By J.K. Petrie
Click here to see content warnings
Little Girl Heaven contains mentions of child death as well as on-screen, fantastical depictions of child death. There is also an abstracted depiction of animal/child abuse.
These topics are approached from a place of empathy and personal experience. Thank you for taking care of yourselves!
When little girls go to Little Girl Heaven their Webkinz get to go with them. She learns this after she is hit by a milk truck. On her way up, she remembers one last thing about her family– her mother hated how truckers would always speed by the house. Then she forgets.
They’ve all just gotten there. At least, that’s what the other girls say if you try to ask them anything. They don’t know. They just got here. Some of the girls hadn’t played with their toys in a long time before they died, but they still hold them close because there is nothing else to hold. Some of the Webkinz girls hadn’t logged in for years, and the guilt makes them cry into their threadbare fur. She is one of those girls. When she scoops her white terrier into her arms, the kind that comes with a pink bow sewn to its ear, she says she is sorry, she is so sorry. It tells her to please never, ever leave it again. You’re my mommy, it reminds her. You’re my best friend. She cries harder.
The air in Little Girl Heaven smells warm and plasticky and sweet, like a Barbie’s brushed scalp mixed with vanilla body spray. The kind you’d get in a dollar store bath kit. It’s because of the grains of sugar floating in the air. When she would sit in gym class after school, she remembers, the sunshine would hit the windows in just the right way and illuminate every speck of dust. That’s what they look like to her. That thought dissipates, then she forgets it altogether.
Everyone has something, or several things, that they carry with them. She notices that the other girls refer to one another based on their items–Pinkie Pie Girl, Blue Eyeshadow Girl, McDonald’s Beanie Baby Girl, Cupcake Wrapper Girl. They start calling her Terrier Girl like it’s always been her name, and maybe it has.
One girl has a mood ring with a cracked gem. It never changes from black, and none of the others have the heart to tell her it’s broken. She has no eyebrows and dark eyelashes, and she smells like something burning, and her smile is all-red and gummy because her teeth are short. Terrier Girl tells her, You can hold my Webkinz if you want to, and Mood Ring Girl grips it by the neck with that same scary smile, so she snatches it back. She feels guilty when Mood Ring Girl looks down at her shoes. She doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t look like she’s ever been taught how you should hold one. Still, she doesn’t feel guilty enough to let her hold it again.
I bet she’s going to melt, Pinkie Pie Girl remarks. Terrier Girl asks her what that means, but she doesn’t know. She just got here.
She soon learns that there are endless rooms in Little Girl Heaven, and they are all allowed to go in any that they’d like. Terrier Girl decides to go to Grandma’s House first. You’ll love it, Blue Eyeshadow Girl tells her. As she speaks, Terrier Girl notices that her lips are greasy with glitter. The guest room has a bed, and a TV, and all your favorite tapes, and there’s a doggy. Not like your fake one. Terrier Girl does not question how she knows what her favorite tapes are. Instead, she tells her that her puppy is real, and it’s her baby. Blue Eyeshadow Girl sniffs and looks away.
She’s right about how great Grandma’s House is. Terrier Girl finds lone earrings and crayon nubs in the carpet. It smells like coffee and that same burning smell that Mood Ring Girl has, but nicer. There is a doggy, as she was told. He is old and white and does nothing much other than sleep in front of the box fan. His fur is soft.
I love you, Mommy, her Webkinz says as she pets the dog. Do you love me even though I’m not a real puppy?
Of course she does. She kisses its nose and hugs it close, then she puts on a movie. When she is at Grandma’s House, it feels like the whole world is smiling at her.
She doesn’t know how much time is passing as she explores more rooms. It could be forever. Terrier Girl doesn’t like all the rooms. Party Room smells like sweat and throw-up, and it makes her Webkinz shiver and whine. She likes Outside Room okay once she gets to it; she makes potions out of water bottle scraps and river water and pretty bright red dirt. She imagines that a fallen log in the woods is a couch in her living room, and she makes a TV out of a flat piece of driftwood.
Her favorite room of all, though, is Baby Room. It seems to be the other girls’ favorite, too. They are always playing family there. As the other girls dictate one another’s roles–You be Daddy this time Kiwi Lip Smacker Girl, Mood Ring Girl gets to be the baby–Terrier Girl mothers her doggy. She tells it that Mommy isn’t going anywhere. And you can call for Mommy if you need anything. Even if you pee in the bed, Mommy won’t leave you in it. I’ll even change the sheets for you and give you a bath. And I won’t be mad at you. You can always call for Mommy.
An odd smell interrupts her. She turns around.
Mood Ring Girl’s skin is shiny and she is breathing fast. At first, Terrier Girl thinks it’s just sweat, but then her outsides start to drip away like frosting on an uncooled cake. The air smells burnt and sickly sweet. It is making a whining noise like it is trying not to cry. The other girls are standing around her in a circle. It’s happening, Pinkie Pie Girl says, and as if on cue, the air around them caramelizes into syrup. The girls start coughing as it sticks to the back of their throats. She grins a cousin of a smile as tendrils of hot glitter-glue sugar burn her skin, her gums redder than ever. Then she bursts into flames and disappears.
