As we pulled up to the snow covered mansion I couldn’t help being mesmerized by the fusion of snow and luxuries such as this mansion. Being from a desert town in Santa Fe really everything up north glimmered in my novice eyes. The mansion was lit by yellow lights coming from the top and bottom windows almost as if the brain and heart of the building. As we pulled up my eyes quickly deterred and the light flickered as my mother, the now sober rich mistress of this mansion, was standing out in front in wait. “You know usually if I saw your mother around, I’d be high tailin’ it in the opposite direction, not driving into the belly of the beast” my father said in his nasally southern drawl. “I think she’s a spy, spies have to be cold, ruthless, secretive, and great liars, your mother…she’s every one of those things” he said ending with a slight cowboy like chuckle. I gave him a glance more piercing that the shards of ice hanging from the mansion, as if to say “I guess you, the devil, of all people would know”.
As we reached the front of the mansion, I saw a young pale girl peak out from behind my mother’s legs, and when our eyes met she proceeded to hide behind my mother’s legs once again. Before we got out of the car my already cherry red father pulled out a tiny bottle jaeger from the center console chugging the majority of it within a few seconds. Me and my father began walking up to the patio where which my mother was standing, catching out of the corner of my eye the butler peering down at us from the roof’s on-ing. To make a long story short yet more complicated, the thought of us could ravage him with anger, to see us, if the sight of someone could kill you, consider us his murderers.
“Well look who decided to show, Mr. Van Der Burgan my mother said quite amusingly trying to hide the vestige of her southern accent behind a wealthy tonal façade. “let’s cut the crap, I don’t like you, you don’t like me, names Darrel, I’m happy to be givin’ ya’ smug looks for the next two weeks, let’s go inside and eat the salmonella and cancer you cooked” hugging my mother forcefully and stepping past her and hurriedly inside. Anyone else would have been absolutely livid, but she seemed used to it, brushing it off with a “humph”. I began to crouch down to greet the little girl behind my mother’s, but as I got into position looking between the gap of my mother’s knees I noticed “she’s gone…”. “Where did she go?”, who my mother asked. “The little girl?” she went inside to eat my seasoned cancer apperantly with an annoyed look on her face, turning and walking back in the house. And as she walked inside she said something that puzzled me a bit. She said in a spiteful manner “and tell that little girl she needs to stop chugging booze every time she brings you over”.
Walking into the manner I was excited to see all the riches my mother has gathered, I expected to see something eye catching as in the Jay Gatsby’s manor, considering she makes millions off discovered oil on her property a few miles away. As I walked in though, this northern home was filled with buffalo hydes, native American decorated lamps, and cattle skulls hung on the wall. “I guess at her heart is still in trapped in the desert I suppose”.  The whole manor seemed to be a tribute to the Spanish style living; if anything the outside manor was a glossy calculous cover over a 1st grade math book. The manor had very many rooms though and you could tell that the floor used to be decorative marble, now covered up with a maroon shag carpentry. The reason I know this is because she kept the marble pillars that occupied the front of the building just before the living room and two stair cases.
On my own accord I strayed from the group, to put my things upstairs. I decided I was going to pick the farthest room in the left wing hall; I walked down the hallway to the very last door, but before fully turning the handle I noticed there was a narrow hallway a little out of sight. I decided to walk down the very dark hallway only lit by a dim orange light under the door. As I approached the middle of the hallway I noticed the faint image of a doll sized rocking horse, it looked like one I had as a little girl which is still in our attic back home along with my baby pictures, baby clothes, and awards. Walking around it I reached the back door and opened it, there was the little girl behind my mother’s legs a few minutes ago, holding her doll to her chest, wide eyed at my entry through the door. “Oh I’m sorry hun, I didn’t mean to intrude on your fun” She still blankly stared at me. “alrighty, I’m head to another room, you take care now”.
I walked back to the original room I was going to enter, my mind still pondering on the identity of the little girl. She had dark black bob cut, tan skin, and bright green eyes. I feel like I know her, and I probably shouldn’t ask who she is, she obviously knew who I was and I wouldn’t want to be rude. I thought I saw something strange though, her eyes seemed almost mirror like, for a quick second, I was staring up at myself in her doorway with a sad empty feeling. When she comes down for dinner I’m going to ask her questions to hopefully get her to reveal her name.
When I walked down to the dinner table, there was a plate flipped up-side down in front of my father; he looked immensely furious and was staring down my mother who was looking down eating her food with a slight smirk. “All I done said was, I’ve eaten better, didn’t say it was nasty now did I” my father proclaimed dogmatically. “Well keep your mouth shut and you won’t have to consume your own nasty atmosphere along with my amazing homemade cooking now would you” my mother said smugly. “Atmosphere?! If anybody got a da’gun atmosphere it’s you, you got enough mass to have a ring a biscuits and chicken wings revolvin’ n’ rotatin’ around ya’. “Says the man with a sweat outline of his breast above his gut”; “To bad they can’t produce milk, you would have the whole pastures worth” my mother said with a smirk. It’s every time they talk it’s like this, it’s become less of a comedy show and more of a theme song for divorce and back handing your spouse.
