Playmates

I originally wrote this piece as an exercise for myself. I was never all that interested in flash fiction until I starting writing again in 2018. But once I started, I realized just how much I really liked it and decided to keep practicing. There's nothing all that flashy or special about this one - I was just really proud of how it turned out! ___________________________________________________

"The house was a pretty little thing: fresh and new and ready to claim. The family there seemed sweet enough: mother, father, sisters and brother, and one very obnoxious dog. Rotten little flea bag. Oh yes - the whole lot more than ready to claim.

"There was no reason or rhyme for laying stake to this land. No graveyards to amble through; no bones left uncovered; no long, dark history to entertain oneself with; nothing even remotely interesting to play with. One day there was only a field. And then there was a house - standing new and erect with clean windows and a wide door. Finally… something worthy of my attention.

"Watching from the distance - where Father would build his little tool shed - I gleaned everything I needed to know on their very first day at home: Mother was beautiful and gentle, though her daughter, Sister One, was not. She was spoiled and mopey, unhappy with their luck (I think I’d like to play with her especially). Father was strong, handsome, and patient - very wise, I think, when your newest baby won’t have anything to do with you. His own children, Sister Two and Only Son, were a rambunctious little pairing; eager to make trouble, and eager to escape it (I think we’ll get along swimmingly!). And the dog was… well, just an annoyance. He almost gave me away to Mother and Father.

"Little bastard.

"That first night I didn’t mind leaving them alone. They needed a good night’s rest to be ready for all our games! And the very next morning I hurried to work. First I started very simply: moving cups when they weren’t looking; scraping chairs across the floors when they were in the other room. Clapping loudly from the attic, which gave Sister One a surprise. And flicking paintings from the walls, just to hear Mother Dear shriek.

"They tried to ignore me at first. They tried to pretend I didn’t exist. They tried to blame my fun on the wind blowing through an open window, on the broom left abandoned on the third floor, on the Rotten Little Flea Bag running wildly through the house… not that there was ever any running, on his part. I scared him too good, his tail forever tucked between his legs! Haha! It was fun!

"But they went on ignoring me, and it left me quite annoyed. A few more days and it left me quite mad. A few weeks more, and I hated them all to death.

"No more games.

"I pushed Sister Two down the stairs - I laughed at her scream. I dragged all three from their beds very early in the morning, every morning. I pinched Mother and slapped Father; I chased the dog into the street. Damn him to death, he wasn’t even killed by that car.

"Little bastard.

"I made them cry. I made them curse. I whispered dark thoughts into their ears, and watched them fall to pieces. Serves them all right. They brought over a priest for dinner, and he blessed the house to get rid of me. I found it terribly boring. I watched the desperation grow in their eyes after that, especially after I made Sister One jump from the window. I don’t know if she was alright after that - they took her to the hospital and she never came back. Last I saw she was still breathing, but I don’t think I really care (you’re not fun to play with anyway).

"They brought over another priest, and he brought over a friend. They sloshed water every which way, and for the very first time I was afraid. It really hurt. I pouted around the shed after that. I didn’t want to get sloshed again. A few more times I went back inside, only to make a nuisance of myself - those vile men thought they had actually gotten rid of me, ha!

"Little bastards.

"I watched and I waited. The days turned to weeks and then the weeks turned to months. Mother and Father seemed relieved as they packed up their things. Sister Two and Only Brother played a little more happily. The Little Flea Bag’s eyes never left me. He growled whenever I came near. Then their faces went pale and fear filled their eyes; at least that was fun. But I never played with them again.

"Then one day the moving van came, and with great haste, my family practically threw their boxes into the back. I watched them as they drove away, from the porch of a new house now so quiet. I don’t think I was very sad, though I know I wasn’t glad.

"'Oh well!' I said to myself then, 'There will be other families to play with!' And with that, I went back to the shed. And that’s where I’ve been waiting, all this time. The house is still too new for my liking: too clean and neat and lively. But it is a brand new house all the same, and those are not easy to come by at all. Once you find one you like, you have snatch it up quickly and never let it go. The same is true for families.

"Where’s the fun in having a house if you don’t have playmates to go with it?"