Molly

Crisp fall air blew leaves across her path as she walked down the sidewalk. She could have taken the bus home or even gotten a ride from a friend but today, Molly just wanted be alone on her way home from school. She had failed the chemistry test earlier that morning and it had just put her in a foul mood all day.

She followed the sidewalk past the shopping center and into another neighborhood. Cars full of high schoolers whizzed by as the boys attempted to show off how cool they were by driving over the speed limit. Molly laughed at their lame attempts. She had become very cynical towards everything, especially society and she wondered if perhaps she was going crazy. Insanity, it was said, was only different from brilliance by the amount of success.

She enjoyed seeing the leaves scattered all over the neighborhood. It comforted her in a way; seeing that the rest of the world was in chaos along with her. Of course Molly also took pleasure in seeing bad things happen to other people, even her friends. She told herself that she didn’t know why she smiled as others got bad news but deep down she knew it was because her own life was such a wreck.

Her grades were getting progressively worse, indeed, the chemistry test had simply been one F in a long line of F’s. She hadn’t been out on a date in months; much less had a boyfriend like all of her friends. A year ago she had been dating Sean but that seemed to just end for no reason and she had avoided him since.
She was stealing liquor from her parents and bumming cigarettes off of 18 year old boys. She got away with this from the regulars by giving them a show; hiking up her skirt or bending over to reveal her low cut dress to them. Silly boys, all of them, so easily manipulated. Molly was quite certain that if she slept with them, they’d commit murder for her, though that was just a fleeting thought, Molly certainly didn’t want anyone dead right now.

On top of all of that, she was spending more time alone, like today. It was a Friday afternoon and most girls in her class would be rushing home to prepare to go to the football game as well as the parties afterward. That had been her a year ago but not today and not in a long time. She would head home and pretend to be getting ready for the football game and the subsequent experimentation at the parties but in reality, she would never see the game or any drugs or alcohol or naked boys later on. Instead, she would head to the large house on the corner of Buell and Washington streets.

Lying had come easy to her and she had developed a routine that was solid; making sure that she read the paper before her parents the following morning. Then she’d comment about some great play that she actually did not see and then she’d talk about how all the boys were talking about how great or how terrible the team was. Then she’d lie about how dull the party was or about some drama that unfolded. It was a perfect system and her parents believed every word of it. Why shouldn’t they? They just wanted their daughter to be popular and well-liked. She could have walked in and told them about how she let all the boys in school have sex with her in the girl’s locker room and all they’d be upset about is that she didn’t do the teachers as well. Deep down, she knew this wasn’t the case but Molly preferred to believe it to be so.

Molly knew that her parents would find out about her grades eventually but she wasn’t worried about that right now. She didn’t care about the future like she used to. A year ago, she was already looking at what university to attend; should she go to the one where everyone else from her high school was going or should she head to an Ivy League school and become a lawyer like her father? Now, she didn’t care about that, she didn’t care about anything except for the big old house on the corner of Buell and Washington.

The late afternoon breeze blew her hair in waves behind her as she turned the corner onto her street. There it was. Her house with its perfect lawn and perfect bushes and perfectly clean car in the garage and perfect everything! Molly stopped and took a deep breathe. Lately, she felt suffocated in that house, as if an invisible hand were choking her, urging her to leave.

She walked at a slow pace along the sidewalk towards her house. She stared down at the concrete and her feet as she went counting the seams and cracks. She had memorized every crease, every tiny crack and every odd impression. There was one crack just before she got to her house that split the entire section in two. She stopped to look at this crack. It gave her comfort like the scattered leaves gave her comfort. She wondered if her parents hated this crack; this glaring defect so close to their perfect house. Molly smiled and looked up at that house with its perfect lawn and perfect landscaping and its perfectly clean exterior. She felt the urge to run into the garage and find something, anything, to splash up on those walls. She wanted to take one of her dad’s hammers and shatter every pane of glass she could reach. She wanted to tear the door off of the hinges and toss it into the bushes. She wanted to see this model of perfection in complete disarray.
It was such a blatant reminder to her that her own life so imperfect.

The house on the corner of Buell and Washington was so different than this house. It wasn’t all neat and tidy. The shrubs and trees weren’t all neatly trimmed and the grass wasn’t freshly cut and full. Perhaps that’s why she went there so often, because it wasn’t perfect. It was imperfect like her.

