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"Please, Momma, please, it's been so long since

we saw other people, and we've never been to a

Christmas Day party."

We pleaded and pleaded until at last she could

resist no longer. She drew Chris and me aside, to a far corner where the twins couldn't overhear, and she whispered, "There is one place where the two of you can hide and still be able to watch, but I cannot risk the twins. They're too young to be trusted and you know they can't s

it still for longer than two seconds, and Carrie would probably scream out in delight, and rivet everyone's attention. So, swear on your word of

honor you will not tell them."

We promised. No, of course we wouldn't tell

them, even without a vow to keep our silence. We

loved our little twins, and we wouldn't hurt their

feelings by letting them know they were missing out. We sang Christmas carols after Momma had gone,

and the day passed cheerfully enough, though there

was nothing special in the picnic basket for us to eat

ham sandwiches, which the twins didn't like, and cold

slices of turkey that were still icy, as if they had been

taken from the freezer. Leftovers from Thanksgiving

Day.

As evening came on so early, I sat for the longest

time gazing over at the dollhouse, where Carrie and

Cory played happily with the tiny porcelain people

and the priceless miniatures.

Funny how much you can learn from inanimate

objects that a little girl had once owned, and been allowed to look at, but never touch. And then another little girl came along, and the dollhouse was given to her, and the glass box smashed just so she could touch the objects inside so she could be punished--when

she broke something.

A shivering thought came: I wondered just what

Carrie or Cory would break, and what their

punishment would be.

I shoved a bit of chocolate into my mouth, and

sweetened the sourness of my roving, wicked

thoughts.


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror