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Overwhelmed

Gwen.

..d...o...

T he doll returned the very next day.

Gwendolyn had woken to find the doll at the foot of her bed, next to the scroll case.

Despite knowing they would return, she still screamed.

Gwendolyn hadn’t expected either of those items to return so soon, as it had only been eight hours since she had buried them.

She would have to worry about noise complaints later.

For now, she took the doll and the scroll case and dropped them inside of her empty washing machine, making sure to close the lid.

Gwendolyn briefly wondered what would happen if she were to attempt to wash them, and decided she might as well find out.

Gwendolyn poured a generous amount of detergent inside and set the washer setting to hot.

At least it would keep the doll and the scroll case from being seen for the next hour or so.

It was enough time for Gwendolyn to take a shower, make a cup of coffee, and get back to researching how the hell she was going to get out of this one.

After she had buried the haunted objects the night before, Gwendolyn went home and ate more TV dinners.

A lot more.

She couldn’t explain where her ravenous hunger had come from.

The moment Gwendolyn had walked inside her apartment, she couldn’t think of anything else but feeding her hungry stomach.

Gwendolyn had eaten two single serve microwave pizzas, and when that hadn’t satiated the demands of her stomach, she had moved on to ice cream.

When she went to bed that night, Gwendolyn was certain she wouldn’t want to eat breakfast at all.

But as she stepped into the door frame of her bathroom, that pinch of hunger deep inside was almost unbearable.

Gwendolyn clutched at her abdomen, hands pressing against her skin.

She had always had some stomach issues, but it usually stemmed from allergies or simply forgetting to hydrate.

Perhaps it was better for her to cut back on the coffee, but Gwendolyn couldn’t afford to start her day without caffeine.

She had fallen asleep in the same outfit she had worn the day before, too exhausted and bloated to have bothered taking it off.

She was in the middle of shrugging the cropped sweatshirt over her head when she first noticed it in the corner of her bathroom.

Near the entrance was something Gwendolyn had never really seen before.

For a moment, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking at.

Her arms were still trapped inside her sweatshirt as she came to the slow realization that what she was witnessing was undeniably real.

Thin, black strands of glossy webbing covered the top corner of her bathroom.

The only reason Gwendolyn knew it was webbing, and not hair, was the fact that the strands were in a familiar, intricate pattern.

It also helped that there happened to be a small colony of black bodied, blue backed spiders.

The small insects skittered across the webbing with several sacks attached.

For a moment, she just stared, enthralled by these tiny creatures going about their day in her bathroom.

But the eerie feeling she had felt when she first stepped into that antique store swelled up again.

There was no doubt in her mind that this was Ambrosius’ doing, his power .

Gwendolyn couldn’t say for certain, but a part of her wondered if what she was seeing was real, given that the first spider had disappeared when Gwendolyn had tried to remove it.

Spiders typically didn’t make sounds, from Gwendolyn’s experience, which meant she had to solely rely on what her eyes were showing her.

She was wary of them as she stepped deeper into her bathroom, but Gwendolyn didn’t have the energy to address her unwelcome guests.

So, she did what she would normally do when faced with a situation she did not want to deal with.

Gwendolyn simply turned her shower on and pretended like the spiders, and their little black spider house, weren’t there.

This time, Gwendolyn opted for hot water to help soothe her exhausted bones.

Shampooing her hair was different compared to a few days ago.

It was muscle memory to use two pumps of shampoo, but her short hair didn’t need it.

Gwendolyn hastily opened the lid and put half of it back inside, pressing her hand against the plastic.

As her fingers ran through the newly pink strands, Gwendolyn couldn’t help but wonder what Ambrosius was doing.

Was it possible he was watching her?

The thought made her shrink against one of the walls involuntarily.

Demons in the media had always come across as all knowing, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Ambrosius was like that too.

He could read minds—something Gwendolyn was moderately jealous of.

If the demon was all knowing, then Gwendolyn would have to be more proactive.

She tried to think of all the different ways she could undermine him as she continued to wash her hair.

Funnily enough, though it had once been a struggle to wash her long hair, it was suddenly very easy.

Gwendolyn could more easily wash her head, sparing her battered hands, and saving her from overexerting herself.

Although Gwendolyn still despised the sensation of wet hair against her fingers.

Still, Gwendolyn considered it a very small blessing.

She had never been the type to be overtly grateful, but under the ominous gaze of Ambrosius looming over her like an ill omen, Gwendolyn was going to celebrate every small moment of happiness she could.

She was so preoccupied with her gratitude that she didn’t notice an odd sensation.

Something brushed against her hand that Gwendolyn couldn’t easily place.

No, it wasn’t something, but another hand on her head!

She could feel not one hand, but two gently caressing her hands where they were placed on the back of her head.

Gwendolyn screamed, twirling in the bathroom, searching with waterlogged eyes for the owner of those hands.

But there was nobody in the shower with her.

Shakily, she jerked the curtain aside, but there was no one in her bathroom either.

Only the tiny spider colony at the very top corner of her bathroom.

Letting out a fragile sigh of relief, Gwendolyn pulled the curtain back and quickly rinsed her hair.

She hurriedly washed, all while silently fuming at what she had just experienced.

Of course she had to worry about phantom hands.

Gwendolyn had only been dreaming about them for the past few nights, since the same day she had met Ambrosius.

However, this was the first time she had experienced such a thing while she was wide awake.

Or was she even awake?

Her nightmares had been so vivid that Gwendolyn could only question her waking world.

The more she thought about it, the more exhausted Gwendolyn became as she turned off the water.

She wasn’t a complete stranger when it came to panic attacks.

The last time she could recall having one in public was when she was twenty-seven.

Her roommate at the time had invited her to a street fair in Seattle.

Gwendolyn had readily agreed, because she loved street fair food, especially corn.

They had planned on meeting with her roommate’s college friends for a day of eating, shopping, and talking.

All things that Gwendolyn loved at twenty-seven.

However, things were rarely ever simple for Gwendolyn.

Upon entering the street fair, Gwendolyn realized her massive mistake.

While she was used to crowds, the street fair was nothing like what she had expected.

Gwendolyn had been taken aback, completely overwhelmed by all the people.

She had lasted two hours before completely shutting down, sobbing to the point where her roommate had to lead her away from the street fair and their friends.

When her roommate asked her what had happened, Gwendolyn couldn’t find the words.

They just didn’t exist. The only thing she felt was an overwhelming sense of panic and dread.

Her hands had shaken, her heart had raced, and all Gwendolyn had wanted to do was disappear.

Gwendolyn was ashamed to feel as if she was back in that place when she was completely alone.

Yet despite her urge to panic and cry, Gwendolyn did neither.

That awful pain in her stomach had grounded her away from that.

If anything, she was growing increasingly agitated.

She was so hungry.

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 refrigerator open, 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 was starving .

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 were mocking 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 that feeling.

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 to breathe.

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.