Molly was pulled back into reality as a UPS truck rumbled by. She took another deep breath and walked across the lawn to the house. She crossed over to the garage saw that only her mother was home. Her mother’s spotlessly clean Jaguar gleamed, even in the garage. Molly seriously wondered if all the parents of this neighborhood didn’t have an undeclared competition to see who could appear the most perfect. It sickened her and as she walked past the car, she allowed her hand to caress the driver’s side window, leaving faint smudges on the formerly impeccable glass. She grinned devilishly as she climbed the two steps up to the kitchen door and entered the perfect house.

The kitchen, like always, looked as if it were straight out of a home designing magazine. There were never any empty glasses or dirty plates left out. There were never any spills on the stove or groceries left on the counter. Everything was spotless and Molly wanted to change that.

The refrigerator held plenty of items that would do the trick. Molly took out the grape juice and slid it onto the counter. Then she dug around and grabbed some leftover soup and slid that onto the counter. She missed the glass with the grape juice pretty badly. It splashed all over the counter and dripped down onto the floor. Molly smiled and put the juice back into the fridge. She sopped up most of the juice with paper towels but left enough so that the counter and floor would be sticky.

Molly moved on to the soup and again, she ended up spilling a lot of the thick tomato-based vegetable soup onto another part of the counter. Grinning, she put the half-full bowl of soup into the microwave and set if for five minutes; enough time to make the tomatoes explode, splattering all over the microwave.

She left the kitchen, leaving her book bag where she had dropped it, in the middle of the floor. She rushed upstairs to her room to avoid her mother. After changing clothes, she returned down to the kitchen where her mother was cleaning up the mess. On the table was her bowl of soup and glass of juice.

“Molly, would you mind not making such a mess? Did you even try to clean this up?” Her mother scolded her as she threw away the handful of paper towels.

“Sorry, I was in a hurry.”

“You’re going to the game tonight.” Her mother stated rather than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Be sure to turn off the lights when you come in.”

“I will.”

Her mother walked out of the kitchen and Molly knew that she had struck a nerve with her spills. Molly was delighted. She had been equally delighted when her best friend broke up with her long-time boyfriend a few days earlier. Of course she had helped that along by lying to both of them about the other. She didn’t used to be so cruel but really over the past year she had developed a mean streak. Subconsciously, she wondered if it had anything to do with her visits to the house on the corner of Buell and Washington.

The sun was just setting as Molly walked out of the garage and down the driveway. It was much cooler out now than it had been earlier, there was probably a front moving in. The slight breeze was still pushing leaves all over the place like some child does to toys during a temper tantrum. Molly allowed the leaves to blow past her and imagined herself as some mythical goddess of chaos. Her telltale sign would be dry leaves that constantly cover people’s lawns no matter how much raking they do.

She turned to the right, staring down at the sidewalk as she went. She passed the large crack and stopped to look back at her house. A feeling of nausea swept over her and she immediately turned away. She couldn’t bare to look at the house any more. She had barely choked down the soup; the feeling of suffocating was so bad. She quickened her speed so that she was nearly speed-walking like Mrs. Russo did in the mornings. Molly walked to the end of the street and instead of heading towards school and the game; she turned in the opposite direction.

Hume Street crested over a hill where there was a large oak tree that towered over the neighborhood and then dipped down until it interested with Moss Circle. She took a left on Moss and went past the playground where a couple of kids were running around. Their childish games annoyed her and she hurried past. She followed Moss for three blocks until taking a right at Darby Street. Darby stretched the entire length of not only this neighborhood but nearly the entire town. She walked for what seemed like hours, past cookie-cutter houses and custom-built homes and vacant areas. Numerous cars passed her, most heading in the direction of the school. Molly felt like she was the only person in town to be heading away from the football game.

When she reached Buell, she looked down the street and could see the big house on the corner in all its glory and imperfection. The sun had dipped below the trees by this time, creating a great gloom over the neighborhood. Molly walked down Buell Street until she was standing across from the house. To her left was Washington Street, a lonely street that saw little traffic and had houses only on her side. The far side was a nature preserve that stretched on for miles. For this reason, Washington Street was often forgotten and was almost always covered with leaves and dead branches. Molly smiled at seeing Washington Street in such a state. She felt comforted by the chaos in the street but she also couldn’t stand looking at Washington Street anymore for some reason. This happened every time she came here; a feeling of dread and sickness at seeing that street.

