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My stepdaughter can be a cruel girl.

 

I'd known it for years, of course. It wasn't as if it was simply sprung on me today. Ever since she hit puberty, she'd had a proclivity towards hurting others and getting away with it, no matter the cost. When she was fourteen, she'd been caught drowning a neighbor girl's hamsters, holding one in each hand in a sink full of water and just letting them die.

 

Still, my husband stands by her, and I'm not certain I can blame him. She's his flesh and blood, and the last living memory of his ex-wife, a woman he cared a great deal for. He can't see Nadine for what she is, and for what it's worth I acknowledge my part in enabling his denial. I don't like to see him in pain, so I don't hold her sins in the light.

 

This, I know now, was a mistake.

 

She'd come home early from school, something which wasn't horribly uncommon for her anymore. She was halfway through her senior year of high school, and the concern she demonstrated for being caught breaking rules waned daily. She flaunted her disobedience, wearing it like a badge of pride.

 

"Nadine," I called from the couch as she strode past without so much as a glance in my direction. "It's noon."

 

She whirled on her boot, the black, two-inch sole squeaking against the wood floor. "Yes, mother," she said with a smirk. "Tomorrow I'll quiz you on the alphabet."

 

"Sit down." I glanced briefly at a chair across the coffee table from me. She followed my gaze, rolled her eyes and scoffed.

 

"As if. Later, bitch."

 

"Nadine." I was on my feet, and I could tell by the stutter in her step that my tone had startled her with its ferocity. "You will sit."

 

My stepdaughter stood with her back to me for several long, quiet moments. I thought about stamping my foot, but decided it would come off as desperate and powerless. I had given the order, and she would obey. The neon pink streaks through her black hair swished over her shoulder as she turned back to look at the chair.

 

"How long is this gonna take?"

 

"As long as you make it."

 

She acquiesced, sitting across the table from me and letting her backpack drop to the floor carelessly. I sat down as well, with considerably less fanfare.

 

"Now listen-"

 

"No you listen, mom. I really don't care about whatever it is you think you're about to say. You're gonna, what, discipline me? Teach me right from wrong?" She chuckled, shaking her head. "You have no idea who I am. And you should pray, for your own sake, that it stays that way."

 

I was aghast. I tried to maintain my composure, but I know I blanched at her forwardness. "I will not be threatened in my house, young woman!" I was rising to my feet again, and my stepdaughter matched my stance. "I don't know who you are? You're a fucking child, and you clearly have no idea how to act as anything else!"

 

She looked down at the table. A thick glass ashtray sat between us, and I could see the contemplation in her eyes. I didn't do anything. I didn't think she had it in her, not really.

 

Before I knew what was happening, she'd taken the ashtray in her hands and swung it against the side of my skull. I crumpled to the floor, feeling my jaw connect with the edge of the table on the way down. The pain was overwhelming, I couldn't feel or think of anything other than the sharp, agonizing ringing in my head. I weakly flailed my limbs up, grasping for nothing in particular and wishing the pain would go away.

 

Nadine was dragging me by my ankle across the floor. I could feel the side of my head stick to the wood between drags, slickly sliding away again when she would tug. I was even aware enough to notice when we reached the stairs – god bless whoever carpeted those stairs – and my head lolled weakly from bump to bump.

 

"Nnn..." I moaned. The vibration of speaking hurt my head and I remember briefly thinking that this pain was too deep-rooted, that there was no way it would ever ease up. "Plllee..."

 

"Shut up, mom." We had reached her room, her dark, terrifying room. Posters of bands I'd never heard of with members who made KISS look devout, gargoyle sculptures I certainly didn't buy her, and black lights illuminating brilliant designs all across her walls and ceiling came together in my shell-shocked mind to convince me that I absolutely was about to be sacrificed to Satan in this very room.

