Mommy makes me stay here, by myself. Sometimes the spiders come out to play. I like them. They tickle my skin. Mommy says I’m bad and that is why I have to stay here. I’m only five and the dark is scary, but I have to stay quiet.
Mommy says so.
The walls are very close. If I stretch out my arms, I can almost touch them. They are cold, too. I hear water. It makes a funny sound as it drips. It makes me laugh, but I have to be quiet. I have to be good. I can be a good girl. I can smile and play with my doll.
Mommy is walking upstairs. Her shoes make funny clicks on the floor. They make six clicks, then stop. Then six more. Funny little clicks. They sound like rain drops on the roof. Last night, rain was falling. Big, fat raindrops. Like Mommy’s tears.
She is angry now. Her voice is like a cloud, going up and up and up. It’s not her phone voice, not her good voice. It’s scary.
It smells funny. Like stinky water. Maybe it’s spider poop.
Mommy says if I cry, I have to stay in here longer. I don’t cry. I want to play with my doll, but Mommy says I can’t have her with me. I was bad and I can’t have my doll when I’m bad.
Mommy’s feet aren’t clicking anymore, but she is still using her big, grown-up voice. Not the nice Mommy voice. She might forget and leave me here in the dark. I’m afraid of the dark. It is too big. I am too little.
I’m not afraid of the spiders. They keep me company. They make a squishy noise when I push them with my fingers.
I did a bad thing. Mommy says so.
My dress is dirty. Mommy will be mad. She’ll use the big voice again. I don’t want to hear the big voice. I want to hear the little voice. Mommy’s little voice is hugs and cookies. I like that voice.
Mommy says she will let me out if I’m a good girl and stay very quiet. I try to be a good girl, but it’s hard.
I only wanted to play doctor. Johnny was going to go first, but he was scared. He is a silly boy. We played operation. Johnny cried and I got in trouble.
Next time I will be more careful. I will be a good girl. I won’t use a knife.