Molly turned her attention back to the house. It was much bigger than the rest of the houses in this area and much older. It was surrounded by tall trees that, in the summertime, hid the house from view. Now the almost bare branches looked like giant arms reaching out to grab her and for a moment Molly wanted to turn and run. Run away from the house and take comfort in the arms of her parents or to hide herself from the house in the crowd of a football game. This was a new feeling for her. She never felt like this before. It was the same feeling she had when her parents had taken her to see her dying grandmother a few years before. She had wanted to run away then just as now. But Molly did not run, she remained in that spot for a few more seconds and then crossed the street.

Her pulse began to quicken and she felt a great sense of dread as she stepped off the street and crossed the sidewalk and into the yard of that house. She was again confused by her mixed emotions; she had never felt anything but relief by coming to this house. Why all this dread now? Something at the back of her mind nagged at her but she couldn't quite focus on it. It was as if there were some small voice screaming at her from underwater; she could hear the voice but not the words.

Dead leaves crunched under her feet and the air seemed colder the closer she got to the house. Molly again had the urge to turn and leave as fast as she could but she also felt like she had entered a cloud and could no longer control her movement. She felt pulled towards the house. Before she knew it, she was standing before the big front door.

As she stood there, a faint voice in her head told her that she could still leave, that it would be as if she had never come here, but Molly knew she would beat herself up later for being afraid. Then, as if an invisible hand took hold of her, her left arm reached out and knocked on the door very hard. She was committed now. The voice inside her head vanished and a smile formed on her face. She was committed.

From inside, Molly heard the bolt being thrown back and slowly, the door opened. A woman, maybe twenty years older than Molly stood there. She had jet black hair and equally dark eyes. Her complexion was pale and she was very thin. A thin silk robe hung on her gaunt frame and seemed to be just about to slide off. She had one silver ring on her left ring finger but was otherwise wearing nothing. The woman tilted her head and smiled.

“Hello, Molly, I knew you’d come” She greeted with a voice both seductive and motherly. Her voice still had the Eastern European accent despite so much time away from her native land.

“I…I had to,” Molly replied, her voice trembling.

“I know. Come in, dear.”

The woman stood aside and Molly entered the dark house like so many times before. A long hallway went all the way to the back of the house and dim light came from the room on the left that was the library. Behind Molly, the woman closed and locked the door. Molly looked around the foyer but could barely make anything out. She could usually look at the large mirror or the old painting of some colonial town. She turned to the woman and gave a faint smile. She was unusually nervous tonight and she didn’t know why.

“Follow me, Molly,” The woman said walking past her. The woman barely made a sound as she glided down the hallway and she seemed more mysterious tonight. Molly caught a scent of incense and of candles. She followed the woman into the back left room, which was illuminated by dozens of black candles. In the center of the room a large tray with sticks of burning incense had been set upon a low black wooden table. There was no furniture in the room except for two short stools. She wondered where the two couches had gone but didn’t worry about it.

Molly stopped at the door and looked around. The woman was now holding a small wooden box which she opened to reveal nothing inside. Molly felt a surge of emotions all at once. She was forced to brace herself against the door jam and felt as if the floor was moving under her. Molly slid to the floor and the last thing she remembered before blacking out was the woman standing over her, smiling.



The night air was so cool that Molly had to borrow Sean’s jacket. They left the party early because Sean wanted to spend some time alone with her. That’s what he said anyway. Molly suspected that Sean wanted to give her a ring or something because it was their one year anniversary. It was a Thursday night and there had been a huge pep rally to prepare for the game against their biggest rival. The party following the pep rally had been bigger than a typical after-game party on Friday night.

Molly was a little concerned that he was driving but he seemed okay enough. He’d only had a couple of beers after all. They went for a drive through town and out past the river and then back through the large neighborhoods. He pulled down one street that only had houses on side. He went down towards the dead-end and put the car in park and turned off the lights. There were no streetlights here with the woods on one side and a few vacant houses on the other side. Sean opened the cover to the sunroof and slid his seat back so that he was almost lying down.

“You can see the stars really good here, Molly.”
She did the same and laid back, looking up through the glass at the stars. She was still cold though and pulled Sean’s coat even tighter around her.

