Nightmare on May 23, 2020 to May 24, 2020

PANCAKES

I was a kid, one of five children living in a multy-room apartment. We roamed from room to room all day and sometimes played games. There was always plenty of food to satisfy any taste, and we grew up well-fed. The rooms were filled with toys and old furniture, always providing us with something to do.

She took care of us.

"Hee-hee, I made pancakes for you all!"

We gathered in the kitchen, eagerly staring at the stack of pancakes on the frying pan. I wasn't hungry, but I had to eat; otherwise, she'd be offended. We always ate on schedule and cleaned our plates completely. We ate until she was satisfied with us, deeming that we had eaten enough.

There were five of us. We delicately took the pancakes from her outstretched hands, making sure not to touch her skin.

"But where's Niki?" she asked. The air thickened.
"There is no one named Nikita among us," lied a chubby boy cautiously.
"I remember, he mentioned Adolf Hitler," she said, extending her hand. "Niki talked about Hitler."
"No one in our family talks about Hitler," I said. "Everyone knows it's forbidden."
"Forbidden," she agreed. "Good children, you are! U-u-uh, such good children! And you," she looked directly at me, "you deserve a special pancake."

It was a statement of fact. I couldn't refuse.

"Little one, stay with me in the kitchen when everyone leaves. I feel so lonely," she smiled widely, revealing sharp triangular teeth.
Yet, with my heart pounding madly, I firmly said, "No, I have to do my homework."
"Then, a pancake as a farewell gift! You're my favorite little one. Come on, take the pancake."

I reached for the pancake. As cautiously and skillfully as always, but her hand twitched, making a deceptive move around my head. The movements were too quick, too rapid. She grabbed my hand, and my skin touched hers. That was the signal. She forcefully pulled my hand toward her, and before I could do anything (or even had a chance to?), she bit my index finger and chewed it with a loud crunch. I wriggled and pulled away. If I couldn't, I would have lost my entire hand.

"Good children, my beautiful boys and girls," she continued, "you are growing up so beautifully, what a sight!"

I hid my bloody hand in my pocket. The other kids deliberately avoided looking at me. I didn't allow myself to cry to avoid angering her. When the meal was over, I, along with the others, thanked her for the food and left the kitchen.