Sasha feigned surprise with a hand pressed over her heart as she greeted the empty doorway to her playroom. “Oh, hi there.” She smiled, flashing the gap between her teeth. Her pigtails drank up the sun pouring in from the window behind her. “Thank you for finally coming. We’ve been expecting you.”

Sasha raised the cracked little plastic tea cup to her lips and took an imaginary sip, forcing her pinky finger to remain straight just like mommy had taught her. She placed the cup on its matching saucer painted with a bright yellow daffodil and then set it down on the table. It was a nice playroom: roomy and filled with an opulent Christmas list’s worth of toys and dolls and games. Splashes of bright red dressed the walls. Daddy had finally helped paint it after coming for tea one day. She was glad he had finally come up to play that one time. She dabbed the corner of a proper linen napkin to her mouth and folded it into a precise triangle before placing it down next to the saucer.

“Would anyone like a refill?”

The vacant eyes of her guests stared back at her. There were four such dolls, all dressed in their finest clothing, meticulously arranged around the table. Sasha grumbled and shook her head at a rough tangle of blond hair on the doll seated across the table.

“Do I have to do everything myself?”

The blond doll’s mouth, forever frozen in a surprised smile, remained unmoving. Sasha plucked up a wide, wooden hairbrush from her bureau and went to work on the golden tangles. A tearing sound came as a clump of hair came away with a rough brush stroke. She pinched it free of the brush and let a gentle breeze from the cracked window carry it to the floor.

“It’s a wonder you have any hair left.”

Sasha licked her thumb and then dabbed a stain by the doll’s temple. She groaned like she had seen Mommy do when she was angry at the red stains on Daddy’s collar. “This will never come out.”

A lonely note droned flatly from the music box on her night stand. The pirouetting ballerina twisted in place for a half-turn before quitting and falling back to silence. Sasha frowned. “I told you before, Silas, no music at tea time.”

The red on the walls stared silently back at her. The scent of roses wafted in and the ballerina danced stiffly to a handful of distorted notes. Sasha clamped her hands over her ears and stamped a foot.

“No exceptions, Silas!”

The music stopped as quickly as it had begun. Sasha’s face flushed as she lowered her hands. She ran to the playroom door and stuck her head into the hallway. “Sorry, mommy. It was Silas again. It’s always Silas.”

The ballerina danced on its warped circular pedestal. The tune faded, leaving only the sad grinding of the rusted gears hidden inside the guts of the music box. The seated dolls’ heads lolled to one side or the other and stared at the scatters of crimson painting the room. Sasha crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

“It is too your fault, Silas. You’re always getting me in trouble. No one ever yells at you.”

A shadowed corner near the closet door stared back at her.

“Don’t give me that look. You know it’s true.”

The shadows rustled.

“I don’t care what you think,” Sasha said, fists clenched by her sides. She pointed at her newest doll, a boy, with short hair the color of chocolate and eyes of milky blue. Its neck was bent to the side at an obscene angle. “You’re always causing trouble and breaking my toys.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Shut up, Silas. Someone’s at the door,” Sasha whispered. She sidled up against the wall beside the window, using a purple drape as a shield. Slowly, she peeked around the sill. Beneath her, standing on the front stairs-- again-- was the lady with the red hair. Sasha pouted. “This is the third time this week. Why won’t she just leave us alone.”

Sasha pulled the drape tighter, concealing half of her face against the burning sun light. “She called herself Melanie before at school...”

Knock, knock, knock.

A book toppled from the bookcase and landed with a thud. Sasha gave it a quick, disapproving glance and then turned her attention back to the woman outside. “I don’t have time for stories right now.” She made for the door, pressing a wrinkle from her dress along the way. Tiptoeing down the second floor hallway, she passed by the brightly painted white doorways of the bath and bedrooms. She stopped beside the wrought iron table her mother had used to keep bouquets of roses clipped from the bushes out front. A neglected, dust-filmed vase stared out through a hallway window.

