The forgotten tale of Cindy Bella

Once upon a time their lived a family, The Smiths. The mother worked in an average office, her three daughters attended an average high school and on the surface they seemed the definition of normality. However Cindy, the adoptive daughter of Mrs smith, could see a strange hunger in their eyes. She could sense lies in their false smiles and laughs. All her life, after they adopted her from her inadequate parents as a baby, Cindy's instinct lead her to question their intentions.
Cindy was more then an adoptive daughter. They adopted her for two particular reasons. To be a slave girl to their average suburban lifestyle. Her delicate body wore the burden of all her hard work, however Mrs Smith was never satisfied. Cindy was unaware of the second reason, which added to the pot of curiosity boiling about The Smiths true identity. She knew that beneath this happy family there were underlying requirements she was soon to be confronted with. Mrs Smith would poison Cindy's mind with hints such as 'We will reveal all, in good time' or 'Cindy. We must start preparing soon.' These words would echo in Cindy's mind feeding her interest as well as her angst. To add to the enigma of The Smiths, there was a door in this average four bedroomed house. A heavy wooden door which Cindy was forbidden to go near. The Smiths were the only ones to enter this holy, sacred room and religiously they would all go in together at night, unaware that Cindy would listen aching to find information to piece together the puzzle she was building in her mind. Mrs Smith wore the key around her neck, giving it so much importance you would think this key could unlock all her darkest secrets. This thought often crossed Cindy's mind as she could hear the venomous key slide into the lock and The Smith family creep into their secret lair.

One night, the curiosity got the better of Cindy and scraped away any last ounce of common sense. She waited patiently for the time to come. When she could smell their evil, mysterious stench she prowled out of bed, reassured they had all gone in the room and no one was left to witness her act of stupidity she pushed open the large door of temptation just enough so her bony frail body could squeeze through. When she entered there were stairs going down into what she assumed was a basement. Gradually as she got further down more and more light appeared. She thought that she couldn't be witnessing this horrid state of affairs but the grotesque smell of dead, unwashed flesh made the experience all too real. Blood had stained every inch of the room. There were shelves with mass amounts of needles, knives and other apparatus which quite clearly had lead to the most nauseating sight of all. An accretion of bodies tossed on the floor like leftovers. The majority were dead which was evident from the pale colour of their chewed skin and the blood still seeping out of their limbs. To add to this desolate picture, a select few were alive, gagged and had been thrown in with the rotting corpses. In the centre of the carnage were the Smiths. The beasts were sat on the floor, swimming in gore and feasting upon human flesh. Real people. Cindy could feel the vomit churning in her stomach. She had to get out of there but she it's not as if a fairy god mother was going to come save her. She crept back up the basement stairs praying that someone, anyone could save her from becoming the next forgotten soul. She got into her room, thinking all was safe and she hadn't been spotted by her relentless, cannibalistic family. Until she looked up to find Mrs smith behind her.

Cindy awoke feeling drowsy from the drug that had been slithered through her veins like venom. The needle they used to penetrate her bruised, battered skin lay on the floor tormenting her battered body. Mrs Smith was pacing the room, staring at Cindy with an intense glare. She now knew what the desire was behind those eyes. 'Well, that was silly of you' stated Mrs Smith in a smug, menacing tone. 'Please, I've served you well all these years!' Cindy cried, the tears falling at the same pace as the blood from her knees 'don't do this to me, please.' The desperation in Cindy's voice, the years of service she provided for that family, were not enough. Cindy became one of the lost souls, lingering in that blood bath with only the stale stench of her body to keep her memory alive. In The Smith family no one lives happily ever after.