18

Krissy is the youngest child here. She's 4 years old and has that cute bob cut from the 1920's and clothes to match. This morning when I visited them, she ran up to me, shouted "Mommy's home!" and hugged me. The rest of the children did the same. I'm their mother, or at least they seem to think so.

You know what else I forgot besides this blog? My own mother. I forgot I even had a mother, but after Krissy called me mommy, my own mother's face came rushing back into memory.

Every time one of the children called me mommy or mama or mum, my heart broke a little bit more until I finally broke down. I feel bad because the sight of me crying made the children cry. It was a horrible sound, worse than the sobbing.

The demon must have heard all the crying or smelled the tears, because he rushed through the red door and pulled me out of the room. I sat in front of the closed red door and realized I couldn't hear the crying of the children on the other side.

He wiped my tears and I think went in for a little hug, but I puled back. I can't stand him touching me.

When I finally stopped crying I yelled at him, "Why did you take me? Why did you take these children from their mothers?"

He sort of cocked his head to one side like he didn't understand what I was saying.

"Don't play stupid with me, I know you know every word I'm saying. You're not stupid. I can tell."

He stayed silent. Guess he had to. He has no mouth. No eyes either yet I swore I was staring into a pair of deep, emotional eyes.

He picked me up off the ground and set me up on my feet. He held his hand out for me to take it but I gave him the death stare and he pulled back. I followed him back to my little windowless prison. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad to be back in that old bed with the bloodstained quilt.