The Three Women in My House
Melissa's dream
The first time I saw the grounds of the house I currently live in my breath was taken away. The old wooden Victorian my roommates and I rent looks like a home from a bygone era. With a half dozen gables, two turrets and a wrap-around deck, the cream-yellow home makes me feel like an aristocrat. Its intricate Dutch woodwork looks like lace hanging down from the shingled roof, and it’s topped off with a widow’s walk.
The sprawling landscaping around the home is equally as spellbinding, and reminds me of Hogwarts. The acreage, with its rolling hills and lush green grass partitioned by a bubbling creek, is all one can see when looking out from the home. It’s as if the whole property was cut straight out of a fairytale and placed right here, in this specific moment of time, for me to call home.
I live here with Sarah, an old classmate from high school. I believe that we have two other roommates, Megan and Ariel, at least that’s what I’ve been told. I can’t really seem to remember now, though, and I’m not quite sure why. My mind’s been fuzzy since that one night.
Most days at the house are lackadaisical. We have help who tend the lawn and keep things tidy around the house. We don’t have to worry much, and because of that most days are peaceful and serene. Most days, that is — except for the night Sarah secretly invited hundreds of people over to house for a party.
About a year ago, on one of those rare nights at the beginning of the summer when the days are warm but the night air turns cool and crisp, I arrived home on a Friday after spending the day visiting family out of town. I almost didn’t recognize it when I pulled up to our driveway. The quarter-mile long gravel road leading to the home was lined with cars haphazardly parked on each side all the way down, so tightly packed they looked like the mangled teeth of a zipper. There were people running around the lawn with bottles of booze, jumping over others who were already passed out from too much firewater.
My windows were still down from my ride home and my radio was playing the latest Taylor Swift album, but the cacophony of the party grew so loud as I descended my driveway that the sound of the music was quickly drowned out.
You know that feeling when you want to be upset at something, or someone, but then the idea you were mad about starts to grow, and grow, and grow until you simply can’t pinpoint it? It was like that. I was planning on telling Sarah off when I got down that driveway, but when I got out of my car, I was fuming at all of the people. But within minutes, the atmosphere got the better of me. There was just so much laughing going on that I just couldn’t be angry. There were so many people, none of whom I remember now.
I was handed a drink immediately as I began walking towards my house’s front door. It’s odd, I don’t usually drink random drinks handed to me, but it was my house and I felt it was safe, and it was safe. It was a good drink, some sort of vodka with cranberry juice – and I was in no rush – so I stayed and mingled among the crowd of people partying outside. And when I say crowd, I mean crowd. The entire lawn was filled with people shuffling around shoulder to shoulder.
A nice group of girls came over to me. At least I think they were nice, but I could barely hear them over the raucous party surrounding me. We made usual party small talk: How we hoped the weather this summer would be better than last’s, where we went to school and grew up, and how exciting this party was with its droves and droves of people. They assured me they had never been to a party quite so marvelous. I thought about it, and I, too, couldn’t recall a gathering I had been to that topped this one.
Our conversation ended when we were ushered out of the way by some guys so they could form a circle in the grass. As soon as enough space was cordoned off, a small kid in a blue track suit came flipping through the crowd and cartwheeled his way into the center. He sprung up into the air, landed on his stomach and began writhing on the ground. He was doing the worm, and everyone was cheering. It’s always been funny to me that no matter where a dance circle is formed, it isn’t long until someone breaks out the worm. It’s one of those rules of the universe, or something like that.
After watching some other people try out their moves, I grew sick of getting squished and pushed from side to side in the cheering crowd. I weaseled my way out and searched the yard for some other excitement.
There was a table someone had brought outside from our kitchen and a group of people playing card games at it. They had a box for Uno, Cards Against Humanity and your standard 52-card deck. I was going to go over to them and ask who gave them permission to bring our table outside, but before I could finish my thought someone at the table pulled up a chair and everyone waved at me and told me to sit down.
I was dealt in the next round with no time to waste. It was five-card draw, and the table looked fine other than some spilled beer, so what the heck. To be honest, I’m not great at poker, so when someone from the table asked me to grab them a plate of cucumber salad from inside, I gladly went. Trying to get to my house was like swimming against a current. I had to paddle and weave between the swirling crowds of people drinking and dancing. After a few minutes, I finally made it to the front door.
Inside, the scene was totally different. It was quiet, somber, and the party had all but faded away. I walked out of the foyer and turned the corner to the kitchen. There were three blonde women of varying ages whom I have never seen before. They were preparing food for the party, and one of the women was holding a baby.
