I Will Always Protect You a short story/WCE By Tess TW: Blood, death, gore, loss Pt. 1 ~~ PROLOGUE It was dark, the night he came. The man was huge, 3 times my size at least. He had sandy blonde hair, carried a knife the length of my forearm, and his face was covered by a gold and red jester mask. No, not gold and red. Just gold. How did that red get on there? I was small, maybe 6. I was staying over at Grandmother's house. She was fire and vinegar, my mom used to say. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and would do what it took to get it. She loved me though. She made excellent homemade milkshakes and always wore beautiful gold bangles on her bony wrists. She did have a doll that she kept in my room, an old one with bone white skin and fiery hair. It looked a lot like her. Mom used to say i got my red hair from my Grandmother. She (Grandmother) said that I was not to move the doll unless absolutely necessary. She said it would protect me, just as she would. At all costs. Grandmother was weird like that. When he came, she hid us in the old broom closet where she kept our winter coats when we weren't using them. As the man's heavy boots tromped on her Persian rug, she held me close and whispered into my hair, "Don't worry. I will always protect you, Beanie." That was the last thing she said to me after he found us. Her blood was like salt on my lips, mingling with my tears. I had to bite her overalls to keep from screaming. When he eventually left, I crawled out from under Grandmother's body. I stumbled to her phone, which was left untouched on the kitchen table. In fact, almost everything was untouched. I dialed 911, and waited for the help to arrive and the shivering to depart. It never did. 15 YEARS LATER Mom constantly has the TV on now, looking for reports of the man. They are calling him "The Grin," now. Mom is pouring over newspapers and online articles, looking for any trace of him. It's a bit of an obsession, I think. It's been 3 months since the long-delayed funeral. Mom got the house, which she immediately sold. Uncle Randy got the money, which he immediately gave to us. He doesn't need it. All I got was that stupid doll, and a note. "I will always protect you." I hated that doll, but still carried it with me. I made a little cotton satchel to carry her on my back. I slept with it on my bedside table. Mom used to tell me, "Elizabeth, if you carry that doll everywhere, its gonna get lost!" I know its sounds a little creepy, but to have it near, was like Grandmother was nearby. One morning, when I was 9, it was cold and foggy, and I was walking to school and I wasn't looking where I was going. The road was slick with condensation, and cloudy with fog, so I didn't hear the screech of the Rivian's tires until it was almost too late. I whipped around and threw my arms up around my head as the truck barreled towards me, it's high beams blinding me. I braced myself for the crushing blow of the car. It never came. I opened my eyes. The Rivian was smashed against the massive oak on the side of the road. I was on the other side, at least 5 yards from where I was. There was no way I could have moved that far, that quick. I was confused, until I saw the cab of the Rivian. The driver was crushed in-between the car and the tree, but that wasn't what scared me. It was the fact that the doll, MY doll, was sitting on the dashboard. I checked my satchel. Empty. How had the doll gotten there? I approached the Rivian. The man's chest was moving, but he was not. I dialed 911, grabbed my doll, and continued on my way to school. Another day, when I was 14, I had stayed out late with my friends and was stumbling home through a dark alley. I still carried that doll with me, but in a more fashionable Lulu Lemon bag. I was tired and delirious and high off sugar, so when the pack of wild dogs moved in, I wasn't as scared as I ought to have been. They growled and advanced, but I just giggled. I thought it was absurdly funny when I dropped the doll, who's head rolled around to face the dogs. The dogs took one look at the doll and began to back away, whining. I slipped in a puddle of water and fell down, hitting my chin hard. I heard a tinkle of broken glass. 6 seconds later, when I sat up, all the dogs were on the ground, dead. Large gash marks on their backs were bleeding slowly onto the ground, and their eyes rolled back to the whites. One dog, the size of a shoe box, so skinny it's ribs were showing, stood in the center. Shaken but unharmed, it looked up at me with big, sad eyes. My doll was clutched in its mouth. In the doll's hand, a jagged piece of glass.
Pt. 2 I thought this was so funny, I laughed out loud. I scooped up the dog and the doll, placed the doll back into my bag, and staggered to the vet clinic a few blocks away. I only truly considered what had happened a few days later, when I was sober and conscious. It wasn't the puppy that had killed those dogs, certainly. It wasn't me. And other than that, I was alone except for... The doll. No, it couldn't be. Impossible. I decided to just consider myself lucky, and put it in the past. For 7 years, I was oblivious and quiet. I kept carrying the doll, but forgot all about the car crash and the dog incident. It was raining and dark, just like it was 15 years ago, that night. I was in my apartment, watching Mean Girls (I had a very minor crush on Regina George...), and eating half-melted ice cream out of an ugly mug. I had just passed my finals and decided to celebrate. I had turned the movie up so loud, I didn't hear the door creak open. I heard a scuttling of small feet, and a loud THUMP. I got up to see what had fallen. The man. The Grin was laying face down on my pink-and-orange rug, the blood stain from the massive knife driven into his back staining the rug. His mask had fallen off, revealing his sandy hair, shot through with gray. The Grin had come for me, after all this time, to finish what he started 15 years ago. But he had been killed. I was safe. He had been killed, and I know who did it. I know who had stopped his Henchman in that car, when I was 9. I know who killed those trained dogs when I was 14 On top of The Grin, my doll sat, her pink dress stained with red. She had a note taped to her chest, written in dark ink. "Grandma will always protect you." End. (image not mine)
