My Daughter’s Accent Keeps Changing For the last 2 years…
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My Daughter’s Accent Keeps Changing
For the last 2 years, almost every two weeks or so, my daughter’s accent keeps changing. Sometimes it will be British, then Australian, and then back to American. There is no rhyme or reason to the different accents she picks. At first, I thought she was just being a silly 6-year-old doing impressions of different accents she saw on TV. But recently, something seems to be happening to her every time she picks a different accent. She’s not only changing her voice but also her whole vocabulary and mannerisms.
Last week, when we were shopping in the mall. There was one of those pianos that anyone can go and play. She stepped up and started playing it perfectly. I don’t know much about music, but it seems like she was playing Mozart or Beethoven. She has never taken a single piano lesson in her life, and how did she even hear the music to play it? I hardly listen to music in the house and certainly never classical music.
But the weirdness doesn’t stop there. Last week I walked past her room. She was playing with her dolls, and I heard her speaking what sounded like Spanish. Spanish! We live in Bradon, South Dakota. I don’t think I know a single person who can speak Spanish, and the speed and fluency with which she was speaking was far more than a Dora the Explorer episode.
Last week I went to see her teacher about it. They also noticed the voice changes but weren’t too concerned. You see, my Gracie is in the special needs class. They said it’s not too uncommon for special needs children like her to pick up accents from the television shows she watches. The British accents make sense. She loves to watch Peppa Pig from the UK. But last week her accent was of an old Southern man from the 1950s.
Over the next few weeks, I plan to make a diary of the changes so I can work out why she is doing it. I am so worried about her.
\*\*\*
It’s been 3 months since my last entry, and since then, she has changed her voice and personality over 6 times.
To make matters worse, something else is happening to her. Red scratches are appearing on her stomach. It’s almost like she has been scratching herself raw. I keep asking her how she got them, and she says she doesn’t know. She also seems to be getting paler and paler. I thought maybe it was the winter here, not enough sunlight. But it’s summer now, and she just keeps getting whiter and whiter.
I took her to the doctor last week. They ran all sorts of tests, but nothing came back. Cost over $500 for nothing. I thought about asking the doctors about the voices. But I know if I do, they will label her as some sort of loon. Crazy, schizophrenic. She isn’t crazy. She’s just a little girl. Something else has to be causing it.
Looking through my diary notes, I have found that she seems to be changing voices after she spends time with her father every other Wednesday. We have been divorced for over two years and have a shared custody agreement. He has her on the weekends when I am at work and every other Wednesday.
The marks on her stomach, though, seem to be following a different Calendar. Each time she has been with her father, I check her stomach and nothing. I thought maybe he had hurt her, but it doesn’t seem the case.
There is something you should know about me and her father, John. We hate each other and haven’t spoken properly since the divorce. We were both terrible together. We fought so much. Drank all the time and were just a horrible mess.
We tried to stay together for Gracie, but we kept getting worse. I don’t even recognise the person I was when I was with him.
We almost lost Gracie to the system. But we both cleaned ourselves up. Since then, we have been doing better.
I still, though, won’t speak to him directly. When it’s her turn to visit her father, I drop her off at his house and wait for her to go in. Then, when it’s time to get her. I drive by his house, honk my horn, and she gets sent out the door.
Is he making her do the voices as some kind of sick joke to get back at me for calling the cops on him all those years ago?
Now that I think about it, the voices started right after he moved out of the house. I don’t want to do it. But I have to talk to him about it. It has to stop!
Tomorrow, when I pick him up, I will put an end to it.
\*\*\*
Amanda approached her ex-husband’s house. As she got closer to the door, she could feel two years of resentment building and bubbling to the surface. She took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.
As it rang, her heartbeat got faster and faster.
John opened the door, wearing a tank top and a pair of old basketball shorts. A look of horror came over his face when he saw her.
“Amanda, you're early. The court said I have her until 6. It’s only 4. If you want your money. You better not be thinking of taking her early.”
“I am not here to pick her up. I am here to talk to you. I want you to knock it off. The accents stop right now.”
“Accents, what accents? Do you mean the voices she has been doing? I have been trying to get her to stop it for months. I even phoned the school about it. They said it was normal.
Normal! How is it normal for a 6-year-old girl to speak like a 60-year-old Scottish man one week and then like a cowboy the next? Nothing normal about it. That school is nothing but a bunch of liberal freaks! Probably they want to drape her in some kind of rainbow flag and dye her hair green.”
Amanda smelt an all too familiar smell on his breath. “Have you been drinking around her again? The court said you couldn’t drink around her. You want to lose her. Because that’s what will happen. If they find out.”