Sasha inched to the top of the stairs and regarded the veiled silhouette of the woman outside her front door. The wall behind the L-shaped staircase carried a gallery of tilted pictures depicting summer smiles in front of a fancy speedboat. Another featured a teenager with blond hair grinned back at the camera, sapphire eyes full of hope shaded beneath the brim of her graduation cap. Sasha dragged her hand along the wall beneath a row of crooked pictures of a boy with an ugly brown bowl cut in an oversized fisherman’s vest holding his prize catch. The landing creaked as her foot touched down. A picture rattled on the wall beside her. Sasha threw a twisted sneer back towards the second floor with a finger pressed to her lips.

“Be quiet, Silas. I’m going as fast as I can.”

The woman waiting outside knocked on the door for a third time. The doorbell chimed a moment later. “Hello? Mr. and Mrs. Thorn? It’s Melanie. Melanie St. Laurent from Oakdale Academy. You haven’t returned my calls.” She stepped away from the door and looked up at the second floor. Swaying branches dressed the second floor in jagged shadows that danced in the wind.

“I’m worried about Sasha.”

Sasha kicked the mail piled in front of the door underneath a nearby recliner. An overturned photograph lay face down in a pile of broken glass on the end table beside the leather chair. The chain lock clicked and the door groaned as Sasha pulled it open partway.

“Can I help you?”

Melanie pressed a hand into her chest and exhaled. “Oh thank God. Sasha, we’ve been so worried about you. Everyone’s going to be so relieved that you’re alright.”

Sasha’s face was a blank mask. Her voice dropped into a flat, monotonous drone. “I’m fine. I’m playing teacups with my dolls.” She pushed the door nearly closed. “You should go.”

“Wait, I need to speak with your parents,” Melanie said with a gentle, halting gesture. “Your friends at the academy are wondering when you’re coming back.”

“They’re not my friends.” Sasha’s eyes narrowed to slits. “They never want to play teacups.”

“Sasha, let me in. I have to speak with your parents. I’m sure they want you to be safe and sound back at Oakdale.”

Hot fury flashed in Sasha’s eyes. Her voice rumbled an octave lower than what Melanie expected. “They’re not here. And Silas won’t let anybody hurt me anymore. He said so.”

Melanie nodded at the matching BMW’s in the well-manicured driveway behind her. “Sasha, please. I know those are their cars. Please, let me in.”

Sasha shrugged and looked back to the staircase. A smile slowly crept over her face. “Ok. You can come. But only if you promise to play teacups.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Melanie said with a nervous smile. She shifted a stack of papers and a leather portfolio into the crook of her arm and extended her hand to seal the deal.

Sasha regarded the offering for a moment and then accepted. The lock’s chain scraped as it was released before allowing the door to silently glide open. “Come in.” Sasha waved her teacher inside and lead her into the sitting room. She offered the young woman a seat at the end of a deeply cushioned couch of slate gray. Mommy had often invited guests to take the same place. She’ll be proud of me.

The living room shades were drawn tight and the widescreen television bathed the room in a wash of ghostly static. Melanie panned around the room. “Seems like your cable’s out.”

Sasha’s arms hung limply by her sides. She didn’t bother with an acknowledgment: the cluster of shadows waiting in the corner behind the couch rippled, capturing her attention. She closed her eyes for a second and then continued in her best impression of her mother’s prim and proper voice; complete with a warm, cordial smile.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

Melanie placed the portfolio on the dust-covered coffee table in front of her. She folded her hands in her lap. “You mean play teacups?”

The ghoulish smile stretched over Sasha’s lips remained. “No, it’s not playtime yet. I mean real tea like mommy makes.”

Melanie’s lips curled into a thin smile. “That sounds perfect and I’d very much like to speak with her. Where is she?”