 

Standing above me, my eighteen-year-old stepdaughter pulled her foot back, then delivered a powerful kick to my side. I screamed through the headache, clutching my side. Her thick rubber sole came at me again, crushing my fingers against my ribs. After the third kick I rolled onto my front, trying to crawl away from her. She stomped down on the back of my head, but mercifully I slid out from underneath her sole, only getting a friction burn on my cheek. After a few more stomps to my back, I got the message that I was not, under any circumstances, to move.

 

I whimpered and shuddered on her floor, terrified of this young girl who had turned on me faster than I thought possible. I thought of her father, how much he would miss me, the only other woman he's ever loved. I wondered what Nadine would tell him. Would she say I'd left him last words, that I had to disappear and that I loved him no matter what? Or would she just have me vanish into nothing, a cruel woman to be forgotten by the end of the decade?

 

"You should have believed me. Roll over." My muscles tensed. Did she really want me to roll over? Another kick to my side confirmed that yes, she really did. I flopped onto my back, breathing hard.

 

"Please... N-Nadine..." I whimpered, raising my hand. She knelt down, resting on my stomach, and used her right hand to grab my short brown hair, lifting my face up to hers.

 

"I'm gonna kill you, mom." Her grin was wide and sadistic. With her free hand she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small glass vial. A strange purple dust sparkled inside the glass container, glistening in the light as she spun it between her fingers. "I've killed someone every week for the last year. Bet you didn't know that, huh? Daddy doesn't either, and after tonight he still won't, and you'll be dead, gone, and soon forgotten." With her thumb she uncorked the vial. "Open up, mo-"

 

I don't know why I did it. I don't think I meant to do it, but before either of us were aware, my hand had come up and shoved the vial into her mouth. The sudden jerk shook the dust loose and it spilled onto her tongue.

 

Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She howled like a banshee, throwing herself off of me and flinging the vial to the far side of her room where it clattered harmlessly against the wall. She sumbled on all fours out of her room and towards the bathroom, but she never reached the doorway. I could see it, with every frantic step she lost nearly half a foot, quickly becoming entangled in her own clothes. She made it about seven feet before they collapsed like a tent around her, and the small lump that was my stepdaughter flailed against the gigantic cloth tarp.

 

At a loss, I simply stared at the space she had previously occupied. Surely there was something I was missing, right? I got to my hands and knees, crawling over to her clothes and gently teasing back the hem of her shirt. There was Nadine, standing naked, tiny and shrieking right below me, looking like a harmless mouse.

 

My first instinct... was a strange one. I don't know if it was in spite of, or because of the previous beatings, but the first thing I did was pluck her up and finish her trip to the bathroom, now able to stand on my feet again, albeit shakily. I brought her to the sink and adjusted the water to warm.

 

"This might get a little uncomfortable," I warned the squirming thing in my hands. "But we're gonna wash all that ugly makeup off of you. Honestly, your father spends a small fortune in eyeliner on you." I held her face under the stream, uncaring of her wild, frantic protests. When I brought her out again her face was streaked black, almost making her look like some sort of clown. I giggled despite myself, using a handtowel to roughly wash off the ugly smears.

 

"-isn't funny! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" she howled over and over in my palm, and this boiled my blood. She had beaten me half to death, brought me up to her room to shrink and kill me, and now I was the monster for washing off her god-awful makeup? No. This would not stand.

 

"You will not speak to me that way anymore." I considered appending a "do you understand," but it didn't really matter. I would make her understand. I balled her up and carried her in my fist, surprised at how effective the position was. I could barely feel her struggles against my sensitive fingertips, and it vaguely occurred to me she may be dead. Vaguely, I cared.

 

I sat down at the couch once more. My blood stained the carpet, leaving a trail that went halfway up the stairs before petering out. The ashtray was streaked with four beautiful lengths of crimson, which shone brilliantly through the glass. I set the ashtray back on the table and reclined in the couch, unfurling my fingers.

 

"M-mom..." Nadine said carefully. I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head, indicating I was ready to listen. "P... please don't punish me. I'm sorry, I... I was only kidding. I wasn't really gonna shrink you, mom."

