Patreon Exclusive - "Scents" - Part 2

Sally runs now. Still holding the pajamas, hugging them to her chest, she pulls on the door handle. Yes, it’s locked. She bangs on the door. “Hey! This isn’t…come on!”

There’s no answer from the hallway. Sally listens, and above the sound of her own panicked breathing, she hears Mr. Johnson walk back downstairs.

What the hell?

Put on your jammies.

She unfolds the pink pajamas. A fuzzy pink blanket sleeper, decorated with various animals.

Definitely for a toddler; there’s even the fuzzy tab at the top over the zipper, and it opens all the way down to the ankle, to make diaper changes easier.

Definitely in her size; a perfect fit. She looks in the neck for a label but there’s nothing. Tailored. Made especially for a girl her size.

She holds the soft garment in her hands and then sniffs the air. The scent of cherries seems stronger than before, and she looks around for a spilled bottle of shampoo or bodywash.

Such a fruity smell. When she inhales more deeply, she can feel the sweetness more keenly, with a tingling in her teeth as if she’s chewing on the stickiest, most sugar-filled candy.

But she’s not eating candy. Or cherries. That’s silly. It’s just a smell.

She strokes the feetie pajamas, enjoying the softness for just a moment, for perhaps a half-minute of dull-eyed sleepiness, and then she drops the outfit back on the bed and then goes over to the closet and to discover what’s inside.

More of the same? Because Mr. and Mrs. Johnson want to dress their babysitter up like a baby? The idea makes Sally’s chest tighten with anxiety, and so she fills her lungs with air and then exhales steadily and fully, before pulling open the closet doors.

You look kinda fierce. Take a deep breath.

Yes, that’s better, she does feel calmer, even as she sees a full rack of dresses and rompers all designed with a toddler in mind but sized for a girl like Sally. To remove any possible ambiguity, there is a set of pre-folded diapers on the bottom shelf.

Sally runs her fingers down a sparkling, tulle skirt. Everything in here would fit her. Which means this is more than just some strange game for tonight.

The Johnson’s want to keep her. They don’t need a babysitter, they just need a baby.

Take a deep breath.

Her body disagrees. There’s not enough air in the world that will make this feel better.

Now is the time to cry for help. Now is absolutely the time to scream the house down.

But in her throat-constricting panic, all Sally can produce is a strangled groan. Her mouth is dry, her mouth is desert sand. And so she focuses, she closes her eyes, and she manages to take a shuddering but full breath.

And that’s better.

Sally concentrates on her breathing in the cherry-scented bedroom. There’s no need, now, to cry out in panic, she doesn’t scream for help. If anything, her shoulders relax, and her jaw muscles loosen. Mercifully the sense of horror fades, transitions into a more comfortable teenage sarcasm.

What do they think is about to happen? Do the Johnsons actually believe that Sally will clap her hands with delight? Do they expect her to want to play this bizarre game?

She rolls her eyes at the outfits; a watermelon swimsuit, a frilly tutu birthday dress with ‘two’ spelled out on the chest, and the letter ‘o’ a donut with pink sprinkles. And then a shelf with more onesies, mostly pink, all fuzzy.

What a silly thing for the Johnson’s to do! Sally shakes her head, smiling. They want to dress her up like a baby! She rubs her eyes. That’s loopy! That’s the silliest thing she ever heard!

With that, Sally has a wonderful idea. She’ll take pictures of the outfits and post them on her IG feed.

Check out my new clothes! #Fashionista 😜#BambinoFail

She feels for her phone. It’s not in the pocket of her school hoodie. Sally jabs her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her phone has gone. She’s dropped it, or…

She understands with certainty that Mrs. Johnson took her phone.

I’m a hugger.

She stops smiling. Because this is serious, not silly. The Johnsons are trying to kidnap her. Babynap her.

No, she shouldn’t giggle. It’s not funny. It’s very serious. She puts fingers to her mouth. No giggling because she’s not a toddler.

She’s not a silly little girl who would swoon at the birthday tutu dress hanging in her closet, even if she can imagine in this sweet-smelling room that it might be fun to be the center of attention, to have all eyes on her as she twirled and danced like a real ballerina.

She’s not two, even if she wonders for the first time since she left elementary school where her old dolls are, if they boxed them away in the attic or gave them away to Goodwill.

She rubs her eyes with her fists. Sally isn’t sure that she feels quite…herself.

She slams the closet door shut.

“Doing okay, honey?”

Mrs. Johnson. Her voice from the hallway, calling through the locked door.

Sally goes to the door and says, “Mrs. Johnson, can you let me out? Mr. Johnson…he locked me in. I mean, on mistake, I think.”