“Relax, will you, uptight Bitch! Look at the weather, it’s perfect. We just had BBQ. Can’t a man cook himself and his daughter a couple of burgers and have a cold one on the lord’s Day? Even the courts can’t blame me for this. One beer with lunch, that’s nothing.”
“A man without your drinking problem can. But you, John Williams, are nothing but a dam drunk.”
“Well, ain’t that the pig calling the farmer dirty. What about you? I remember more than a few nights of you drunker than a girl on prom night.”
“I haven’t had a drink since the day we signed the divorce papers. No need to drink without you around me. But I am not here about your drinking problem. I am here about Gracie. You better stop her changing her voice, or so help me God I will march right down to that police station and tell them you’ve been drinking with her in the house again.”
“For the last time, woman, I have tried to stop her doing it. I shouted at her. Sent her to bed without food. Took her toys away. But nothing. If it wasn’t for the dam courts, I would have given her a good whooping, and that would have been the end of it. But they made it very clear. Discipline my own daughter, I go to jail. I have tried everything I can think of. She won’t stop.”
Amanda didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. She lost it. For a moment, it was just like they were back living together.
“Listen, John! You snake of a man. I don’t know what game you have been playing. But it has to be coming from you. Look at this.”
She shoved her open notebook into his chest with the page open to the dates of different accents changes. “Look at it!”
I have been tracking the changes. How comes her voice always changes after she has been visiting you on a Wednesday?”
John’s face crumpled. “What are you talking about? You dumb hag. I don’t have Gracie on Wednesdays? I haven’t been home on a Wednesday night since I moved here. Wednesday is the night I go have dinner at my dad’s. I have a few beers with the old man and stay over at his house.
The court made it very clear to me. One more DUI and goodbye to Gracie and my freedom. I haven’t driven with a drop of alcohol in me since the divorce.”
What, how can you stand there and lie to my face? I have seen her walk into your house. I have been dropping her off here every other Wednesday for almost two years.”
“You have seen her walk into my house? Has she been staying here alone? You know I leave the front door unlocked. That’s why we moved to Bradon, the safest town in America. There hasn’t been a crime that we didn’t cause here in what, 10 years? Gracie, get down here!” John shouted out.
A cowering 8-year-old Gracie came shyly walking down the stairs. She was whiter than a ghost and wearing a blue summer dress with her hair in pigtails.
“Your Mom tells me you have been coming to my house on Wednesdays. Is this true? Don’t lie now. Have you been staying here alone?
Gracie’s current accent was off a good and proper British lady.
“Well, Papa, of course I haven’t been staying alone. Your British friend Mr Taylor has been taking care of me every fortnight.”
Both John and Amandas deminer went from anger to concern for their daughter.
“What, I don’t have a British friend, Gracie. Or a friend called Mr Taylor. Who are you talking about?
“Oh, but PaPa, you do have a British friend called Mr Taylor. Every time I stay at your home on Wednesdays, he takes good care of me. We watch old black and white British television shows and have tea together. After our supper, he then performs the ritual, and I go to bed.”
Amanda grabbed a hold of Gracie gently.
“Ritual? What ritual? Has this Mr Taylor been touching you, Gracie?”
Gracie’s head began to hurt, and she winced in pain. Her ears started to ring, and her eyes became red.
She spoke as she winced through the pain. “Touch me, oh heavens no. He doesn’t touch me. He just performs the ritual. Now, if you don’t mind, Mumma and PaPa, this conversation is making me quite Ill. I feel I need to lie down.
Gracie started to feel dizzy and nauseous.
Amanda placed her hand on her head. “It’s ok, Gracie, you can lie down. We have just one more question for you. What does this Mr Taylor look like?”
“Oh well, he is frightfully tall and skinny. At first, I thought he must not eat enough, but I have seen him put away more than a few cucumber sandwiches and scones. Oh, how he loves a scone. Now, if you will excuse me, I must retire to my bedroom.”
She slowly shuffled her feet to the stairs and started to walk up the steps one by one.
John shouted out as she reached the top of the stairs. “Go lie down, sweetheart. I will be there in a minute. to check you.” John stepped outside the house with Amanda and gently closed the door behind him.
Amanda said in a whisper, not to frighten Gracie. “We have to call the police, John. Someone has been doing something to her.”
“Call the police, are you mad? And tell them what? That for the last two years she has been staying alone in my home, and neither of us knew about it. We will lose her, Amanda. For all we know, this Mr Taylor is part of her imagination. Here is what we do. This Wednesday, you drop her off like you have been doing. If this man is real. We catch him in the act and put an end to the bastard for good.