Everyone is quiet for a moment. That’s why she got to be the baby, Pinkie Pie Girl declares to Kiwi Lip Smacker Girl, who argued that she should have gotten that role. It’s only fair.
Then they forget.
*
They are having a sleepover in Slumber Party Room and they all feel like they have been there forever. There are empty mini soda cans, pizza boxes, and candy wrappers strewn across the floor, but none of the girls feel full. Each girl dutifully participates in her own activity. Baby Alive Girl is painting her doll’s nails, Cupcake Wrapper Girl is showing McDonald’s Beanie Baby Girl how to make an origami flower, Kiwi Lip Smacker Girl is choosing a movie to watch, and Terrier Girl is combing through her puppy’s sparse, thready fur with a plastic fork. She’d made her puppy its own little sleeping bag out of some spare cloth she found in Fashion Room. Its little legs are dangling out of the top of it. It gives her the same look it always gives her when it wants to tell her a secret. She looks back expectantly.
I know you stopped logging in to play with me because I was bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bad.
She reminds it that it isn’t bad. Of course it isn’t bad. Mommy loves her baby. Her baby is her best friend.
Am I your best friend in real life, or just in pretend? It asks. She swears that she sees its little nose twitch. Her eyes get misty and she kisses its forehead. She tells her Webkinz of course it’s not pretend.
Kiwi Lip Smacker Girl clicks her tongue and looks down at her fingernails. The polish is already chipping away into little bright green, sparkly curls. She loudly announces that secret time was earlier and it was for real people only, not toys.
Terrier Girl snaps that she is talking to a real person. At least mine can talk, she says. Chapstick is dumb. All yours does is change color. That’s not even that cool.
The room goes quiet. Everyone is staring at her, and the tension is getting thicker. The air feels sticky. Eventually, she mumbles an apology. Cupcake Wrapper girl gives her a knowing look and passes her another soda, and Kiwi Lip Smacker Girl puts on the movie without saying anything else. Everyone nods off before it is over except her. She decides to take her Webkinz to Baby Room so they can fall asleep together on the plush floor. From that point on, that is where she falls asleep every single night. She always thinks about that sleepover right before she goes to bed–feels her cheeks get hot with embarrassment at the memory, clutches her Webkinz close to her chest–even though the other girls seem to think it never happened at all. Holding on to the memory feels wrong, so she decides to act like it didn’t happen, too.
Things stop being the same soon. She recognizes that candy from Grandma’s House used to taste like the color pink, but now tastes like nothing at all. When she is in Outside Room, she can’t think of any more potions to make. It isn’t fun anymore. The air doesn’t feel clear enough to run through: It clings to her skin and makes her chest hurt. Even Baby Room is wrong. It smells like spoiled milk in there. Sometimes the other girls linger in the doorway to watch her when she is trying to fall asleep. All she can do is stare back.
One night as she is falling asleep, she hears Blue Eyeshadow Girl say something to the others about a room she doesn’t remember visiting. It is called Reflection Room. They speak in whispers, and when Terrier Girl musters the courage to ask them what is there, they giggle. They giggle because it is not for her to know. Nobody goes there, they say. Then they break out into laughter.
Her Webkinz shakes at the mention of Reflection Room. She decides that she is going to go that night.
You can’t take me there, Mommy, it says.
She knows. That’s why she decides to lock it in Baby Room before she leaves.
*
When she returns to Baby Room, it is eerily quiet. She does not remember Reflection Room. She does not remember how long it has been at all. She remembers all the wrong things, and she feels all the wrong ways.
She unlocks the door and sees her Webkinz crumpled in the corner. The fur under its eyes is dry and matted from tears, and its bow has been ripped away from its ear. It does not come running to her like usual. It looks like it is debating whether to get up or not, but decides not to. You promised you wouldn’t leave me again, it says. Terrier Girl feels a flash of something familiar and far-away at the same time. I just needed to go do something.
I waited good, it says. I cried quiet. It gets up and walks over to her. It puts its cheek in the palm of her hand. Please don’t leave me again tonight. Pretty please with a cherry on top. I missed you.
Before she realizes what she is doing, she picks up the Webkinz and throws it hard. Its soft body thumps against the drywall, and it falls with a yelp. You’re my best friend, it pleads. It is shaking. You’re still my Mommy.
“I HATE YOU. MY LIFE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO END UP LIKE THIS. I SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU BEHIND.”
She bursts into tears and falls to the floor. I’m sorry, she pleads, scooping it into her arms. I’m still your Mommy. I still want to be your Mommy. I love you. I’m sorry.
It does not respond. Its body is limp. Its face is static.
She frantically runs her hands through its fur. I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. But the Webkinz says nothing. It is just a toy now.
She smells hot sugar.
J.K. Petrie (they/them) is a bisexual, nonbinary author currently living in Oklahoma. Their work examines queerness, distortion, and the absurdity and fear that hum beneath the ordinary. They also enjoy music production, LGBT advocacy, and the visual arts. Although they have self-published two novels, this will be their first feature in a literary magazine. You can find them at @j.k.petrie on Instagram or @jkpetrie on Bluesky.
The Q&A Queerzine 