A pause, and then Mrs. Johnson replies, her tone laced with regret, “Not quite yet, sweetie. Soon, though.” And then, in a brighter voice, something meant for younger ears, “Did you put on your jammies? I can’t wait to see you, all pink and cozy!”

Sally glances back at the pajamas and feels a funny tickle in her chest. A faint but noticeable sense of excitement at being dressed up for Mrs. Johnson. At earning the woman’s praise. At getting another of those hugs.

She shakes her head briskly. “There’s been some kind of mistake, I need to…can I use your phone? I just wanna call my mom.”

“Of course you can,” says the voice behind the locked door. “As soon as you’re in your jammies, you can see your mommy.”

Sally groans. That’s not right, that’s not even close. She is about to correct the woman when she notices the smell of cherries again. And this time, she detects a faint hissing sound, like the air being let out of a balloon. Sally breathes in the sweet smell, has a moment of giddiness, and thinks fleetingly of the decorated sign on the bedroom door.

Do the balloons have a leak?

She almost asks Mrs. Johnson that very question, and then her face burns red with embarrassment. What a silly idea, what a childish fancy.

She’s not a child, she’s practically a grown-up. Well, a big girl at least.

Sally nods to agree with herself. In high school! She rubs her fingers over the panther mascot decorating her hooded top. Even though the idea of going back to her regular classes in the morning provoke confusing thoughts, and Sally wonders if she might take a sick day instead. Because she’s very tired, and it’s very possible she’s coming down with something.

“Feeling sleepy, honey?” asks Mrs. Johnson.

Sally stares at the door in surprise. How did the woman know?

“You should have a little sit down, Addy, have a lovely little rest.”

Sally nods again, and she sits cross-legged on the carpet. Because she can just take a break, can’t she? She can sit down on the floor and have a lovely little rest. She feels her smile broaden, and she blinks sleepily.

And then she frowns.

Addy?

It’s a trick. It’s all a way to confuse her. Sally pats her face with her fingers. There, wake up.

She pinches her cheeks. Don’t let them put you to sleep. These people aren’t playing this game for one night only; there’s a closet full of clothing. She has to get out of here.

She speaks to the door. “My name isn’t Addy. And my dad’s a cop, so you better let me out right now. I was supposed to call him when I got here. He’s probably on his way.”

“Oh, honey,” says the woman, and isn’t her disappointed tone somehow worse than if she’d sounded angry? “Your daddy’s downstairs waiting for you to be sweet. No more playing make-believe.”

Sally frowns. Dad’s downstairs?

No. The woman means her husband. Sally shakes her head to clear the sweet fog from between her ears. Someone needs to freshen up this smelly bedroom. Someone needs to open the windows or buy a can of Febreze.

“That’s not my dad,” she says slowly. Making her case. “You know that, right? You know this is kidnapping?”

Mrs. Johnson ignores the question. “You know the rule, Addy. You have put your jammies on before you can play before bed. Don’t you want to play with Florelle?”

“Who?” Sally imagines a family dog, and then she imagines something much worse; another girl that the couple have tricked into their home.

Mrs. Johnson laughs. “Your doll, silly!”

Sally turns around and looks over at the bed. There’s the doll, in her matching pink pajamas, waiting for her.

“Just imagine,” Mrs. Johnson says, and her voice takes on a tone that Sally can imagine daycare workers using with little kids. “You and Florelle, all cuddled up and tucked into bed together. Think how sweet you’ll look!”

Sally understands with perfect clarity, the picture Mrs. Johnson is describing is as much for the grown-up as it is for her. Mrs. Johnson’s own fantasy, of her little girl dressed for bed.

Only problem is, Sally isn’t a little girl, and the Johnsons aren’t her parents. So whatever happens, this game of theirs can’t end well.

“As soon as you’re a happy girl,” says the woman, “we can unlock the door. And you can have cuddles and your bedtime story!”

Bedtime story? Bedtime strangling, more like. Because it’s not as if she can just magically go along with all of this. So what happens then? Raped, murdered? She’ll be found years from now, along with all the other bodies, beneath the basement floor. For goodness sake, isn’t that where Mr. Johnson emerged from earlier.

Got a little damp problem in the basement.

Got a little dead bodies problem, more like.

Hell, hasn’t Sally seen enough of those Netflix specials?

She shuffles away from the door, and then gets to her feet and goes over to the bed. She picks up the doll. It’s light, at least. She smells the doll’s hair and isn’t remotely surprised to find that it smells strongly of cherries.

Sally sighs. Why doesn’t she relax? Why doesn’t she just pretend, just for a little while? Long enough to get the door unlocked? Where’s the harm in that? What’s wrong with playing dress-up? Is it really such a long time since she used to enjoy playing and having cuddles?