“I told you she isn’t here!” Sasha stamped a foot, rattling the statues resting in a nearby glass display. Melanie lurched in her seat, but quickly recovered her nerve. It wasn’t the first time she had seen such an outburst from a student. It probably wouldn’t be her last. The teacher summoned up a bit of nerve and her spine stiffened.

“Sasha, we’ve been over these outbursts in group several times. You said you were going to try and work on them.”

The girl’s posture eased ever so slightly and the Stepford smile swept back over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. Really.” Her head tilted slightly to the left. “Tea?”

“Please.”

Sasha’s pigtails twirled alongside her head as she spun on a heel and swept through the kitchen door. Melanie tilted her head back and allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath. She took her cell phone out of the leather portfolio and tapped the screen a few times. Oakdale Academy’s prestigious coat-of-arms quickly filled the screen and brightened the room. A swipe of her finger readied the phone’s emergency call function. “Just in case,” she muttered under breath.

“How many lumps, please?” Sasha’s voice pierced the eerie tension of the darkened living room, startling her guest. The phone fell from Melanie’s lap, rolled a half-dozen times, and landed face up beside a lonely recliner.

Fighting the stammer growing in the back of her throat, Melanie responded with as much calm as she could muster. “Three, thank you.” The clink and jingle of saucers and cups being paired came from the kitchen. Melanie bent to retrieve her phone and from the corner of her eye noticed the edges of a nest of envelopes hiding beneath the recliner. She righted a picture on the small table beside the chair, carefully avoiding the shards of broken glass. The television’s ghostly glow lit the picture resting inside the broken frame. It was a family of five: Mom and Dad, three kids.

Four smiles.

Sasha’s wooden expression haunted the center of the neglected family photo. The Thorn family was assembled just outside the great cedar doors of Mr. Thorn’s favorite ski lodge. Mother and Father stood side by side with their arms draped around a pair of children. The happy foursome wore matching smiles. A third child, Sasha, sat off to the side, face obscured by shadow despite the bright sun.

A chill slid down the thin sheen of sweat caressing Melanie’s spine. She swept the broken glass into a neat pile with the edge of her hand.

“What are you doing?” Sasha carried a wooden tray with two steaming ceramic mugs in front of her waist. She stood motionless in the doorway, eyes boring into the standing picture.

Melanie quickly spun to face the kitchen. She gestured to the collage of jagged glass shards. “Your mother should really clean this up. Broken glass is dangerous.”

Sasha ignored the reply and set the tray down on the coffee table. She nodded at the vacant couch. Her eyes were hollow as though the life had been siphoned away. The familiar chill crept back up Melanie’s spine as she eyed the offered tea. Her hand tightened around her phone. She straightened her shirt with a tug and sat down.

Static from the disabled television buzzed in the living room’s corner. Sasha took a sip from her cup and stared blankly into space. Melanie lifted her own steaming tea to her lips but then rested it back on the saucer balanced in her lap. “Sasha, I really need to speak with your parents. We have to make arrangements for you to come back to Oakdale. You shouldn’t have run off like that. It isn’t safe.”

A piercing snap came from the television. A giant crack spider-webbed its way across the large screen. Melanie’s head jerked in the direction of the sudden noise, but Sasha remained firmly focused on empty space. “I’m not going back. Silas and I are staying home from now on.” Her cup clinked as she set it down and her words fell to whisper.

“We have lots of games to play.”

Melanie felt her face flush. She grabbed her portfolio and jumped to her feet. “Mr. and Mrs. Thorn? I need to speak with you. Could you both please come in here?”

The television flicked back on, bathing the living room in strobing, ghostly blue. The static stretched and amplified into a distorted grating sound that speared Melanie’s ears. Her hands flew to her ears, shielding against the horrible wail. She opened her mouth to scream but the strobing light burned brighter and brighter until finally she sacrificed her ears to block her eyes.