Even if he is real and we go to the police, the best case is the dam pervert will probably just get a slap on the wrist and probably be roaming the streets again the next week. If I catch him in the house. I can blow the fucker away with the shotgun, and there ain’t shit the police can do about it. A man’s gotta stand his ground in South Dakota. That’s the law. Stand your ground.”
“Are you crazy? We can’t use her as bait. What if she gets hurt again?”
“She won’t get hurt. Trust me. Chances are, she made up this Mr Taylor while she was playing alone in the house one evening.” This Wednesday, I will leave for work as normal. I will park my car a few streets down. Then you drop her off, and we wait and watch.
If someone else gets close to the house, I will deal with it. If no one comes, we will know she’s been making it all up.
You better be right about this, John, because if she gets hurt, so help me God, I will make you pay.
\*\*\*
Wednesday came as soon as it always does. Amanda dropped Gracie off as she always did. But instead of driving to work, she drove to the end of the street just in view of the house and waited.
After 15 minutes. She got the fright of her life.
Amanda was fixated on the home. waiting and waiting until a tap came on her passenger’s side Window. John was standing there with a shotgun in his hands. He opened the door and sat next to her.
“So was I right? No one else has gone in yet?
Amanda replied nothing. Not even a UPS driver yet.
The two sat in the car for almost an hour in silence. No one came near the house.
John looked at his ex-wife and felt the guilt of the past hang over him.
“Look, no one’s to blame for this. But we gotta start talking again. For Gracie. I know we have done a pretty shitty job taking care of her so far. But we need to change this. We dont want to lose her. I know I have said it before. But this is it, Amanda, I am done with the drinking. I went to AA again last night. I am going to try my best to make sure it sticks this time.”
Something in John’s voice made Amanda believe he was being honest this time.
John looked at his watch. It was starting to get late.
“Look, why don’t we call it here? Let’s take Gracie out for a good meal as a family.
When was the last time you went to Bill’s dinner? Remember we used to go every weekend when we first moved here?”
“It’s been a while. I will be honest, I stopped going, so we would bump into each other,” Amanda replied
“Last time I went, Bill was asking about you. Said he hadn’t seen you in a while. I know Gracie will want one of their milkshakes. Then, after the meal, we can try to talk to her and put an end to this voice nonsense.
“Alright, John. For Gracie, we can try. But this isn’t us getting back together. That ship has long sailed.”
“I know this is just for Gracie, I swear.”
“alright lets go.”
The two got out of the car and walked to the house. John draped the shotgun over his shoulder as if it were an old baseball bat.
As they approached the door.
Amanda smiled, “I’m so relieved it was nothing.”
John laughed, “You know I have missed that smile.”
John turned the door handle, and the two stepped through into his house. As they walked through the front door, Amanda let out an all-mighty scream.
A man was sitting on the sofa facing away from them. He was just as Gracie had described. The man had long limbs that stretched out from the sofa. He was freakishly skinny, almost nothing but bones and skin. wearing a checkered 3-piece suit with large brown shoes. His long, bony fingers wrapped around what looked like a tiny teacup in his giant hands.
The TV was on, playing a black-and-white episode of the British TV show on the buses. Sitting next to him on the sofa, laughing, was Gracie.
John scrambled to take the shotgun from his shoulder.
“Gracie, get away from him.” He called out
Gracie stood up at the shock of her father’s voice. She had never heard him shout like that before.
Mr Taylor spoke in a soft British voice.
“Why hello, Jonathan, and hello to you, Amanda. You are just in time for tea. I was wondering how long it would take you to realise. I have to say you’re about two years later than I had originally expected. Please take a seat. Gracie, fetch two cups of tea for your parents, please.”
“Don’t listen to him, Gracie, get behind me.”
Gracie’s skin turned from pale white to a sickly gray. Her eyes were bloodshot, and black drool started dripping from her mouth as she jumped off the sofa.
John pointed the gun at Mr Taylor. “Right, you sick freak, tell us what you have been doing to our daughter, and maybe I might just leave you alive for the police.”
“Now, John, there is no need for any violence.” Mr Taylor waved his hand, and the shotgun came flying out of his hands and into Gracie’s. Her tiny body struggled to hold the big weapon.
“Now, as I said, take a seat.” Mr Taylor moved his hands, and the two parents went flying into the second sofa facing him.
The two tried to move, but they were trapped. A great weight was pulling them deep into the sofa.
Gracie walked over to Mr Taylor and showed him the gun.
