other logical explanation. It felt like she wasstarving. Like if she didn’t continue eating, she would die.
By the time the washing machine had stopped its cycle, Gwendolyn had eaten what little food she had left in her apartment. She felt awful, sick, and uncomfortable in her own skin. When she turned from the open fridge from where she sat, she could see the doll and the scroll case sitting on her kitchen table, completely dried. Neither had a face, but it felt like they weremocking her.
Projection maybe, but in some ways, it was a blessing because it snapped Gwendolyn into action. She washed her hands and her face in the sink the best she could. The oil from the butter left her fingers and cheeks greasy, but the discarded towel from her shower helped reduce thatfeeling. She pulled on an old, threadbare graphic t-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans.
She hadn’t bothered with underwear, too busy looking for a box. Gwendolyn felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner as she packed the scroll case and the doll inside. She taped it shut, pleased to see the address label still intact on the outside.
Carefully, she checked for people through the peephole of her door. Luckily, the holiday meant most people had already left for the pier to celebrate. Coast clear, Gwendolyn crept to her neighbor’s door with all the stealth of a perpetually exhausted woman. She placed the box at the bottom of her neighbor’s door and ran back to her apartment, praying that no one had seen her as she ducked inside.
Gwendolyn didn’t close the door all the way, but kept it slightly ajar and waited. After nearly a half an hour, Gwendolyn was finally rewarded. Sticky Fingers himself slowly crept out of his apartment. He paused, glancing around for a moment, and Gwendolyn held her breath, unsure if he would notice her. When he reached down to pick up the box, a part of Gwendolyn wanted to jump with glee. She waited until she heard her neighbor shut the door before quickly shutting her own and locking it.
It might have been cruel to give that to her neighbor, but Gwendolyn could not give a damn.
She let out a sigh, sliding until her butt hit the ground. Gwendolyn leaned her head against her door, and for the first time in days, she breathed.There was finally room tobreathe.And while she couldn’t say for certain why, Gwendolyn felt like a brand new person.
Please be enough,Gwen thought.I don’t think I can handle anything else.
17
Pensive
Gwen...
Gwen spent the fourth of July day doing everything she could to avoid her refrigerator.
While she may have gotten rid of haunted objects, courtesy of Sticky Hands, Gwen was still dealing with the aftermath. Hunger still licked the insides of her stomach like an awful flame, and her new roommates were still locked tightly in her bathroom.
To keep her mind off it all, Gwen busied herself with doing her laundry. She would need a clean work uniform for her shift tomorrow. After starting a load of laundry, Gwen worked on collecting her fallen dolls. She hadn’t been able to deal with them the night before, too disturbed by the events of the day, despite her attempts to ignore it. There was surely a word for what Gwen was doing as she did a quick examination of each doll and placed them back in their rightful place. Some kind of psychological term that Gwen wasn’t educated on.
Well, I can at least agree with being mentally ill,she thought as she placed the final doll onto her shelf.
Ambrosius might have soured her love of dolls, but Gwen refused to give up on them. They still brought her joy—the kind that she sorely needed at the moment. Yet, the idea of creating a new doll filled Gwendolyn with apprehension. It wasn’t just because the last doll had been haunted, that was just a quirky fact. No, what troubled her was that Gwendolyn had never let a doll go unfinished. It wasn’t in her nature to abandon any of her dolls, and the unexpected tickle of guilt was strange.
Idle hands, idle hands,Gwen thought to herself.
Ignoring the pull in her stomach, Gwen pulled out some yarn she stored along with her doll patterns. Her natural inclination was to create an outfit for a doll, but that wouldn’t be long enough to keep her busy. Luckily, there were a few spare outfit patterns Gwen had picked up in her early twenties that were human sized. She found a simple pattern for a crop top and a skirt.
The pattern was meant for sewing, but Gwen was pretty good at reverse engineering most patterns into what she wanted them to be. As long as Gwen had a base to build up from, she could usually pull off anything.
Opening the sliding glass door, Gwen stepped onto her balcony and was greeted with clear skies. The air smelled clean as Gwen settled on the small patio chair, grateful that her downstairs neighbor wasn’t smoking, or at least wasn’t home to do so. As Gwen got into the familiar rhythm of work, her mind was occupied with the demon.
Gwen knew she shouldn’t, but it was difficult not to think about Ambrosius. Every time a gentle breeze blew her way, the pink strands of her hair would float in her vision. A constant reminder of his existence on her head, though Gwen could have sworn the shade had grownlighter since yesterday. Even if she wanted to, Gwen wasn’t sure if she could stop thinking about him. About all the questions, and doubt that she had been avoiding out of her need to survive.
Why her?
Why did Ambrosius choose her of all people to be this weird servant? Why did a demon even need a servant? It was so obvious to Gwendolyn how powerful he really was—he had demonstrated that many times. There was no doubt in her mind that every single bizarre event she had experienced since she’d taken the doll home was the direct result of him.
Was this all some sort of weird test or a game? Or perhaps this was how demons amused themselves? Had he taken possession of her soul? Gwen hadn’t even questioned whether or not the nature of their contract involved her soul. She supposed that she had ruled it out as an option after he had confessed to not being an actual devil.