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Her Head Popped Off: Part II

Sitting at the table, the perfect table that we ate at everyday at least twice, I was back in my old kitchen. The table was wooden with a pale stain. The dead girl thing was there and the dead Carrie Anne. The shadows grew bigger and the drip, drop, dripping sink echoed. I would get up and stop it but the dead girl was worse. The dead girl's body was on table naked save for a pair of lilac panties that said Wednesday, but it wasn't Wednesday. It could have been Wednesday, but it probably wasn't. It was probably Monday. One of her arms was across her chest with my pink ribbon still wrapped around it. The other hung lazily. She could have been just sleeping, but she didn't have a head.

When I closed my eyes I could see the headless body coming toward me.

"See what you did." It said. "It's all your fault. It's all your fault. It's all your fault."

The sink dripped louder. The cookie pans were in the sink. When I closed me eyes, Carrie Anne would sit up and say, "April Fool's Day." The places where her eyes had been were clotted with blood. Her mouth was blown open, but the part that was left was the happiest mouth ever. "April fools, ha! Ha! You are the fool."

The body on the table had its legs sticking straight out. The little girl, it had dirty hands from where she had been trying to crawl out of the trunk and crawl out of where ever she came from. She really wasn't so scary dead, she just wasn't very neat. She was just a thing to be looked at. A thing to learn about. It wasn't a very neat cut that popped off her head. The cut was jagged, but I guess a dull wood saw would do that to soft young flesh. I don't think he used the saw all the way through. I think he pulled; he popped it off like I used to do to the dolls Ms. Patrick gave me. She would buy them, and then I would pop their heads off.

In my dreams I dream of the girl with its popped off jagged head. Sometimes in the dream she would run around screaming for her head. I didn't know. I don't know. I didn't know then and I don't know now. They took it away. Her voice would echo and it wasn't really a little girl's voice. It was the voice of a mad, mad god and it was everywhere. Even just in my head. Her body would come toward me. It had claws and toenails. One of its wrist was still wrapped in pink satin ribbon. Its razor toenails curled under and its skin was back and silver and dangerous. I'd run into her in the prettiest places when I thought that I was safe. The sky was always

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