“Can’t we turn on any heat?”

“I told you, it’s broken. I’ll keep you warm though,” He said, sliding his arm around her and rubbing her shoulder.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Molly said, sighing, trying to enjoy the moment but she couldn’t ignore the cold.

“Not as beautiful as you though,” He pulled her closer to him and nuzzled her face with his nose. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” She replied, smelling the beer on his breath. He pulled her even closer to him and was now kissing her cheek and neck. Molly caressed his hair and found his lips pressing against hers. They had made out like this several times and Molly welcomed it. She didn’t welcome the direction he took things however.

“Stop it,” She said pulling his hand away from her inner thigh and sitting up.
Sean sat up too and grinned at her. She smiled back and they kissed again. He pulled her close to him and she felt his hands slide down her back and onto her butt and again she had to pull his hands away.

“Sean, no.”

Sean sighed loudly, “What the fuck is the matter with you, Molly?”

“Me? Sean, you’re drunk.”

“It’s our fucking anniversary. Let’s celebrate!” He again pulled her to him and was far more aggressive with his hands this time.

“Sean, no! Stop it!” She pushed him away but before she could do anything else, he climbed over and was on top of her, kissing her face and groping her all over.

“Sean! Stop it! No! Get off of me, Sean!” She was screaming in his face but he was not hearing it. A hand reached up her skirt and pulled at her underwear, ripping it. Another hand ripped open her blouse. Hysterical now, Molly’s eyes were welling with tears as she was not strong enough to push her boyfriend off of her. She could think of only one thing and she leaned close to him and bit down on his right cheek with as much force as she could muster.

Sean screamed and pulled away. Warm blood dribbled down onto her chin and she could taste the metallic salty flavor of blood in her mouth. Sean pressed his hand against his cheek and then pulled it away. He was bleeding pretty bad from her bite. Sean looked at her with such rage that Molly was fearful for her life.

“You bitch!” He screamed at her, slapping her hard. He slapped her again and again and then opened the passenger side door and shoved Molly out onto the cold pavement. He pulled his jacket off of her but she held on to it, not knowing why she wanted to keep it. There was a tearing sound and finally he pulled the jacket free except for a small shred of the corner. This further enraged Sean and he spit on her.

He yanked the door closed and she fell back. Molly remembered seeing Sean’s car speed away, even without the lights on. For a while, Molly just laid there, sobbing. The air was cold and her tears felt like bits of ice on her face. Finally, she got off the ground and began to stumble down the street, tears still gushing from her eyes. Up ahead the street she was on was intersected by another street. Through her fuzzy eyes, she could just make out the names, Buell and Washington.

She saw some lights on in the first house on her left and headed that way. The yard was dark and she tripped over something. Without energy and with tears streaming from her eyes, Molly just laid there, in utter shock over what had happened to her. She was vaguely aware of hearing a door open but soon she was being helped to her feet by someone, a woman. She was brought inside and the woman put her on a sofa in front of a dying fire. The woman covered her with a blanket and then brought her a cup of hot cider.

“I know what happened to you, Molly,” The woman said sympathetically in a voice with a foreign accent.

Molly was still in shock and did not think to ask how the woman knew her name. She sipped the cider and winced as it burned her lips but she drank it eagerly, feeling it warm her up.

“I know how you were…taken advantage of and beaten by that boy. He stole your dignity and your trust. You will wake up tomorrow battered and bruised. Everyone who sees you will know what happened to you. Your parents will press charges and the details will be made public because they always find their way to the public somehow. You will endure months of indignity.” The woman was surprisingly blunt and Molly could not hold back her sobbing. The woman moved closer and held Molly for some time until the tears slowed and finally stopped.

“You are a victim, Molly.”

Molly began to cry again and put a hand to her eyes. The woman held her and rubbed her back. She whispered something Molly could not understand and almost instantly, she stopped crying and just felt dazed but incredibly clear. The woman pulled away and looked at her. Molly, for the first time, took in the woman; dark hair, dark eyes, shallow cheeks and pale skin.

“Is that what you want, Molly; to be ridiculed and to have everyone know that you are a victim?”

“No,” Molly whispered, seeing the truth in the woman’s words with unusual objectivity.

“What do you want then?”