“Oh, Jonathan, I am afraid you’re going to need something a little bigger than that if you want to hurt me.” Mr Taylor placed his two hands together and pulled them apart. As he did so, the gun disassembled itself.
Amanda and John looked into Mr Taylor’s face. His eyes were sunk back into his skull, and his head was freakishly large even for his massive body. His cheeks were so thin you could see the outline of his teeth pressing against them.
Amanda cried out, “Please don’t hurt Gracie.”
Mr Taylor leaned back in his chair.
“Oh my poor dear. I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Gracie has been dead for some time now.”
Both Amanda and John looked at Gracie standing next to him.
John thrashed around but couldn’t find the strength to free himself. “What are you talking about, freak? She’s standing right there.”
Mr Taylor smiled as he took a sip from his tea.
“Let me ask something, Jonathan. What would you give to go back and live as a child? No work, no stress, no bills, no aching body. Most would pay a small fortune. Now imagine what the dead would give.
You may have noticed little Gracie's voice change over the last few years. Well, and it does pain me to tell you this. Those voices weren’t here playing. There were the voices of the dead.
John and Amanda were in a complete state of disbelief.
Tears went streaming down Amanda's face. “Why, why, our Gracie, couldn’t you find someone else's body to take over?”
Why her? Don’t you understand, Amanda? This is what Gracie wanted. For years, your little girl called out to me. Praying someone would put an end to her suffering. Imagine being as small as her and living with two drunks like you as parents. Oh, how you two used a fight. And if you weren't fighting each other, you were taking it out on poor little Gracie.
What was the phrase you used, Johnathon, after you punished your daughter? “Gave her a good whooping.” Well, after every whooping, she called out to me. Asking for someone to take her away.”
The worst of her calling came two winters ago. She was alone in this very room. Buddled up in all the blankets she could find. But it wasn’t enough. Oh, she was a cold, frightened little thing. I couldn’t help myself. I had to step in and take her pain away.”
Mr Taylor outstretched his hand, and a cucumber sandwich appeared. He took a big bite of the sandwich and continued.
“I took her soul. And well, Gobbled it up.
It is true what they say, all children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. And I regret to tell you this, but you two didn’t deserve such a beautiful daughter.”
John still struggled to move as tears were pouring down his face.
“Bring her back, you monster.” He shouted out, “The power of Christ repels you.”
Mr Taylor’s head went backward, and he laughed hysterically.
“Oh, Johnathon, do you really think Christ wants to help you now? I suggest you find another God to pray to. Perhaps a god of vengeance is better.
I will say this, I am a little glad you two found me Today. Little Gracie’s body was getting ever so weak. Even lacking parents such as yourself, much have noticed the scratches. Her body can barely hold on to the souls anymore. No matter how much I tell them not to. They don’t listen. They keep trying to escape. To walk among the living.
A grandfather clock chimed 8 pm.
Gong, Gong, Gong
“My word is that time. We must wrap this up. I have other matters to attend to.
Mr Taylor took a large and final drink from his teacup.
“Now I have to say, you two certainly did clean up your act in the last two years. Not enough to notice your daughter was dead. But more than I had expected, and because of that, and because I am a kind man. I will give you a choice.
Gracie’s body has enough strength left for one more soul cycle.
You both can spend two more weeks with it. Or leave it to rest.
“Fuck you, let us and her go,” Johnthan said, trying one last time to free himself.
Mr Taylor sighed. “Well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”
Mr Taylor clicked his fingers, and Gracie’s body slumped to the ground.
“Gracieeeee!” John and Amanda screamed out.
Mr Taylor stood up. He towered over the two parents. Casting a large shadow on each of them as he walked past towards the door.
“Well, you didn’t release it, but you did bring a lot of spirits some final moments of joy, and for that I thank you both. Who knows, maybe the two of you could try again for children. You might actually make a good Job of the next one.
Well, Fairwell. I wish you both the best.
Mr Taylor placed a hat upon his head and walked out the door.
As the door slammed closed, John and Amanda felt the weight lift from them. Amanda dived towards Gracie. She was cold as ice. John ran towards the door. He looked through the peephole, and Mr Taylor had vanished.
The coroner's report marked Gracie’s death as a mystery. Expert after expert tried to work out what had killed her. Her organs were black and shrivelled to half the size they should have been. Was it some kind of cancer they had yet to discover? Or some rare illness? They were clueless.
Without a cause of death, the police couldn’t charge the two with any crime. No matter how much they suspected foul play.
John went back to the booze the day after Gracie passed for the second time. He lasted about a month until crashing his truck on the highway and passing away that night. As for Amanda, well, she lives in a home. Receiving 24-hour care.