The garbled howling died down and Melanie partially lowered her hands from her eyes. Sasha rolled back the mat on the serving tray. The kitchen knife’s triangular blade glinted in the eerie, light as Sasha wrapped her fingers around the mahogany handle. Her black eyes burned like stirring embers.

“I told you. They aren’t here.” Sasha let the knife dangle by her hip. Her head lolled to one side. “I think it’s time to play.”

The child’s words had hardly faded before Melanie sprinted to the front door. She twisted the ornate brass knob and pulled the door open. Precious daylight spilled into the house, beating back the drab grays and ghostly light. Her breath exploded from her lungs as she stepped into the light. Her eyes widened to saucers between gasping breaths. The invisible assailant struck again, this time launching her back into the living room.

A sick smile stretched over Sasha’s lips as she stalked to her teacher’s crumpled form. “They always want to leave when it’s play time. Why?”

A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of Melanie’s mouth. She rolled over, struggling for footing. Panting with fear, she extended her hands. “Sasha, please. You don’t have--”

The knife whistled through the air, biting through skin and flesh, stealing its first taste of an overdue meal. Melanie shrieked in agony and clutched the wounded hand to her chest, smearing blood down the front of her blouse. She scrambled backwards until her back hit the wall at the foot of the stairs.

“I know,” Sasha said as she probed the tip of the crimson-stained blade into the soft, supple skin beneath Melanie’s chin. “I do it because I like to. We all do. All of us. That’s what we keep trying to tell you all at Oakdale.” She flicked the blade upwards, carving a thin red line up to Melanie’s quivering lower lip. The terrified woman winced, biting down hard on her tongue to keep from crying out. It was the only part of her training she could recall: show as little fear as possible. A coppery taste filled her mouth and she swallowed hard.

Sasha crouched and caressed Melanie’s flowing scarlet hair; first with the knife and then with her fingertips. The hollow, blank mask erased all expression from her features as she twisted a handful of red hair to the root around her hand. She sniffed her prize.

“‘So lovely’ mother would say.” Sasha yanked the hair back, exposing the paleness of Melanie’s throat. “It’s gonna fit my collection perfectly.”

Melanie whimpered as Sasha raised the blade. And remembered a second piece of her Oakdale training. Use whatever means are at hand to defend yourself. Adrenaline surged. She cried out and swung the leather portfolio up in front of her face. The stainless steel blade bit into the makeshift shield. The weight of Sasha’s swing threw her off balance. Fury flashed through her eyes and her lips curled back over her teeth like a feral dog.

Melanie readied the humble shield. “Sasha--”

Sasha snarled and lunged a second time. Melanie flung herself free of the arcing blade, finding the stairs to the second floor. The knife sunk deep into the wall behind the spot where Melanie’s had just been. She scrambled up the stairs, kicking at Sasha as the child tried to grab her by the ankle..

Fibers from the carpeted stairs caught themselves beneath Melanie’s nails as she clawed her way to the safety of the second floor. Every beat of her heart thundered in her temples. Melanie pulled herself upright with the bannister and peered over at the horror below. At the bottom of the L-shaped staircase Sasha’s limbs were a blur of frantic, jerking tantrum. The raging child kicked holes into the wall, screaming at the embedded knife. Melanie’s hands shook as she willed them into her pockets for her phone.

Gone.

She frantically patted her hip pockets. Realization chilled Melanie’s bones as the cell phone blinked helplessly from the bottom of the stairs. Sasha tore the knife free, pulling away chunks of plaster and wallpaper. She followed Melanie’s eyes to the floor by her feet. A toothy grin stretched obscenely from ear to ear. She drove her heel through the phone’s screen, grinding the glass underfoot. A mocking giggle escaped her lips. She waved ‘hello’ with the knife..

“Wait right there. I'll be right up.”

Terror stole Melanie’s shivering breath and squeezed her heart with an icy vice. She turned from the stairs and ran down the hallway, frantically working through a half-dozen locked doors. Melanie’s footsteps pounded in time with the thunder in her chest.