Molly turned to look at the fire and stared at the embers for a long while before responding, “I want to never be cold again. I want for this night to have never happened,” Molly paused and watched the glowing embers. “I want Sean to suffer and die!” She hissed in a voice that Molly would never recognize as her own.

“Revenge?”

“Yes, revenge.”

The feelings of fear and brokenness were now replaced with rage and hatred as her clear state faded and the emotions began to return.

“Revenge is something to not enter into lightly. I think you shall need time to think about this.”

“What?” Molly turned to the woman.

“Molly, you shall forget about this night. I shall heal your wounds; take away these bruises on your face and when you wake tomorrow, it will be as if this night never occurred. You shall have a year without this shame and then, if you still want revenge, you shall have it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will hold on to your hatred for you. I shall remember your shame for you. Time heals all wounds. If in a year, your desire for revenge is still strong, then I shall give you revenge.”

“Why would you do this?”

“I too have been hurt like you have. I have suffered great indignities in my life; I know what you are going through. Usually, those who seek my work must pay for it but I think we can work out a deal.

“Deal?”

“Yes. I get lonely here in this house,” The woman saw shock and fear in Molly’s face and smirked. “No, not that kind of loneliness. I just want to sit and talk with someone; to discuss the world with. To perhaps impart my own wisdom upon them. Would this be agreeable to you?

“I…I guess so, I don’t know what-”

“Good. Then all I ask is that you visit me atleast once a week. Keep me company and learn from me. I shall not mention this night to you and you shall not remember it. It will be as if you have always come to visit me.”

“Who…who are you?”

“I come from a place where the superstitious fear my kind. That is all you need to know.”

“What?” Molly felt more confused than ever before by this mysterious woman. Had she stumbled from an attempted rape into an insane woman’s home? Molly was about to ask more questions but the woman put a finger up to her lips and smiled. She stood and picked up a small wooden box from a cabinet. It had intricate carvings on sides and appeared rather old. She opened it to reveal that it was empty and began to recite something in a language Molly could not understand. Drowsiness came over her and soon her eyes closed.


When Molly awoke, she was sitting against the wall in the room with the candles and the incense. The woman sat with her back to Molly on one of the stools with her robe off of her shoulders. Molly picked herself up off of the ground and moved to sit on the other stool.

“Do you remember why you are here? Do you remember your first time here?”

Molly stared at the incense and then up into the woman’s face. “I remember it all,” She said with a cold voice.

“And what do you feel tonight?”

“I feel…rage!” The last word was almost a growl.

“But not sad or scared or empty or used?” The woman asked as she placed the small wooden box on the table.

“No, none of those.”

“This is a special box, Molly. From where I come from, we use it to capture dark emotions; rage, hatred, anger, lust and so forth. It enables us to think clearly and to not make rash judgements. We hold the dark emotion in here for a while and then after time we open it. If the emotion is still potent, then we know what we must do. Though if the emotion does not return, then we know that we have moved on. I captured your shame with it when you came here last year. I released it when you entered this room tonight. Do you feel shame tonight?

“You mean: do I feel like a victim? No. I was a victim for one night but now I feel only rage.”

“So your hatred has returned to you.”

“Yes. I feel rage right now,” Molly responded, barely able to contain herself.

“So you have not changed your mind?”

“No.”

“Good. Your rage is more powerful than your shame. When people are made victims, like you were, they either remain victims or they seek to control their destiny. You obviously have a desire to control your destiny; to make the world right as it were. Is this what you desire?”

“Yes! Sean…he must suffer and he must die!”

The woman gave a slight nod and pursed her lips, “Well, there are a million ways to suffer and a thousand ways to die. Clear your mind and the answer will come to you, dear.”

Molly looked away and tried to think of nothing but all she could think of was Sean’s face pressed down on her, his drunken breathe suffocating her as he used her body. Then it came to her; she remembered staring into the embers that night in this house. She remember how cold she had felt around Sean and how much the fire had comforted her. The answer was so clear in her mind. She had never been so sure of anything before.

“I want Sean to burn. I want him to burn slowly and then…” Molly trailed off, thinking about what she would say next. Death seemed too easy. Death was too final.

“I want him to live a long time; deformed and grotesque. He should die by his own hand after years and years of solitude and pain!”

