Horrible Harper

Chapter One, Episode Three

Scene Seven – (Harper’s Jealousy)

Night descended quietly, wrapping the small wooden house in silence. In Harper’s room, the moonlight slipped through the window, casting silver streaks across the walls and deepening the sense of solitude.

She sat on her large bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her wide eyes fixed on the void ahead as though searching for answers to questions she did not yet know how to form. But one thing was unmistakable—the fire smoldering inside her.

Her delicate, childlike face no longer radiated only innocence; instead, it was hardened, filled with anger and jealousy, so much so that she resembled a grown woman consumed by envy rather than a ten-year-old girl.

Every so often, faint laughter floated from her parents’ room—laughter wrapped around the image of the newborn, Charles, who now filled their lives with joy. Each sound was like a small blade piercing her heart, reminding her that she was no longer the sole light in their world, that her place in their love was dimming.

She turned restlessly on her bed before suddenly sitting up, as though an unseen force urged her to move. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and she began walking slowly, following an inner call she could neither name nor resist. Her steps were quiet, but heavy with jealousy, carrying her toward the door.

Harper’s small hand reached for the knob, twisting it softly. The door creaked open, and she slipped into the dark hallway that separated her room from her parents’. Her breath quickened; her heart pounded furiously. With every step closer to Margaret’s room, the storm inside her grew—jealousy, anger, and perhaps a fear she could not yet understand.

At last, she stood before the door. Her hand hovered over the knob again, trembling with hesitation, torn between retreat and the burning need to see for herself the one who had stolen her mother’s heart.

In that moment, Harper was no longer just a child. She was a fragile vessel for a darker seed—jealousy taking root in the depths of her soul, ready to grow.

Scene Eight – (Harper Wants to Pee)

In the depth of the night, the room was drowned in an atmosphere of warmth and cheer. Margaret’s and Robert’s laughter rang out, mingling with the innocent cries and chuckles of baby Charles. Everything inside seemed alive, as if the room had become a little self-contained world that needed no one from outside.

At the threshold of the door stood Harper in silence, her eyes fixed sharply on the scene before her. She did not see in Margaret a mother, nor in Robert a father. What she saw was a thick wall, a barrier that separated her from the new world that had been born the moment the child arrived. Her small, frail body appeared tense, her tiny fingers clutching at the hem of her dress, jealousy burning fiercely across her delicate face.

She watched as Margaret cradled the infant to her chest with tenderness, and how Robert joined in the laughter while playing with Charles. That simple moment, filled with love and safety for them, struck Harper like a cruel slap—an undeniable reminder that she was nothing more than an unwanted shadow.

When Margaret finally lifted her head and noticed Harper standing there, her voice came out cold, stripped of any affection:

— “What do you want, Harper?”

For a brief moment, the little girl hesitated, as if searching for a convincing excuse for her presence. Then she muttered, her voice strained:

— “I want to pee.”

A faint smile flickered on Margaret’s lips, tinged with mockery.

— “When you leave this room, turn slightly to the left. You’ll find the bathroom.”

Harper could not bear the tone. With childish defiance that tried to mask her fragility, she shot back:

— “I know.”

She turned abruptly, her small feet striking the floor with a force that did not match her tiny body. Behind her, the room still brimmed with laughter, while she was swallowed by the darkened corridors of the house. In her eyes, unshed tears shimmered, and in her heart, anger far too vast for her age—anger that seemed like a vow of vengeance against every moment she had felt unwanted.

And behind the closed door, Robert’s and Margaret’s laughter continued to echo, hammering in her ears the undeniable truth: she was nothing more than an intruder in a world where she had no place.