“There you are, Melissa!” one of the women said to me. She appeared to be in her mid-50s but had no wrinkles. Her skin was smooth and flawless and she had a perfect smile affixed to her face. She had shiny straight blonde hair past her shoulders.
Before I could answer, another woman with flawless skin, this one was somewhere in her 30s with a black headband over her shoulder-length bob, came over to me and handed me the baby she was holding on her hip.
“Here you go,” she said warmly. “She’s been looking for you all day!”
She smiled and nodded as I took the baby from her. I was confused.
“She’s… she’s mine?” I asked.
“What do you mean she’s yours?” asked the third woman, who was clearly the oldest. She was nearly 70, and her eyes crinkled with crow’s feet when she moved her mouth. Her hair was tied up in a bun. The blonde in her hair was mostly gone and replaced with metallic silver streaks.
”Of course ‘she’s yours,’” she said, moving her fingers as air quotes. “You’re the one who made her!”
All three of the women looked at one another and laughed.
I never gave birth, never was pregnant, but somehow I couldn’t help to think that these women were right. This baby was mine. I knew because the second I held her in my arms my world felt whole.
Then I realized that those blonde women standing in the kitchen all had similar facial features. Round faces, blue almond-shaped eyes. Their faces looked a lot like my own. Could they all have been me?
While I was pondering this conundrum, holding my baby on my hips, I heard a crashing noise coming from upstairs. It sounded like it was coming from the same side of the house as my room.
I made my way to the foyer and walked upstairs. I glanced out the windows overlooking the front lawn on my way up and noticed that no one was there. Everyone was gone. There was no sign of a party, not even a discarded plastic cup. The rummaging at the top of the stairs grew louder, so I made pace to get up there. When I turned the corner and got to my room the door was ajar.
When I pushed it open, I lost my breath. There was another unknown blonde woman hunched over my dresser. She was half-turned to me, so she was peering over her shoulder with her back still towards me. I saw my jewelry box open in her hands and noticed she had a gold chain dangling from her mouth.
Still staring at me, she quickly grabbed another piece from the jewelry box, a ring with a ruby gemstone, and shoved it in her mouth. She was missing teeth, and wedged the ring into her bottom gum and it became a tooth.
“What are you doing!” I screamed at her. But she didn’t stop. She only grabbed the jewelry faster, sticking them where her teeth once were. I put my baby down on the ground, and felt my knees get weak with rage.
Something came over me at that moment, and I lunged at her, bringing her to the ground. I got her arms under my knees. Up close, I could see she looked much older than she was. Her skin was loose, spotted and wrinkly, like an old woman’s, but her body didn’t feel as frail.
I was determined to get my jewelry back, so I went for her mouth. I grabbed one of her teeth and pulled. It came out easier than I expected, like a plug in an electrical outlet. There was no blood, and the woman didn’t scream, she just stared at me with wide, panicked eyes. The tooth immediately turned back into jewelry, this one a sterling silver bangle.
One after another, each tooth turned into a piece of jewelry; a ring, earrings, necklace. There were nearly a dozen teeth in all, and all equally as easy and painless to extract. The woman never made a sound.
When I was done, I grabbed her by the arm, picked up my baby with my other arm, and dragged her downstairs.
The three women from earlier were still in the kitchen. I asked them if they had ever seen this woman, but they all ignored me. I yelled at them to call the police, but they apparently couldn’t hear me. I went around the kitchen and waved my arms in front of each of the women, but it was no use. They couldn’t see me, either.
“Hello! Hello!” I shouted endlessly as I ran around the kitchen. “Can anyone hear me! Call the police! This woman was stealing from me!”
I grabbed one of the blonde women by the arm, but she didn’t budge. My heartbeat picked up, and a cool sweat formed on my forehead.
I turned around and noticed the woman from upstairs was now smiling wryly. She could see that I was alarmed, but she looked amused. She stuck her hand in the back of her mouth and grabbed another tooth. It looked like a molar, I must’ve missed it. When she removed it, it turned into a piece of jewelry, a gold locket.
She flipped it open. Inside was a black and white picture. A photo of a younger woman. It was clearly her, but with a full set of teeth. On the other side of the locket was a photo of the baby I was carrying. The photo looked at least a half century old, but the baby looked identical.
I glanced at the child in my arms. The baby was asleep. I looked back at the woman. She stared at me, blankly, without blinking her eyes, and then cocked her head and slowly cracked a large, toothless grin.
*All art for this post was made using the Midjourney text-to-image AI. To submit a dream to be turned into a story, please email Dr. Eams at inyourdreams.substack@gmail.com.