“Indeed,” The woman said, smiling. She reached under the table and pulled out a wicker doll which she placed on a plate. Wrapped around the doll was a shred of fabric that Molly recognized as the piece of his jacket she had held on as he was ripping it from her. “This is Sean, you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I shall recite the spell which requires a blood sacrifice. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Molly said, her throat tightening up.

“Once the spell is complete, use one of those matches to light this doll on fire and once you believe it has burned enough, put it out with the blood. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

With that, the woman pulled out a small knife and cut the side of her left breast. She put a ceramic bowl underneath to catch the blood and then she offered the bowl to Molly. Molly took the bowl and watched as the woman pulled out another knife and handed it to her.

“My chest?” She asked.

“Your hand will do,” The woman answered, pressing the cut with her hand to stem the bleeding.

Molly held up her hand and was about to cut the top of her hand when the woman motioned for her to cut the palm instead. She held her hand over the bowl and with a quick downward stroke slashed through the soft flesh. She winced and instinctively closed her hand before slowly opening it again. Blood dribbled into the bowl, slowly filling it. The woman nodded that it was enough and Molly clenched her fist into a tight ball.

The woman started to chant in that language of hers with her eyes half-closed. Molly watched, mesmerized. She looked like some horror film witch; bare breasted with blood all over her chest and stomach, reciting something in some Satanic language. Molly did not know if the correct term for this woman was witch or voodoo doctor or what, all she knew was that she wanted Sean to suffer and this woman could make that happen.

Finally, the woman opened her eyes and stared at Molly with eyes that seemed even blacker than before. She nodded and Molly struck a match. She stared at the small flame for a while, watching the chemicals give way to the wood before putting it to the wicker doll which instantly caught fire. The two of them watched it burn for a while. Molly envisioned Sean’s face in twisted lust as she stared at the doll. She imagined the smell of his breathe, heavy with beer. She imagined his hands roughly rubbing all over her and she imagined the coldness of his car. These images soon vanished and were replaced with Sean’s face in utter agony; his beer-breathe replaced with the stench of burning wicker. She could almost feel his hands; once soft and firm now horrid and deformed. The coldness of his car was replaced with the fierce warmth of fire and Molly relished in this transformation.
The woman nodded once and Molly picked up the bowl of blood and poured it on the charred doll. Black smoke puffed up from the doll and seemed to hover over the table before drifting into the open box.

The woman picked up the doll, now dripping in blood and put it into the small wooden box and closed the lid. She chanted something else in her language before handing the box to Molly. She took it and stared at it with awe.

“Keep the doll in there for as long as you like. When you feel the time is right, take it out and destroy it. The boy will then be destroyed as well. I will keep the box with me if you like.”

“What about the burning?”

“It is done my dear,” The woman said with such a tone of finality that it sent a shiver up Molly’s spine and then she grinned. Molly didn’t know if she wanted to keep the box herself or not. A sense of elation began to rise up in her; filling her, replacing the void that had been there for so long. Molly at first felt tears well in her eyes and then she started laughing.


Molly climbed out of bed just as the sun was rising. The box was right where she had placed it the night before, under her bed. She hadn’t dreamt any of it and the wound on her hand definitely confirmed that.
She went down stairs and quietly walked outside. The paper was there, waiting for her like it was every weekend before this. Standing in the driveway, she did not feel the cold though it was well below 50 degrees. Instead she felt a warmth inside, almost as if the Sun itself had replaced her heart. She immediately went to the sports page and saw that her high school football team had won a close game against a team they were supposed to lose badly to. There was a picture of students jumping the fence to rush the field and embrace the players. It was a chain-link fence that came up to the waist and looked pretty dangerous if one were to be careless on it. In fact, those small little barbs at the top looked like they could rip open the flesh of someone’s hand pretty easily.

Molly was about to put the paper back when she saw a small story on the bottom of the page about a tragedy at the pre-game bonfire. A senior had apparently been drinking and spilled beer all over himself before falling into the fire itself. Apparently some of his friends didn’t know that alcohol is an accelerant and he had been engulfed in flames. The boy burned for a while before being put out and rushed to the hospital. Molly smiled when she read the name.

Standing out in the driveway, Molly looked up at the house. It was immaculate and perfect. She sighed as she looked at the house, it was so clean and everything was in place; it made Molly feel at ease. She was comforted to know that things were so right; that everything was in place. Molly felt at home.