And the storm of angry footsteps stomping the stairs.

A thin crag of sunlight spilled into the dark hallway at the far end. Melanie burst through the partially open door just as Sasha took the top stair. The crazed girl raced down the hall, knife poised for another feeding. Melanie shouldered the white door closed and flicked the doorknob’s lock. She braced a forearm against the wall and collapsed into it, exhausted.

Something heavy slammed against the door, vibrating its hinges. “They're mine!” screamed Sasha, her voice an unnatural bloodcurdling wail. “Leave my dolls alone!”

Sunlight edged around the gaps between Melanie’s eyes and her arm. The red on the wall glistened as though it were a fresh coat. Her arm slid a few inches down the slick surface. Syrupy crimson leeched through her sleeve and oozed between her fingers. Melanie took a tentative step away from the wall.

And her stomach dropped through the floor.

Criss-crossing slashes of blood stained the sunflower yellow walls around the room. At the room's center, a tea party was paused as though it awaited a final guest. Four unmoving forms had been seated around the table, unmoved by the noise or sudden intrusion. Melanie instantly recognized Mrs. Thorn’s short blond bob. She reached slowly for the woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Thorn?”

Melanie gently squeezed Mrs. Thorn’s shoulder. Spiked blond hair lolled to the side. The gash above her left eye had all but caved in her skull. Melanie’s hand whipped to her mouth to stifle herself but it was too late. The scream pierced the air like a freight train's whistle.

The pounding at the door stopped. Sasha’s muffled voice called from outside, balmed by an unnerving calm. “Look at them. Aren't they pretty? Mommy's my favorite but Daddy and Milo are ok. I don't like Jenny at all.” The sound of a knife point dragging against the door grated Melanie’s ears.

“I like your wavy hair much better. I think I'll have Silas put you in Jenny’s place instead.”

The slashed throats and broken necks of the Thorn family nearly incinerated Melanie’s voice box. She steadied herself. “Oh, Sasha. What have you done? We’ve been over this at Oakdale a thousand times. Silas isn’t real. None of the others are. That’s what we’ve all been trying to help your class realize for the past year. They’re just projections of your imagination that help you cope with feelings you don’t like.”

The scraping sound stopped. “He is so,” Sasha said quietly.

“No he isn’t, sweetheart. Please, put down the knife. I’ll open the door and we’ll sort this out together.”

The lonely music box on the nightstand clicked. Melanie’s head craned to the abrupt metallic sound. The fading ballerina statue twitched on its pedestal. Ugly, distorted music filled the room and the petite miniature began its plodding dance. Melanie shivered and backed away, searching for safe haven in the nightmarish playroom that suddenly felt colder than a grave.

Sasha giggled. “Told you he was real.”

Melanie’s lower lip quivered. She stammered as the cluster of shadows shimmering near the closet rose up from the floor, taking a hulking, brutish shape. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. The spectre wrapped a fist of shadowy tendrils around her throat and squeezed. She kicked and clawed, but the desperate blows found nothing but empty space. The tendrils tightened and the last of Melanie’s breath wheezed free..

She felt the numbness in her hands and feet first. It swept through her like a cold poison until the only sensation remaining was the burning noose around her throat. Through blurry eyes she looked at the empty seat at the tea party and wondered how long it would be before someone came looking for her.

The spectre willed the swirling shadows of its head into the familiar features of Sasha’s face. It grinned morbidly and then squeezed until the delicate bone of Melanie’s neck snapped and ground into dust. Her head lolled and her arms fell motionless.

The lock on the door clicked and Sasha entered. Her face brimmed with the wide-eyed excitement of a child on Christmas morning. She tossed the kitchen knife aside and regarded the lifeless body hanging from the spectre’s hand. Sasha reached up and twirled a lock of Melanie’s red hair around her finger.

“Finally, all of our guests have arrived.”