The Switch

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I carefully place my girl into the bathtub and scrub her skin until it is completely clean. I try not to splash so that I don't ruin her beautiful face.

I carry on scrubbing until she looks like she's alive; she actually looks better than most people who are alive. The sponge looks like it has rabies as the soapy froth spills off it like lava from an erupting volcano.

After about an hour of vigorous scrubbing, cleaning and shampooing, I dry her off with a towel and prepare for her hair and clothes.

I look in my drawers and pull out 5 or 6 different outfits. Pink? Purple? Blue? Nothing seems to suit her. I slowly begin to lose my temper. Green? White? Now I am an erupting volcano.

"Naughty girl!" I bark, before lightly smacking her on the nose.

"I'm sorry." I quickly backtrack, "It's just that we've been working so hard and now..." My voice trails off.

Did someone just knock on the door? I listen intently.

Knock. Knock. Knock. I freeze; I never have visitors. Not unless they're planned...

Panicking, I take all the bodies downstairs into the cellar - clumsily knocking over a table in the process.

"Anabelle!" I scream at one of my girls. "You are going to pay for that..." I mutter under my breath. I set them down on the table.

With the girls safely hidden, I need to hide the bloodstains on the wall where the girls once hung. Without thinking, I grab a canvas off the wall opposite and hang it over the tell-tale marks.

"Hello?" I hear a woman's voice from outside the door.

"Coming!" I answer sweetly, before cautiously opening the door...