#entertainment
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For the last 2 years, almost every two weeks or so, my daughter’s accent keeps changing. Sometimes it will be British, then Australian, and then back to American. There is no rhyme or reason to the different accents she picks. At first, I thought she was just being a silly 6-year-old doing impressions of different accents she saw on TV. But recently, something seems to be happening to her every time she picks a different accent. She’s not only changing her voice but also her whole vocabulary and mannerisms.
Last week, when we were shopping in the mall. There was one of those pianos that anyone can go and play. She stepped up and started playing it perfectly. I don’t know much about music, but it seems like she was playing Mozart or Beethoven. She has never taken a single piano lesson in her life, and how did she even hear the music to play it? I hardly listen to music in the house and certainly never classical music.
But the weirdness doesn’t stop there. Last week I walked past her room. She was playing with her dolls, and I heard her speaking what sounded like Spanish. Spanish! We live in Bradon, South Dakota. I don’t think I know a single person who can speak Spanish, and the speed and fluency with which she was speaking was far more than a Dora the Explorer episode.
Last week I went to see her teacher about it. They also noticed the voice changes but weren’t too concerned. You see, my Gracie is in the special needs class. They said it’s not too uncommon for special needs children like her to pick up accents from the television shows she watches. The British accents make sense. She loves to watch Peppa Pig from the UK. But last week her accent was of an old Southern man from the 1950s.
Over the next few weeks, I plan to make a diary of the changes so I can work out why she is doing it. I am so worried about her.
\*\*\*
It’s been 3 months since my last entry, and since then, she has changed her voice and personality over 6 times.
To make matters worse, something else is happening to her. Red scratches are appearing on her stomach. It’s almost like she has been scratching herself raw. I keep asking her how she got them, and she says she doesn’t know. She also seems to be getting paler and paler. I thought maybe it was the winter here, not enough sunlight. But it’s summer now, and she just keeps getting whiter and whiter.
I took her to the doctor last week. They ran all sorts of tests, but nothing came back. Cost over $500 for nothing. I thought about asking the doctors about the voices. But I know if I do, they will label her as some sort of loon. Crazy, schizophrenic. She isn’t crazy. She’s just a little girl. Something else has to be causing it.
Looking through my diary notes, I have found that she seems to be changing voices after she spends time with her father every other Wednesday. We have been divorced for over two years and have a shared custody agreement. He has her on the weekends when I am at work and every other Wednesday.
The marks on her stomach, though, seem to be following a different Calendar. Each time she has been with her father, I check her stomach and nothing. I thought maybe he had hurt her, but it doesn’t seem the case.
There is something you should know about me and her father, John. We hate each other and haven’t spoken properly since the divorce. We were both terrible together. We fought so much. Drank all the time and were just a horrible mess.
We tried to stay together for Gracie, but we kept getting worse. I don’t even recognise the person I was when I was with him.
We almost lost Gracie to the system. But we both cleaned ourselves up. Since then, we have been doing better.
I still, though, won’t speak to him directly. When it’s her turn to visit her father, I drop her off at his house and wait for her to go in. Then, when it’s time to get her. I drive by his house, honk my horn, and she gets sent out the door.
Is he making her do the voices as some kind of sick joke to get back at me for calling the cops on him all those years ago?
Now that I think about it, the voices started right after he moved out of the house. I don’t want to do it. But I have to talk to him about it. It has to stop!
Tomorrow, when I pick him up, I will put an end to it.
\*\*\*
Amanda approached her ex-husband’s house. As she got closer to the door, she could feel two years of resentment building and bubbling to the surface. She took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell.
As it rang, her heartbeat got faster and faster.
John opened the door, wearing a tank top and a pair of old basketball shorts. A look of horror came over his face when he saw her.
“Amanda, you're early. The court said I have her until 6. It’s only 4. If you want your money. You better not be thinking of taking her early.”
“I am not here to pick her up. I am here to talk to you. I want you to knock it off. The accents stop right now.”
“Accents, what accents? Do you mean the voices she has been doing? I have been trying to get her to stop it for months. I even phoned the school about it. They said it was normal.
Normal! How is it normal for a 6-year-old girl to speak like a 60-year-old Scottish man one week and then like a cowboy the next? Nothing normal about it. That school is nothing but a bunch of liberal freaks! Probably they want to drape her in some kind of rainbow flag and dye her hair green.”
Amanda smelt an all too familiar smell on his breath. “Have you been drinking around her again? The court said you couldn’t drink around her. You want to lose her. Because that’s what will happen. If they find out.”
