Jacqui

His grin dripped with such wicked glee, he was sure even his sweat smelled sweet - like roses, or a sip of granddaddy’s bourbon. He’d really done it – got even with that old hag. The way her witchy yellow eyes would slide sideways when he’d give his mom the slip every night. Or pursing her persimmon lips when he’d sneak money or pills out of mom’s pocketbook. No more. ### And he had that devil doll to prove it. When the witch was alive she would never let him even touch it, and now it was his, sitting on his table with its girly ruffles, skinny chicken neck and idiot cotton head. ### He practically drooled satisfaction all afternoon, seeing it there on his table. That old hag had carried it with her everywhere – she even talked to it – getting answers to questions that shouldn’t be asked like what Jed had done with that skinny girl of his. He’d hear her whisper down her chin, then see its stupid black sock feet poking out of her sweater pocket, or its one blue hair tickling her chin when she rocked. Now it was his. ### So he sat, greedily grinning into its flat dot eyes. Till the moon rose, suddenly slicking the room with chilly gray shadows that slithered over the doll’s blank, staring face. ### His grin started to slide down his chin into a shaky grimace. His neck began to itch with prickles of ice, his hands grew twitchy and hot. The eyes - those depthless black dots - seemed to glow cat-yellow just like the old hag’s, sliding slyly sideways when he stood to close the blind. The stitch of a mouth seemed to purse its lips. He saw it stretch into a wicked grin, as he ran from the room screaming for his mom.