She walks back and sits by the door, the doll cradled in her lap. “I like Florelle,” she says hesitantly.

Mrs. Johnson replies, “Of course you do!”

Sally nods. “I’m holding her.”

“Good girl! Think how much fun you’ll have, brushing her hair and dressing her in pretty dresses. You can even sleep with her at bedtime and have the sweetest of dreams!”

The mixture of enthusiasm and urgency in Mrs. Johnson’s voice helps bring fresh clarity to Sally’s mind. This isn’t a game. And if she indulges the couple, if she plays along, why on earth would they want to let her go?”

Sally swallows. Her mouth is still so dry. “That sounds good. Umm…can I have a glass of milk, please?”

“You sure can,” says the woman. “Just as soon as you’re in your jammies.”

Sally glances at the bundle of fuzzy pink material and grimaces. She just needs the door open an inch. She just needs a glimmer of an opportunity.

You look kinda fierce.

Yeah, give her half a chance. The Johnson’s have no idea how fierce Sally can be.

She takes a deep breath and says, in the most childish tone she can bear, “Can I have it now? Please, I’m thirsty.”

The woman on the other side of the door groans, and Sally hears a mix of pleasure and…something else. Impatience? Hunger?

“Show Mommy you can be a good girl and put on your lovely soft jammies. It’s almost bedtime, after all. Then Mommy will fix you some milk.”

Sally digs her fingernails into the carpet. “I don’t like the pajamas…the jammies.”

The woman sounds astonished. “But I chose them especially for you!”

Sally can’t suppress a whine of frustration. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I do! I know that you’re a big girl, super smart, and I know that you like panthers, just like the one on your hoodie.”

Sally glances down at the logo on her top.

“What’s the difference, honey, between your panther outfit and the other one? Hmmm?”

Sally rolls her eyes. A world of difference. A decade of education and maturity. But she leans over and pulls the pajamas into her lap, creating a blanket for the doll.

“Do you see all the animals, Addy?”

Sally looks. There are indeed animals decorating the pajamas. “My name’s not Addy. But sure.”

“Can you name them all?”

The animals aren’t the easy ones, like dogs or cats. She traces the patterns, finding a koala, panda, butterfly, and a giraffe. “Yeah,” she replies.

“Clever girl!”

Sally frowns. She can name them because she’s not a small child, and because she hasn’t lost her mind like the owners of this home.

Still, perhaps there isn’t much difference between the hoodie and the pajamas. Of course, does it mean that both items of clothing are okay to wear, or that they’re both infantile?

Sally shudders, and then she pulls the hoodie over her head, leaving her in a white Tee.

She wrinkles her nose. “Mrs. Johnson, can you open the door please? It’s really warm in here. It’s definitely too warm for the pajamas.”

“How about you give Florelle an extra-big cuddle?”

“What? Why?” Sally gets to her feet and pulls on the door handle. “Why can’t you just let me out?” She rattles the handle. “Honestly, I really, really need to go to the bathroom.” She flinches at creating such a childish ruse, and then in the same moment, she’s conscious of a heaviness in her bladder.

“Cuddle your doll for Mommy,” the woman replies, and the as if she’s reading copy from a brochure, she says, “Florelle is the perfect size for make-believe mommies to cradle in their arms.”

“I’m…I don’t…” Sally kicks the door with her feet. “That’s you! You’re the make-believe mommy! You wanna make believe I’m a baby. I’m not!”

Mrs. Johnson’s tone gets firm. “Don’t yell, Addison, you’ll scare Florelle.”

“That- “

“I think I can hear her crying.”

Sally screams, and her face must be as red as her discarded hoodie. “No, you can’t! That’s made-up! She’s only made of…she’s not real!”

Mrs. Johnson laughs gently, and she manages to sound chilling and infuriating at the same time. “It’s going to be okay, Addy. It’s just a couple more minutes, probably. Just keep breathing in the happy gas.”

Sally drops the doll, and it bounces on the carpet by her feet. A little urine escapes, dampening her underwear, but it’s really the least of her problems.

She whispers, “The what?”

“The lovely smell, honey. Daddy made it especially for a good girl like you. The cherries? It’s going make you all sweet and innocent for Mommy.”

Oh. That’s it.

Sally steps away from the door, tripping over the blanket sleeper and hoodie, landing on her rear, and feeling tears sting her eyes.

“Just breath it in, sweetie and then you’ll be happy. No more questions, no more worries. It won’t be long, honey, and Mommy will come in and take care of everything.”

The bedroom is filling with gas. No leaky balloons, no spilled shampoo.

She is being drugged. Perhaps they’re not going to rape her, but she’s trapped with maniacs. The Johnsons are intent on destroying Sally’s mind so that she will be their baby for real.

To be continued...