“Relax, will you, uptight Bitch! Look at the weather, it’s perfect. We just had BBQ. Can’t a man cook himself and his daughter a couple of burgers and have a cold one on the lord’s Day? Even the courts can’t blame me for this. One beer with lunch, that’s nothing.”
“A man without your drinking problem can. But you, John Williams, are nothing but a dam drunk.”
“Well, ain’t that the pig calling the farmer dirty. What about you? I remember more than a few nights of you drunker than a girl on prom night.”
“I haven’t had a drink since the day we signed the divorce papers. No need to drink without you around me. But I am not here about your drinking problem. I am here about Gracie. You better stop her changing her voice, or so help me God I will march right down to that police station and tell them you’ve been drinking with her in the house again.”
“For the last time, woman, I have tried to stop her doing it. I shouted at her. Sent her to bed without food. Took her toys away. But nothing. If it wasn’t for the dam courts, I would have given her a good whooping, and that would have been the end of it. But they made it very clear. Discipline my own daughter, I go to jail. I have tried everything I can think of. She won’t stop.”
Amanda didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. She lost it. For a moment, it was just like they were back living together.
“Listen, John! You snake of a man. I don’t know what game you have been playing. But it has to be coming from you. Look at this.”
She shoved her open notebook into his chest with the page open to the dates of different accents changes. “Look at it!”
I have been tracking the changes. How comes her voice always changes after she has been visiting you on a Wednesday?”
John’s face crumpled. “What are you talking about? You dumb hag. I don’t have Gracie on Wednesdays? I haven’t been home on a Wednesday night since I moved here. Wednesday is the night I go have dinner at my dad’s. I have a few beers with the old man and stay over at his house.
The court made it very clear to me. One more DUI and goodbye to Gracie and my freedom. I haven’t driven with a drop of alcohol in me since the divorce.”
What, how can you stand there and lie to my face? I have seen her walk into your house. I have been dropping her off here every other Wednesday for almost two years.”
“You have seen her walk into my house? Has she been staying here alone? You know I leave the front door unlocked. That’s why we moved to Bradon, the safest town in America. There hasn’t been a crime that we didn’t cause here in what, 10 years? Gracie, get down here!” John shouted out.
A cowering 8-year-old Gracie came shyly walking down the stairs. She was whiter than a ghost and wearing a blue summer dress with her hair in pigtails.
“Your Mom tells me you have been coming to my house on Wednesdays. Is this true? Don’t lie now. Have you been staying here alone?
Gracie’s current accent was off a good and proper British lady.
“Well, Papa, of course I haven’t been staying alone. Your British friend Mr Taylor has been taking care of me every fortnight.”
Both John and Amandas deminer went from anger to concern for their daughter.
“What, I don’t have a British friend, Gracie. Or a friend called Mr Taylor. Who are you talking about?
“Oh, but PaPa, you do have a British friend called Mr Taylor. Every time I stay at your home on Wednesdays, he takes good care of me. We watch old black and white British television shows and have tea together. After our supper, he then performs the ritual, and I go to bed.”
Amanda grabbed a hold of Gracie gently.
“Ritual? What ritual? Has this Mr Taylor been touching you, Gracie?”
Gracie’s head began to hurt, and she winced in pain. Her ears started to ring, and her eyes became red.
She spoke as she winced through the pain. “Touch me, oh heavens no. He doesn’t touch me. He just performs the ritual. Now, if you don’t mind, Mumma and PaPa, this conversation is making me quite Ill. I feel I need to lie down.
Gracie started to feel dizzy and nauseous.
Amanda placed her hand on her head. “It’s ok, Gracie, you can lie down. We have just one more question for you. What does this Mr Taylor look like?”
“Oh well, he is frightfully tall and skinny. At first, I thought he must not eat enough, but I have seen him put away more than a few cucumber sandwiches and scones. Oh, how he loves a scone. Now, if you will excuse me, I must retire to my bedroom.”
She slowly shuffled her feet to the stairs and started to walk up the steps one by one.
John shouted out as she reached the top of the stairs. “Go lie down, sweetheart. I will be there in a minute. to check you.” John stepped outside the house with Amanda and gently closed the door behind him.
Amanda said in a whisper, not to frighten Gracie. “We have to call the police, John. Someone has been doing something to her.”
“Call the police, are you mad? And tell them what? That for the last two years she has been staying alone in my home, and neither of us knew about it. We will lose her, Amanda. For all we know, this Mr Taylor is part of her imagination. Here is what we do. This Wednesday, you drop her off like you have been doing. If this man is real. We catch him in the act and put an end to the bastard for good.
