“Why do you do that to your dolls?” Samantha asked her daughter.
Sheri was a shy, quiet girl with few friends. She spent most of her free time alone in her bedroom. “You mean pull their heads off?” she asked.
“Yes. Why do you do that?”
Sheri shrugged her shoulders and simply said, “I dunno. I just do,”
“That’s not an acceptable answer, young lady,” Samantha scolded. “You must have a reason for removing the heads from your dolls.”
Sheri shrugged again.
Well, Sheri, if you won’t tell me why, I’ll make sure that Santa knows what you do to your dolls and I’m pretty sure he won’t be bringing you any new dolls this Christmas.”
“Fine,” Sheri said, “I’ll tell you.”
“Go ahead,” Samantha said. “I’m waiting.”
“I’m making a shrine and the dolls are my sacrifices.”
Dumbfounded, Samantha said, “A shrine? What kind of shrine? Who gave you that idea?”
“She told me you wouldn’t understand,” Sheri said.
“She? Who is ‘she’?”
Pointing at her own head, Sheri said, “She did.” Then an eerie smile crossed her face and she added, “Mom, did you know that Satan is an anagram for Santa?”
Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.