Once I had finally cut into my steak my father had gone to pick his room in the upper right wing of the manor, leaving me with me, my mother, and the stone faced butler at the dining table. Before I could open my mouth to ask about the little girl my mother preceded me with questions of school, friends, college plans, and the constant boasting of the betterment of life if I lived in her home. “Cassey, oh my lord, you remind me of me, pure geniuses our family is”. I could care less about these things, most of my life has been filled with promises of a better life whether it be by my mother, dad, or a C.P.S officer, and this was no different. My mother was an alcoholic when I was child; a very loving mother but as her B.A.C starting rising she was no longer my mother, she was merely a doll possessed by a red demon once contained by a cork and bottle. This was the only reason my father got custody of me; funny how he criticized my mother for her drinking habits, but gave himself up to that demon as well.
After eating I wiped my face and proceeded to get up; as I got up I asked my mother “so why didn’t the little misses come down”. My mother gave me a really puzzled look, “the misses?” she asked. “Yes, the little girl with the black bob, and the gorgeous little green eyes”. “Honey who are you talking about?” she asked with a worried look in her eyes. “When we drove up there was a little girl behind your…” before I could finish the little girl was behind my mother in the corner of the room crying. She was weeping so loud, but my mother seemed oblivious. Without saying another word and leaving my mother in suspense, I walked out of the room, pale.
As I stepped out of the kitchen I began to pace, that pace turned into a jog, and eventually I ran back to my room. Before I reached my room, I froze; I gulped, and looked to the end of the hallway, it was gone, what was one a hallway, was now a window. “I’m really tired” I exclaimed with laughter. I cleared my throat and walked back in my room, this feeling I wanted to seal it with that click of the closing door. I laid down in my bed, and stared up at the ceiling, and thought about my childhood with my mother. You would think with bottles crashing, people screaming, sirens, the chatter outside of my interrogation room, I’d try and forget; These thoughts, they became the story book I read to myself every night, the tale of the little girl with the pretty little bob cut who laughed and giggled with her little rocking horse, while glass bottles of bourbon flew over her.
That night I got out of bed in an almost dream like state, and tripped. “I swear if that butler touched and moved my bags…” under the top of my foot, was the rocking horse. “what the…” I heard intense crying outside the door with a familiar song. It was the sound of a music box, just the beat of the music almost singing, Si-lent night, Ho-ly nIght. I peaked around the corner of my room, to see a faint orange light at the end of my hallway, I slowly walked to the end of my hallway. A-ll was calm, a-ll was right. I sang it in my head, the beat matching every foot step I took. I turned the door knob slowly, somewhat hiding behind it, as I pulled open the door. An in-fant, so tender and mild. Inside the room was the girl playing her rocking horse, scattered brown glass around her like an aura; she then looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “Sweetie why are you crying” I asked. She just stared at me. I looked at her music box, I had one just like it as a child. When I was sad or upset I’d listen to it to drown out the screams of parents, and things being knocked over.
I asked “sweetie what’s your name, I don’t bite”? She finally answered me with a sniffle, she said shakily “Cassie….van der..der” her eyes swole up with tears. “It’s ok hun, don’t force yourself. What’s wrong”? “My mom keeps hitting daddy, his side is really swollen, I want it to stop”. I felt horrible, and I could relate, that was my childhood. So I answered “when I was a little, my parents were the same way, every night they would fight”. She looked up at me in surprise “how did you deal with it, did it get better”? I tried to sweeten the bitter truth “I mean the situation became a little better I guess”. “Did you become happy, do you have more friends, do you love your life”? well……I said. She looked at me and asked “I know a better place but I’m really scared to go there”. “Really where is it” I asked? “It’s over there”.
She pointed to a black door at the back of the bed room. In the door I saw glitching scenes of birthday parties, families eating dinner, families purchasing dogs, and families watching piano recitals. “If I go there with you, will you be happier”? “Yes mam, I’ve always longed for the things in that door”? So I took her hand and walked her to the door. Seeing her reminded me of me as a child, black bob cut, bright green eyes, and pale white skin. We then walked through the door.
On January 6th while visiting her mother’s home the last test subject of the S.R.P project committed suicide. 6 subjects Arron Bates, Dakota Barr, Tristen Heights, Christina Triton, Lu Wan Lee, and Cassey Van Der Burgan all showed signs of hallucination and lack of sense of self. The experiment was designed to change the brain waves in Schizophrenic children, the experiment proved to change the brain in unfathomable ways, but proved to have ended in failure.
Side notes of interest: Found next to the scene of Cassey’s death laying in the snow was a broken porcelain rocking horse and an old music box previously believed to have been in a sold storage unit in Santa Fe after they missed payments.