Even if he is real and we go to the police, the best case is the dam pervert will probably just get a slap on the wrist and probably be roaming the streets again the next week. If I catch him in the house. I can blow the fucker away with the shotgun, and there ain’t shit the police can do about it. A man’s gotta stand his ground in South Dakota. That’s the law. Stand your ground.”
“Are you crazy? We can’t use her as bait. What if she gets hurt again?”
“She won’t get hurt. Trust me. Chances are, she made up this Mr Taylor while she was playing alone in the house one evening.” This Wednesday, I will leave for work as normal. I will park my car a few streets down. Then you drop her off, and we wait and watch.
If someone else gets close to the house, I will deal with it. If no one comes, we will know she’s been making it all up.
You better be right about this, John, because if she gets hurt, so help me God, I will make you pay.
\*\*\*
Wednesday came as soon as it always does. Amanda dropped Gracie off as she always did. But instead of driving to work, she drove to the end of the street just in view of the house and waited.
After 15 minutes. She got the fright of her life.
Amanda was fixated on the home. waiting and waiting until a tap came on her passenger’s side Window. John was standing there with a shotgun in his hands. He opened the door and sat next to her.
“So was I right? No one else has gone in yet?
Amanda replied nothing. Not even a UPS driver yet.
The two sat in the car for almost an hour in silence. No one came near the house.
John looked at his ex-wife and felt the guilt of the past hang over him.
“Look, no one’s to blame for this. But we gotta start talking again. For Gracie. I know we have done a pretty shitty job taking care of her so far. But we need to change this. We dont want to lose her. I know I have said it before. But this is it, Amanda, I am done with the drinking. I went to AA again last night. I am going to try my best to make sure it sticks this time.”
Something in John’s voice made Amanda believe he was being honest this time.
John looked at his watch. It was starting to get late.
“Look, why don’t we call it here? Let’s take Gracie out for a good meal as a family.
When was the last time you went to Bill’s dinner? Remember we used to go every weekend when we first moved here?”
“It’s been a while. I will be honest, I stopped going, so we would bump into each other,” Amanda replied
“Last time I went, Bill was asking about you. Said he hadn’t seen you in a while. I know Gracie will want one of their milkshakes. Then, after the meal, we can try to talk to her and put an end to this voice nonsense.
“Alright, John. For Gracie, we can try. But this isn’t us getting back together. That ship has long sailed.”
“I know this is just for Gracie, I swear.”
“alright lets go.”
The two got out of the car and walked to the house. John draped the shotgun over his shoulder as if it were an old baseball bat.
As they approached the door.
Amanda smiled, “I’m so relieved it was nothing.”
John laughed, “You know I have missed that smile.”
John turned the door handle, and the two stepped through into his house. As they walked through the front door, Amanda let out an all-mighty scream.
A man was sitting on the sofa facing away from them. He was just as Gracie had described. The man had long limbs that stretched out from the sofa. He was freakishly skinny, almost nothing but bones and skin. wearing a checkered 3-piece suit with large brown shoes. His long, bony fingers wrapped around what looked like a tiny teacup in his giant hands.
The TV was on, playing a black-and-white episode of the British TV show on the buses. Sitting next to him on the sofa, laughing, was Gracie.
John scrambled to take the shotgun from his shoulder.
“Gracie, get away from him.” He called out
Gracie stood up at the shock of her father’s voice. She had never heard him shout like that before.
Mr Taylor spoke in a soft British voice.
“Why hello, Jonathan, and hello to you, Amanda. You are just in time for tea. I was wondering how long it would take you to realise. I have to say you’re about two years later than I had originally expected. Please take a seat. Gracie, fetch two cups of tea for your parents, please.”
“Don’t listen to him, Gracie, get behind me.”
Gracie’s skin turned from pale white to a sickly gray. Her eyes were bloodshot, and black drool started dripping from her mouth as she jumped off the sofa.
John pointed the gun at Mr Taylor. “Right, you sick freak, tell us what you have been doing to our daughter, and maybe I might just leave you alive for the police.”
“Now, John, there is no need for any violence.” Mr Taylor waved his hand, and the shotgun came flying out of his hands and into Gracie’s. Her tiny body struggled to hold the big weapon.
“Now, as I said, take a seat.” Mr Taylor moved his hands, and the two parents went flying into the second sofa facing him.
The two tried to move, but they were trapped. A great weight was pulling them deep into the sofa.
Gracie walked over to Mr Taylor and showed him the gun.
“Oh, Jonathan, I am afraid you’re going to need something a little bigger than that if you want to hurt me.” Mr Taylor placed his two hands together and pulled them apart. As he did so, the gun disassembled itself.
