Dating : Murder in the Room of Toys

Baby S was burned alive in the room but by the time the smoke had subsided, the corpse was all that remained, smiling through the sown lips that have been given to her. The mother of a baby, not of Baby S but of another one, limped all the way to the room, while the older brother, the short, thin, shy, boy, danced in spirals in an effort to clean the room of bad spirits. Then his older sister, half blonde, half skeleton, also jumped in and began assigning blame: who could have burned something so precious in an effort to appease the cruel world that they had been submerged themselves in?

Nobody deserves this punishment more than me, said the father who had joined in head to his own mother and whose mouth was always pointing away from his sole remaining eye. To love a daughter, but then again, it is also true that hell has been opened for all of us, someone brought it here with the same malice that has destroyed my daughter.

All of the members of the family nodded. The grandma of Baby S laughed and laughed so much that she fell and almost suffocated the head of her son, the grandpa of Baby S was such a fascist that he never interacted with his disgraceful family except through the mirror that had trapped all the people he had killed in the war. The brother of Baby S had stopped dancing, the sister of Baby S was looking around at every eye in the family, and the stepmother of Baby S, who had accidentally drowned her own baby and her own sister, was so distraught, she immediately offered to make dinner even though she was not the cook of the house.

They all went downstairs and ate the only thing that remained in the house as they discussed whether they should call the authorities but, without even saying it, they realized that they were going to figure out the more monstrous among them. The house was locked and outside, where there was only the endless white light, was nothing but the collective screams and torments of all the things they had all regretted, hated, maimed, pained over, cleansed, and obviated. They all preferred to deal with murder than to face their own reflections and leave forever.

Each family members slept in their own room night after night as the ghost of Baby S began to cry from room to room. Since it couldn’t be fed or patted anymore, it was only serenaded by blows from unwashed mouths and as such, they realized, one of them always needed to stay awake to make the others sleep. This greatly irritated the person on watch, since sleep was generally agreed as the only good thing that could be done, since hell did not affect their dreams of a better destiny.

Among much disastrous disappointment and endless fights and baby ghost screams and tears of suffocated faces, it was only a matter of time before the murderer of Baby S cut up its corpse, elongated it, and transformed its fleshy substance and its sturdy bones, into a grand piano that the ghost could play to soothe itself.

And insult to the memory of our sister, our beloved sister, the only light in our lives, said the sister of Baby S and she looked at every family member with revulsion and hope, hope that one of them would confess so they could finally escape.

How many more times will she have to die before you come clean?, she repeated, but everyone was sitting around in their own chair watching the ghost of Baby S playing the piano: first Beethoven, then Liszt, then Ray Charles. They were all crying tears of joy at seeing the Baby S enjoy herself so much, but also of sadness, because at some random point in life (and death) they were going to experience her trippy adventures and future endeavors again.

It was not me, the brother said, who always jealous of Baby S, had found himself the day of the murder prowling around the backyard, digging dirt, and generally avoiding the inside of the house. He came in so late that he seemed to be the last to know that a corpse had been found.

It was not me, the father said, who always resentful of Baby S, had driven around with his mother, complaining once again about the unfairness of having to settle down. His dreams were gone, his life, his hair, his spirit, and all that remained was a family of degenerate, useless delinquents. Another baby to add to the pile, he had screamed at his mother. He came home with his mother and they both went to separate rooms.

It was not me, the stepmother said, who always suspicious of Baby S, had spent the entirety of her marriage lamenting the fact that she was taking care of another’s baby, when hers was so taken away, while replacing a mother that nobody liked so badly, that she was liked even less. She thought it often how odd that her baby had died while this one was still alive.

It was not me, the grandmother said, who always amused of Baby S, had listened to his son’s misgivings and had stayed in a room of the house just wondering why her son was so unhappy when she was so happy and delighted and how wonderful would it be that he would be delighted as she was. If a baby could delight her so, wouldn’t her son feel the same way?, she always thought, and for some reason she thought that Baby S was the key to a lot of people’s happiness.

It was not me, the grandfather said, who always apprehensive of Baby S, had listened to his incessant crying all day and could simply not take it anymore, even if he was all the way down in the basement. He screamed and screamed for it to shut up and the more he thought of the Baby, he thought of all the babies he had killed when given orders, when not given orders, and whenever he felt like it, and he was sure that one more… but he was weak and barely conscious, but could he make it? He could make it, if he was able to go up forty steps without any legs.

It was not me, the sister said, who always loved Baby S, and she had found it, roasting over like a marshmallow in the crib, and she had cried and screamed and everyone came, at different orders, and with different shock faces, to see the scene, and how could it be, what a mess, what horror! And she couldn’t have done it, she thought, but if she had done it, she had the best alibi, and her motives were, if there were any, only known to her.

What she could have been, what she could have been!, cried them all at the same time in the toys room at Baby S who was playing now the lullaby of a new cycle, and the grandma of Baby S laughed and laughed until her only lung collapsed, as the intubated father intubated howled in agony until out of breath, as the brother of Baby S danced and prayed, danced and prayed, until he got dizzy and puked himself and asphyxiated, as the grandfather of Baby S cursed over and over for his ingrate family until he shot himself, and the sister of Baby S put her head on the keys of the piano and let herself feel the vague touch of her dead sister licking, and spitting, and saying words she never said in life.