It’s all right, it’s all right. Daddy is here! He is here, holding you in his lap! Holding you so close. Don’t you see? There’s no reason to be sad! You are his!

His fingers wrap around her waist, his touch calculatedly gentle. She looks up at him with joy in her eyes and he kisses her forehead. From so close in this steady yellow light, she thinks she can see through his skin. She thinks she can see the blue veins behind that paper flesh.

They giggle and laugh (forever!) while her daddy bounces her on his knee. His eyes scan her body, his gaze following his fingers as he traces the lace of her dress.

“Oh, Vanilla . . .” he says, suddenly disappointed.

“What?” I’m sorry! she instinctively cries out in her head, the vein of throbbing guilt slithering back into her.

“You tore your pretty dress.”

He holds up the dirty white fabric. She can see the tear in it grinning back at her. She hadn’t noticed it before because of all the ruffles that overlap the skirt. It hid from her. Hid until the perfect moment. And of course he noticed. He notices everything.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, out loud this time. Please fix it! I have my lollipop and we were so happy!

“That is all right, my sweet.” He looks over the rest of her dress, a twitch of disgust winking across his expression. “This dress was growing dirtier and dirtier. It needed to be replaced either way.”

He places her down on the mattress, her body writhing slightly, refusing to let go. She wishes she could coil around him, be a part of him like those twisted veins beneath his skin. When he tries to stand, she is clutching onto the edges of his jacket, holding him down like an anchor. He smiles softly, a patient curl across his lips, and nods to her as if to say, It’s time to let go. His hands find hers and he kindly peels her fingers from his jacket one by one, standing when she is detached.

We were so happy . . .

She watches him as the muscle in her chest throbs with pain. Without another word, he opens the door (Please don’t!) and leaves the room.

Don’t go! she begs silently.

But the lock has already snapped shut.

She sits, staring at the door, waiting for him to come back.

We were so happy. What happened? What did I do?

But the door doesn’t reopen.

It’s my fault.

CHAPTER IV

What if the pounding begins and it’s not Daddy? What if the creatures are the ones pounding on the door? With their big fists and—and . . . Oh, no! I’m so scared . . . Bang, bang, BANG! Please don’t let it bang. But then again, I can’t open the door to let them in. Only Daddy could let them in, and surely he would never. Surely, if he saw them banging on my door, he would stop them!