Three women from the wardrobe (story)

The girl was small and chubby but not fat. Her hair was the colour of ripe chestnut and it fell in messy ringlets about her peachy face. She had just woken up.

The girl walked about the apartment, looking for someone, a parent maybe or an unknown adult left over from one of her parent's wild parties. There was noone around. She padded over to the large, round table in the middle of the kitchen and stood on her tiptoes. Her eyes barely reached the edge.

The tablecloth had once been white but was now a washed out wine-brown and there were little round holes everywhere with frayed brown edges. There was a huge, empty, green bottle in the middle of the table and on top of it a white candle. The candle had created an intricate volcanic residue that clung imperiously to the sides of the bottle.
The girl turned around. Maybe her mother was in the bedroom? The girl knew she wasn't allowed into mother's bedroom unless specially invited but she felt it would be acceptable to take a peak. Just to check if mother is there. And if she is, and is sleeping, the girl would just tiptoe back, quietly, and find something else to do.

Creeping quietly the girl walked out of the kitchen and across the hall. She reached the big white door of her mother's bedroom and stood there motionless for a long time. Her hand didn't reach for the handle.
Hearing nothing, the girl gave the door a little push. It swung open easily and the girl caught her breath. Will her mother shout at her to go away? Nothing. Or.. maybe? Listening intently, the girl thought she could hear a faint whoosh. She waited a bit longer but there was no other sound. Slowly, she walked in. The room was empty. Her mother's bed was made, the windows were closed. The girl wandered if she had imagined the whoosh sound. She stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. Her gaze fell on the large, three-finger hand painted on the green wall above the bed. The hand was made into a fist and no matter how many times the girl counted, she could only count a thumb and three fingers. The hand scared her. She spent a lot of time avoiding looking at it.

There was another faint whoosh and the girl whipped around to face an ancient wardrobe at the far wall. The wardrobe was made of oak and it had three panels. The side panels had one door each and the middle panel had double doors. That's where mother's clothes lived, hung on the rail or piled up on the bottom. On the shelves behind the side panels lived linens and towels and jewelery and handbags and scarfs.

The girl tried not to look too closely at the wardrobe. It scared her even more than the three-finger hand. But the gentle whoosh sound kept distracting her and she stole a proper look. The wood on the panels made funny patterns that looked like shapes of sad, skinny women. There were three of them - one for each panel. The middle panel woman blinked her eyes and called to the girl softly. The girl froze and her eyes darted towards the door. She wanted to run away but her feet were glued to the spot. The left panel woman swirled and her hands rose and fell in a wooden dance. She asked the girl to lie down on her mother's bed. Reluctantly, the girl obeyed.

The girl curled up on her mother's bed, her eyes wide and terrified, and watched the women peel off the panels, one by one, and start to dance around the room. The women were tall and thin and made of shadows. They spoke in gasps and whispers of a strange language she didn't understand. They swayed and whirled and cackled making the curtains twitch even though the windows were closed.

The women told the girl that she now belonged to them. The girl didn't know what that meant but she was scared. She didn't want to belong to the women. She wanted to belong to her mother and her father. But the women just laughed and waved their hands and called her a pitiful wretch. The girl didn't know what that meant but she worried it was something bad.

Finally, the girl summoned the strength to ask the three wardrobe women what they wanted from her. The women cackled delightedly. They said they've already taken what they wanted. They've taken her soul.

What does this mean, the girl wandered? The women shrugged. It didn't matter. They looked fatter.

The girl closed her eyes and wished the women would go away. She kept worrying about what it meant to not have a soul. The girl wasn't sure what a soul was, but she had a feeling it was something important.

She opened her eyes. The women had disappeared. She looked over to the wardrobe and they were there, fat and satisfied, their wooden eyes twinkling. One of them winked at her. Come back any time, another said. All you have to do, is stare in to the grain, the third said, and you'll be with us forever. Come, come with us, they said.

The girl got up and walked out of the room. She closed the door firmly behind her and ran as fast as she could to the other side of the apartment. She wandered if that was far enough.

No. The voice in her head said.

You cannot run away from us now.

The girl opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. Her heart pounded against her chest and her palms felt clammy and shook like light fittings in an earthquake.

An eerie cackle bounced around the walls, then died away suddenly.

The girl heard a key scrape against the lock. Mother was back.