 

I smiled down at her. "I know, sweetie. But that was a very dangerous prank. Someone could have gotten hurt." My ribs still throbbed with a dull ache, but I put it out of my mind. "Trust me, mother knows best." Rolling her over, I bent the tiny thing at my index finger, pinning her there with my thumb. "Let's do twenty."

 

"Mom, no!" she screamed just as the first blow from my index finger landed against her ass. Her whole body spasmed, her legs and arms jerking wildly before refocusing on the task of slipping free of my powerful grip. The second blow drew the same response, as did the third. Each time, her screaming got shriller, her pleas more pathetic. She promised she would never do it again, that she would be a good girl, an obedient girl, that she would go to college; all things her father would have loved to hear when she was bigger.

 

By the seventh flick, she no longer squirmed. She still jerked when the blows came, or when she anticipated they would come, but between spankings she lay limp on my fingers, crying into my skin. By the fifteenth her throat was ragged and hoarse, and her screams were more croaks than anything. I delivered the twentieth blow to her raw, bleeding cheeks, then gently brushed the sensitive flesh. She twisted and groaned, and something deep within me stirred.

 

"Why don't you rest in here?" I offered, setting her down gently in the ashtray. She crawled onto her front, avoiding any contact with her ass, then scooted to the far side of the container. Reaching for a pack of cigarettes, I pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag. It was amazing how docile she had become, looking up at me with reverence and fear. I blew the smoke at her and leaned back, spreading my arms wide.

 

She didn't try to speak to me. I think she knew better than that by then. Talking to me would only garner more of my attention than she already had, and what she had was too much for her to handle. I reached forward and ashed my cigarette, the grey powder landing directly on her head. I chuckled as she shook her head, brushing her hair with her fingers to get the sooty mess out.

 

So there I sat, contemplating her future. My stepdaughter could be a cruel girl, and as effective as her recent punishment had been in the short-term, there was no guarantee that it would stick when she grew back to normal. And who was to say she even could grow back to normal? What if she was stuck like this, stuck as more mouse than girl, to be taken care of by her parents for the rest of her life? What existence was that for any of us?

 

My cigarette drew shorter as I thought. Nadine was now covered in the ash, long since having given up trying to brush it all off. I killed the cigarette, crushing it into the glass beside her as I looked her dead in the eyes. She avoided my gaze, and I could see her trembling.

 

"I'm really sorry, sweetheart," I said, nearly confident that I meant it. "This is a bad situation for all of us."

 

"Mom..." she whimpered simply as I picked her up in my palm, looking down at her one last time.

 

"It's for the best." I used the toe of my left foot to hold the heel of my right shoe, lifting my foot out of the garment just enough to make room for the little life in my hand. She was pleading again; my ears could pick up her squeaky tones but not make sense of the words themselves. It didn't matter anyway, nothing she could have said would have changed my mind.

 

I slid the little creature into my shoe and settled my heel down on top of her. Instantly I giggled, her little limbs tickling my sensitive foot even through my sock. I rocked my foot back slightly before pressing down further, getting her pinned just beneath the thickest part of my heel. I needed her not just squished, but ground into nothing. No evidence, save for a small bloodstain that would prove nothing.

 

Though I thought about it, I didn't get up right away. I savored her squirms, her struggles. This was her last act as a living thing, and I wanted to give her the chance to be memorable. I have to admit, it felt good to have those little points of pressure against my heel, massaging my foot even as I prepared to kill her.

 

Finally I stood. Her body crunched like an autumn leaf under my heel, and I could feel her warm goo seeping through the sock and brushing against my skin. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, and as I walked around the living room feeling the last squelches and pops of any solid matter, I wondered what I would tell her father. Likely just that she... vanished into nothing. A cruel girl to be forgotten. And if he gets suspicious, well, I know for a fact I saw more vials.

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