Little Angels
By
Donovan Douglas Thiesson
The first angel was in the chimney.
Her name was Trina, and she told me only special little girls can see angels. I told her the Walmart Man calls me his little angel. Trina said no, I was not an angel. Not yet.
Trina stuck her head out of the chimney and pointed at the kitchen. “There’s an angel named Janet under the floor.” She pointed to the wall behind the T.V. “And another named Jeanie-Sue. Can you smell them?”
I told her I could only smell something bad, like when the fridge stopped working and mommy got sick when she opened it.
Trina pointed up the Chimney. “I’m up here, so I smell like smoke.”
I heard the Walmart Man coming down the hall, so I told Trina “Shhhhhh,” and I lied back down and pretended I was still sleeping. Yesterday, he took me from Walmart after I got lost. He said he knew my mommy, but I think he’s a liar. He made me drink stinky water, and I slept bad, and my stomach my stomach hurt.
“I know you’re listening,” the Walmart Man said. “Mommy won’t come if you’re a bad girl.”
I sat up. I was scared, because when the Walmart Man got mad yesterday, he shook me by the shoulders. And he spits when he talks. His breath stinks like the stinky water.
“Little angel needs to behave, or you’ll never get to heaven.”
“But I’m not an angel,” I told him. “Not yet. Trina told me so.”
The Walmart Man gave me a scared look.
“Is Trina your mom’s name?” he asked, and I shook my head no. He didn’t say much for a while and just went to his room.
“Shhhh…” Trina called from the Chimney. “Shhhhh…” Janet called from the floor. “Shhhh…” Jeanie-Sue called from the wall.
“Shhhh…” several voices murmured from the basement door. Trina never introduced me to them.
“I don’t want to be an angel, I’m just a little girl,” I whispered up the chimney.
“Is the door locked?” Trina asked.
“Yes, with a number lock.”
“Is there a phone?”
“I can’t reach it. If I pull a chair, he’ll hear me.”
“Ask Janet, in the kitchen,” Trina said. She climbed back into the chimney with a poof and curled up near the top. Dust fell down on my face, and I sneezed.
I thought the Walmart Man heard me, but he was just getting mad in his room, yelling at nothing. So, I crawled into the kitchen and knocked on the floor.
“I don’t want to be an angel,” I whispered.
Janet knocked back. “The closet.” Janet’s voice was all mooshy. “At the back, under Monopoly.”
I’m only four, and mom says I’m too young for Monopoly, but I know what it is because I watch her and Auntie Sally play. Mommy says I can play when I’m six, and I know about money.
I opened the closet very gently. I could hear the Walmart Man walking back and forth in his room. Back and forth, but really fast. I got scared and started to cry.
“Be a big girl,” Janet said. “And fetch the black box with the eye on it.”
It was right where Janet said. There was a big eye and a shape like a star on the top.
“Come heeeeere,” Trina whispered. Her voice sounded like wind blowing down the chimney, so I brought it over and opened it up.
“Is it a game?” I asked.
“For most. But for you, it’s a tool,” Jeanie-Sue said from the wall.
“You’re a very special girl who can use this very special tool,” Janet said. She was closer now, under the living room floorboards.
“What is it called?”
“WeeeJeee,” they all said at once, and there was a bumping sound from the basement door again.
“Put your fingers on the board like this,” Trina whispered in my ear, and I could feel her cold hand over mine, pushing my fingers down. “Close your eyes.”
I shut them tight, and I heard the bedroom door open. I knew the Walmart man was coming, but I’m a big girl, and I’m too brave for him.
“Say what I say,” Trina said. “Speak for the angels.”
And so, I did.
#
“Come Trina, come Janet, come Jeanie-Sue from the wall.
From the voids in this house, come hither, come all.
From the depths of the basement, those buried in clay,
I bring Walmart Man for the angels to flay.
And so, I ask, hear this young witch’s spell,
rise little angels, take this bad man to…!”
#
That’s right, I yelled the “H” word, but I won’t do it again because mommy said that’s one of the bad words I can’t say until I’m twenty.
Then the angels came. Trina flew down the chimney, all black and sooty. Janet exploded from the floor in a big hole with lots of dust, and Jeanie-Anne kicked through the wall. They didn’t look like the angels on Christmas trees, they were gray and smelled even worse than the fridge.
And the Walmart Man? He came running into the room, his eyes angry and shaking, with his fat fist raised up to hit me.
But he saw them. It wasn’t just me anymore. I wasn’t sad, because I knew they were still my angels. My guardian angels.
And then the basement door opened.
Trina looked back at me, and I saw she had no lips, and her face looked like burnt pork chops.
Close your eyes, my angel.” Then she whispered in my ear how to go home, how to see my mommy again.
The Walmart Man screamed and kicked, but I kept my eyes closed the whole time, until I heard the basement door shut. He screamed for hours. Then he stopped.
I remembered what Trina told me to do, so I got the chair and reached for the phone and dialed nine-one-one.
Mister policeman, can you come get me now?
Donovan Douglas Thiesson resides just outside your bedroom window. In fact, he is watching you read this right now, and is disappointed by how little you know of his other stories, some of which are published through Fiction on the Web, Exquisite Deathzine, Signus Magnolia and several anthologies. Donovan’s hobbies include toxic relationships, eating butter chicken, and going through your garbage at night. If you want Donovan to stop hiding in your closet, clean your dirty socks out from under your bed and follow him on facebook and instagram.
