Midge kicked her legs, squealing. A few kicks hit her mother. She even raked at her mother with longer, ragged toenails. The dress her mother wore suffered for it, but her mother’s skin was too thick.
“I said to watch yer little brothers!” Her mother hollered, voice low.
Midge continued to squeal, high, loud, prolonged sounds. Her mother gave her a firm shake, hard enough that some bit of Midge might have broken if she was any closer to the wall or the table, then let go.
Midge found her feet right away, backing up. She looked toward the door and pointed.
“Mal and Posie are moving the car. Don’t act helpless, stupid child. You. Do. Your. Job!”
That last word was a screech as bad as any of them.
Midge scampered away as fast as she could.
The side room.
The babies were sitting up, side by side in the crib. Born the fall before last, they were big boned, as Ma said. Skinny, but big boned. Their skulls were thick enough that their brows hung heavy over their eyes, making them look perpetually angry. Jory had his mouth open, drooling, while Biff had his mouth closed, fluid streaming out of one nostril.
“It’s a little girl,” a voice whispered.
“Shh.”
“Oh god. What’s wrong with them?”
“Shh!”
Midge knelt by the crib, staring at her brothers. Biff had been suckling on a bone earlier, but it now sat on the mat at the bottom of the crib.
“They dirty?” Mam screeched from the other room.
The fluids from the bone mingled with stains of piss and shit that dated back to when Midge had been that size. The smell was bad enough she couldn’t tell, and she wasn’t about to stick her hand in there.
She looked off to one side, and saw her old doll collecting cobwebs.
She looked away. Every time she was caught with her doll, Mam made her look after the real babies instead.
“I asked if they’re dirty!”
Midge looked at her Mam, standing in the doorway, and shook her head.
Her mam disappeared back into the kitchen.
Midge snatched up the bone. Her brothers had apparently been fed recently, and their movements were so sluggish she had her hand out before they even looked at her hand.
She prodded Biff with the bone until Biff tipped over. His head cracked against the wooden slats of the crib, his neck finding a funny angle.
He continued chewing on his bottom lip, staring absently in her general direction.
So boring.
“Hey, little girl,” a voice sounded.
Midge turned to look.
Three strangers. Two women, one plump and one thin, and a man. They were dressed colorfully, their clothing weirdly sharp in how fine all the edges were. Collars around their necks were chained to the metal frame of Pa’s bed.
“Hey,” the man said. He smiled.
Midge didn’t trust smiles. Smiling was what you did when you hurt people, or sometimes when Pa got his food or Mam got her Pa. A rare thing. For Midge, it mostly meant being hurt.
“My name’s Shawn,” in the kind of accent that Jory called ‘posh’.
She stared at him. He kept smiling, but all she saw in his eyes was the fear.
“What’s going on?” the thinner girl mewled. Her accent just as posh.
“Shhh,” the heavier girl said, hugging the girl, chain at her neck clinking. “Let Shawn talk.”
“What’s your name?” Shawn asked.
Midge shook her head.
“She doesn’t talk?”
“The woman called her Midge?”
“Midge. That’s… a nice name,” Shawn said, smiling.
Midge shrugged.
“How old are you, Midge?”
Midge scowled. Mal had tried to show her. Mal was clever. Her big brother was the one who fixed the cars and sold the scrap. The one of them clever enough to pass in town without drawing too many stares.
She held up a hand. All fingers out.
“You’re older than that,” Shawn said, smiling. His eyes looked uneasy.
She shook her head, thrusting out her hand.
“Seriously? Five?”
“Shawn, focus.”
“Midge, I…”
Shawn trailed off as Midge raised the bone, yellow with scraps of gray meat hanging off it. She extended it toward Shawn.
“Um,” he said, “No thanks.”
She didn’t stop or slow down. When she was right next to him, she jabbed, striking him in the corner of the eye.
“Ow! Fuck! What the fuck!? What’s wrong with you?”
Midge stared at him. The anger was more familiar, comfortable.
“Shh, Shawn!” the heavier girl said.
He didn’t shout, keeping his voice low enough that Mam wouldn’t hear, but there was anger in his voice. “That hurt. What the fuck? This fucked up place and this fucked up family!”
“Shawn, suck it up,” she said. “Midge? Listen, Midge, do you know where the thin man keeps the keys to these collars?”
Midge shook her head.
“You don’t know? Do you think you can find out?”
Midge shook her head. She headed to the cabinet, and fished through until she found a collar that looked good enough. Mal had showed her this too. He was good at putting stuff together. Which was good, because he was as scrawny as Pa, but not nearly as strong.
Midge grabbed a knife, too.
She pushed the ends of the collar together as she approached the others.
Then she showed them what Mal had put together. Slide the knife into the slit…
The collar popped open.
“Brilliant,” Shawn said, his voice low, expression grim. As Mam made a noise in the kitchen, Shawn shot one fearful look her way. “Except that doesn’t work while we’re wearing them.”
“Oh god,” the thinner girl said.
“What?” Shawn asked.
“Are you terminally stupid?” the girl asked.
“What?”
But the girl only shook her head.
Midge walked across the room, collecting her doll. When she returned to the trio, she held the collar at neck level around the doll’s throat. The cloth doll’s head smiled at the three, the collar as wide around as the doll was tall, the collar much too large. Midge had to shuffle things around to hold the doll under one arm, hold the collar in place, and get a grip on the doll’s head with a knife still loosely gripped in the same hand.
She tore head from body.
“Nooo,” the thin girl said, making it a long, drawn out sound.
“Oh god, oh god,” Shawn muttered.
The collar only came off if the head came off first.
Only the plump one managed to stay quiet, though Midge could see tears in the girl’s eyes.
Fear and despair were familiar too. This was more comfortable than when they’d been smiling at her.
“Midge, why-” the girl’s voice choked, as if she couldn’t get the words out. “Why did you do that to your doll, honey?”
Midge looked down at the destroyed doll.
“It’s a nice toy,” the girl said. “Do you want me to fix it?”
Midge hesitated, reluctant. She glanced back at the kitchen, but Mam was busy.
She nodded.
“Here,” the girl said. “Come here. I’ll put it back together.”
Midge approached.
The girl reached out for the head, and Midge extended her hands, the doll in two distinct pieces.
The girl didn’t take the doll. She snatched the knife from Midge’s hand, and with her other hand, she grabbed Midge by the back of the neck, pulling her closer.