Read No Evil: Anthology of Terror

Practically Evil in Every Way

This story was contributed by druidrose

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...

Michael's eyes sprung open into darkness as the lyrics played through his head. At least he hoped they were only in his head. That horrible woman was released from their care after his sister's accident, and as far as he was concerned, he would never see her again.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see the dark outline of the empty bed on the other side of the room from the corner of his eye. The moon shining through the window let in just enough light to allow him to see the old teddy bear on the bed, lying on its side, its black beady eyes staring at him, watching him as he slept.

He didn't remember the bear being there when he went to bed that night.

... the medicine go down...

Though the window was closed, Michael could feel a draft floating through the room. Perhaps that's what caused the shadows on the walls to move in the dim moon's glow or the reason behind the toy horse's sudden rocking back and forth before the fireplace. Swallowing slightly, he dared lift his head from the pillow to take a glimpse towards the end of his bed. Maybe it was the effect of the moon or just his imagination, but he swore the horse was watching him while it rocked, its black eyes almost alive with a fire all their own, its teeth looking unnaturally sharp while they were bared in the plastic mouth.

As he watched in horror, something flickered in his peripheral vision where the dollhouse—abandoned since Jane's accident—stood silent in the shadows of the room. Believing it only to be his mind playing tricks on him in the dead of night, Michael attempted to return his attention to the impossibly moving rocking horse before the flicker returned and the dollhouse had his entire attention.

He wasn't certain he heard it at first, but he swore he heard footsteps, quiet and distant and small. He glanced towards the door of the bedroom, closed and solid, but the sound wasn't coming from beyond as expected. Peering, he slowly crawled towards the end of his bed, remaining low on his stomach while his eyes focused and his ears concentrated.

The dollhouse remained still, but Michael swore he heard footsteps from coming within as if someone—or something—small enough to fit was running up and down the three flights of stairs. Perhaps a mouse gnawed its way in, he thought to himself as he leaned closer in the three-story structure. It hadn't been touched since his sister's accident, and he wasn't ready to touch it now.

But the footsteps grew louder—almost closer—and Michael crawled as close as he dared before he heard a sound almost like the snap of a twig. Looking up, he now faced the rocking horse, its black eyes staring dead into his as its elongated teeth reached for a bite. Scrambling back onto the bed, he quickly returned to his pillow and covered his head with his blanket, knowing that once he lay back down and closed his eyes, the dream—no, nightmare—would be over.

... the medicine go down.

Closing his eyes tight, Michael tried to remember life before that horrible woman arrived. Yes, their father had been strict, and their mother busy with her own agenda, but they were able to remain children—innocents living day in and day out among the wealthy families of London. If wasn't unheard of for them to have a nanny, and they had already been through so many, what was one more?

But the last one—they never could have known. No one could. He couldn't say her name. He didn't dare. He knew just thinking about her could potentially summon her wickedness.

Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...

There it was again. That song she sang. It tormented him as if she were singing it before him. He needed to find it, to find the source, and prove to himself that it was just his imagination getting the better of him. Just as it had with the teddy bear. And with the dollhouse. And with the rocking horse.

The floor was cold on his bare feet, and he wrapped his arms around his body as the evening chill seeped through his pajamas. His thick robe was at the end of his bed, but he left it where it was, knowing he would be back to bed in only a moments time.

The music continued to hum from the mirror on the wall above his dresser, but all he needed to do was look. Just one look to convince himself it was all in his head, like the breeze that blew through the room to move the rocking horse, and the sounds he thought he heard coming from the dollhouse. All the phantoms of a child's overactive imagination, compensating for the sudden loss of his sister.

He walked to the dresser, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he placed them upon the edge, hoisted himself to his tiptoes, and attempted to view the mirror. As he leaned up, the music stopped, any humming he thought he heard was gone. The room behind him was dark, lit only by the minimal moonlight shining through the closed window behind him. All was well, just as he expected.

Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Michael let go of the dresser and rested back on his heels. There was nothing to worry about. Just an overactive imagination, he reminded himself as he turned back to his bed.

And came face to face with a pair of red eyes, glowing upon the face of the woman who had taken his sister—his childhood—away from him. She sneered at him, her lips curled over two rows of unnaturally pointed teeth.

"Hello Michael," she greeted him in an almost otherworldly voice.

He opened his mouth to scream for help, but her clawed hand grabbed for his throat, her nails digging into the flesh where his pulse throbbed at an unhealthy speed, and as the blood began to flow down his neck, she poured a heavy dose of her lethal medicine directly down his exposed throat.

... in the most delightful way.

M. Dalto, also known as MB, is a writer of adventurous romantic fantasy stories. Her debut novel, Two Thousand Years, won a Watty Awards in 2016 and she continues to volunteer her time as an Ambassador. She spends her days as a full-time real estate paralegal, and when she's not writing, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, playing video games, and drinking coffee. Read more  of MB's stories here .