Amanda and John looked into Mr Taylor’s face. His eyes were sunk back into his skull, and his head was freakishly large even for his massive body. His cheeks were so thin you could see the outline of his teeth pressing against them.
Amanda cried out, “Please don’t hurt Gracie.”
Mr Taylor leaned back in his chair.
“Oh my poor dear. I am afraid I have some bad news for you. Gracie has been dead for some time now.”
Both Amanda and John looked at Gracie standing next to him.
John thrashed around but couldn’t find the strength to free himself. “What are you talking about, freak? She’s standing right there.”
Mr Taylor smiled as he took a sip from his tea.
“Let me ask something, Jonathan. What would you give to go back and live as a child? No work, no stress, no bills, no aching body. Most would pay a small fortune. Now imagine what the dead would give.
You may have noticed little Gracie's voice change over the last few years. Well, and it does pain me to tell you this. Those voices weren’t here playing. There were the voices of the dead.
John and Amanda were in a complete state of disbelief.
Tears went streaming down Amanda's face. “Why, why, our Gracie, couldn’t you find someone else's body to take over?”
Why her? Don’t you understand, Amanda? This is what Gracie wanted. For years, your little girl called out to me. Praying someone would put an end to her suffering. Imagine being as small as her and living with two drunks like you as parents. Oh, how you two used a fight. And if you weren't fighting each other, you were taking it out on poor little Gracie.
What was the phrase you used, Johnathon, after you punished your daughter? “Gave her a good whooping.” Well, after every whooping, she called out to me. Asking for someone to take her away.”
The worst of her calling came two winters ago. She was alone in this very room. Buddled up in all the blankets she could find. But it wasn’t enough. Oh, she was a cold, frightened little thing. I couldn’t help myself. I had to step in and take her pain away.”
Mr Taylor outstretched his hand, and a cucumber sandwich appeared. He took a big bite of the sandwich and continued.
“I took her soul. And well, Gobbled it up.
It is true what they say, all children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. And I regret to tell you this, but you two didn’t deserve such a beautiful daughter.”
John still struggled to move as tears were pouring down his face.
“Bring her back, you monster.” He shouted out, “The power of Christ repels you.”
Mr Taylor’s head went backward, and he laughed hysterically.
“Oh, Johnathon, do you really think Christ wants to help you now? I suggest you find another God to pray to. Perhaps a god of vengeance is better.
I will say this, I am a little glad you two found me Today. Little Gracie’s body was getting ever so weak. Even lacking parents such as yourself, much have noticed the scratches. Her body can barely hold on to the souls anymore. No matter how much I tell them not to. They don’t listen. They keep trying to escape. To walk among the living.
A grandfather clock chimed 8 pm.
Gong, Gong, Gong
“My word is that time. We must wrap this up. I have other matters to attend to.
Mr Taylor took a large and final drink from his teacup.
“Now I have to say, you two certainly did clean up your act in the last two years. Not enough to notice your daughter was dead. But more than I had expected, and because of that, and because I am a kind man. I will give you a choice.
Gracie’s body has enough strength left for one more soul cycle.
You both can spend two more weeks with it. Or leave it to rest.
“Fuck you, let us and her go,” Johnthan said, trying one last time to free himself.
Mr Taylor sighed. “Well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”
Mr Taylor clicked his fingers, and Gracie’s body slumped to the ground.
“Gracieeeee!” John and Amanda screamed out.
Mr Taylor stood up. He towered over the two parents. Casting a large shadow on each of them as he walked past towards the door.
“Well, you didn’t release it, but you did bring a lot of spirits some final moments of joy, and for that I thank you both. Who knows, maybe the two of you could try again for children. You might actually make a good Job of the next one.
Well, Fairwell. I wish you both the best.
Mr Taylor placed a hat upon his head and walked out the door.
As the door slammed closed, John and Amanda felt the weight lift from them. Amanda dived towards Gracie. She was cold as ice. John ran towards the door. He looked through the peephole, and Mr Taylor had vanished.
The coroner's report marked Gracie’s death as a mystery. Expert after expert tried to work out what had killed her. Her organs were black and shrivelled to half the size they should have been. Was it some kind of cancer they had yet to discover? Or some rare illness? They were clueless.
Without a cause of death, the police couldn’t charge the two with any crime. No matter how much they suspected foul play.
John went back to the booze the day after Gracie passed for the second time. He lasted about a month until crashing his truck on the highway and passing away that night. As for Amanda, well, she lives in a home. Receiving 24-hour care.
#entertainment
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