The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(165)

Measurements were taken as if I stood before the dressmaker. Foreign hands touched me, turned my chin this way and that. I was ordered to stick out my tongue, to cough, to touch my toes. Every last mark on my body was catalogued, questions asked about each scratch, scar, or bruise. They even bent me forward, tugged down my drawers, and spread my buttocks.

I thought that was the worst of it. I thought there could be no greater degradation than to be pinned down by a man’s forearm to my back, a cold desk under my elbows and chest. It was Sir Rothfield himself who took the trouble of parting the flesh of my thighs and looking upon a place I had been taught was unclean.

Where downy blonde hair grew, I was spread, the old man making note. “Her hymen is visibly intact. Direct stimulation produces no immediate arousal. Cauterization of the clitoris may be unnecessary.”

Unsure when I had started screaming, I found it was my voice bouncing a banshee’s screech off the walls. “Please!”

“Do you touch yourself here, Alice? While locked in your room do you rub against things?”

A fit came upon me as I struggled against the elbow digging into my spine. I could feel the blood rush to my head and knew it would not be long before I slumped into a full faint. The boys, the Red Queen, the laughing Madman of Cheshire, I would take them all night after night. Anything but this. “NO!”

“Chronic masturbation may not be the cause of her nervous disorder. Let her up, Calvin. An ice soak will calm her agitation.” I could hear the old man retreat, circling the desk as if nothing untoward had just happened. “She is to be restrained and left in the padded cell to curb any urges to self-harm. I want her brought here in the morning for further diagnosis.”

In all the years the twins had pinned me, when they’d sat on my chest and legs to scratch and bite to their heart's content, never had they touched me in this way. The Red Queen may have been shamelessly nude, but never had she drawn attention to that part of her. Even the laughing madman of Cheshire never looked me anywhere but in the eye.

My shift was allowed to cover twitching buttocks, I was released to slide down the front of the desk.

Crouching, I wept.

Calvin reached down to tug me up. Without thought, I sprung to my feet, and tried to evade the human wall. There was no escape. My cheek hit the carpet and the weight of a horse fell upon my body, twisting me into submission until I was certain my bones would splinter.

Well-polished shoes came into my line of sight, and Sir Rothfield voiced his disapproval. “Her parents assured me she was meek. I wonder how many other falsehoods we shall uncover.”

I was going to pop under that great weight; I was going to squish like an overripe blueberry. And then I was up, dragged by an arm round my neck, made to stumble out of the room where more would be done to me than the jabbing of my lady parts.

In a room tiled from floor to ceiling, the last vestments of my modesty were torn away. Naked, my wrists were strapped to a wall and I was hosed down with water so cold it crystallized near the drain. By the time Calvin shut off the hose, I was limp, muscles cramping, and quiet as a church mouse. Chilled to the bone, even my nipples had gone a shade of blue.

When my wrists were released, I was caught before my knees might smash against the floor.

Like a noodle, I was flopped about, each arm shoved through a strange garment that tied at the back and did nothing but stick to my wet skin. Over that went something more bizarre, a coat of unbleached linen with sleeves twice the length of my reach. It was buckled around me, the sleeves wrapping around my middle and fastened in some manner behind my back.

There was no getting out of it.

Lacking the strength to try, even the will to think clearly, I was sat on a pot and ordered to relieve my water.

I did.

I was sat in a chair and told to open my mouth.

I did.

Stew served as dinner. Rabbit stew.

A door opened, soft floor connecting with my dangling legs. Everything was white, like a quilt, walls fluffed and ground padded.

I was left alone, the cell door’s bolt thrown, the room’s electric light twinkling to chase away all shadows.

In the hours I lay there, some feeling returned to my toes, my shoulders began to smart, and I grew thirsty. There had been no drink since breakfast. The stew had been salty, and there had been no tea.

Tears came anew when my thoughts turned to those who had allowed this.

Did my mama miss me?

Had my father known what lay in store at this terrible place?

Could they really hate me so much?

Buzzing electricity snapped the solitary bulb’s filament, but the endless light meant nothing. Darkness was not required to keep my demons at bay. In fact, I welcomed them. They would never leave me... ever.

Somewhere in the hospital’s many rooms a clock began to tick.

As always, I knew if I turned my head I’d see the white rabbit had found its way into the room, propped up, waiting. I knew that it would be watching me.

Safest with my back to the wall, I pushed my weakened legs against the floor and inched like a worm for the corner.

There was some mercy when the crash of the ticking clock ceased. Across from me, mirroring the way I huddled to soft walls, rocked the laughing Madman of Cheshire.

All night he pointed, peals of giggles turning my stomach, because now I knew why he laughed so hard. My life was a joke.





Chapter Seven