By
Donovan Douglas Thiesson
The first angel was in the chimney.
Her name was Trina, and she told me only special little girls can see angels. I told her the Walmart Man calls me his little angel. Trina said no, I was not an angel. Not yet.
Trina stuck her head out of the chimney and pointed at the kitchen. “There’s an angel named Janet under the floor.” She pointed to the wall behind the T.V. “And another named Jeanie-Sue. Can you smell them?”
I told her I could only smell something bad, like when the fridge stopped working and mommy got sick when she opened it.
Trina pointed up the Chimney. “I’m up here, so I smell like smoke.”
I heard the Walmart Man coming down the hall, so I told Trina “Shhhhhh,” and I lied back down and pretended I was still sleeping. Yesterday, he took me from Walmart after I got lost. He said he knew my mommy, but I think he’s a liar. He made me drink stinky water, and I slept bad, and my stomach my stomach hurt.
“I know you’re listening,” the Walmart Man said. “Mommy won’t come if you’re a bad girl.”
I sat up. I was scared, because when the Walmart Man got mad yesterday, he shook me by the shoulders. And he spits when he talks. His breath stinks like the stinky water.
“Little angel needs to behave, or you’ll never get to heaven.”
“But I’m not an angel,” I told him. “Not yet. Trina told me so.”
The Walmart Man gave me a scared look.
“Is Trina your mom’s name?” he asked, and I shook my head no. He didn’t say much for a while and just went to his room.
“Shhhh…” Trina called from the Chimney. “Shhhhh…” Janet called from the floor. “Shhhh…” Jeanie-Sue called from the wall.
“Shhhh…” several voices murmured from the basement door. Trina never introduced me to them.
“I don’t want to be an angel, I’m just a little girl,” I whispered up the chimney.
“Is the door locked?” Trina asked.
“Yes, with a number lock.”
“Is there a phone?”
“I can’t reach it. If I pull a chair, he’ll hear me.”
“Ask Janet, in the kitchen,” Trina said. She climbed back into the chimney with a poof and curled up near the top. Dust fell down on my face, and I sneezed.
I thought the Walmart Man heard me, but he was just getting mad in his room, yelling at nothing. So, I crawled into the kitchen and knocked on the floor.
“I don’t want to be an angel,” I whispered.
Janet knocked back. “The closet.” Janet’s voice was all mooshy. “At the back, under Monopoly.”
I’m only four, and mom says I’m too young for Monopoly, but I know what it is because I watch her and Auntie Sally play. Mommy says I can play when I’m six, and I know about money.
I opened the closet very gently. I could hear the Walmart Man walking back and forth in his room. Back and forth, but really fast. I got scared and started to cry.
“Be a big girl,” Janet said. “And fetch the black box with the eye on it.”
It was right where Janet said. There was a big eye and a shape like a star on the top.
“Come heeeeere,” Trina whispered. Her voice sounded like wind blowing down the chimney, so I brought it over and opened it up.
“Is it a game?” I asked.
“For most. But for you, it’s a tool,” Jeanie-Sue said from the wall.
“You’re a very special girl who can use this very special tool,” Janet said. She was closer now, under the living room floorboards.
“What is it called?”
“WeeeJeee,” they all said at once, and there was a bumping sound from the basement door again.
“Put your fingers on the board like this,” Trina whispered in my ear, and I could feel her cold hand over mine, pushing my fingers down. “Close your eyes.”
I shut them tight, and I heard the bedroom door open. I knew the Walmart man was coming, but I’m a big girl, and I’m too brave for him.
“Say what I say,” Trina said. “Speak for the angels.”
And so, I did.
#
“Come Trina, come Janet, come Jeanie-Sue from the wall.
From the voids in this house, come hither, come all.
From the depths of the basement, those buried in clay,
I bring Walmart Man for the angels to flay.
And so, I ask, hear this young witch’s spell,
rise little angels, take this bad man to…!”
#
That’s right, I yelled the “H” word, but I won’t do it again because mommy said that’s one of the bad words I can’t say until I’m twenty.
Then the angels came. Trina flew down the chimney, all black and sooty. Janet exploded from the floor in a big hole with lots of dust, and Jeanie-Anne kicked through the wall. They didn’t look like the angels on Christmas trees, they were gray and smelled even worse than the fridge.
And the Walmart Man? He came running into the room, his eyes angry and shaking, with his fat fist raised up to hit me.
But he saw them. It wasn’t just me anymore. I wasn’t sad, because I knew they were still my angels. My guardian angels.
And then the basement door opened.
Trina looked back at me, and I saw she had no lips, and her face looked like burnt pork chops.
Close your eyes, my angel.” Then she whispered in my ear how to go home, how to see my mommy again.
The Walmart Man screamed and kicked, but I kept my eyes closed the whole time, until I heard the basement door shut. He screamed for hours. Then he stopped.
I remembered what Trina told me to do, so I got the chair and reached for the phone and dialed nine-one-one.
Mister policeman, can you come get me now?
Donovan Douglas Thiesson resides just outside your bedroom window. In fact, he is watching you read this right now, and is disappointed by how little you know of his other stories, some of which are published through Fiction on the Web, Exquisite Deathzine, Signus Magnolia and several anthologies. Donovan’s hobbies include toxic relationships, eating butter chicken, and going through your garbage at night. If you want Donovan to stop hiding in your closet, clean your dirty socks out from under your bed and follow him on facebook and instagram.
