User:Cnfaust

SECONDHAND HAUNTING

When I was young, my grandmother gave me a doll. It was obviously old and probably priceless. They just don’t make that kind of thing anymore. I remember it was white porcelain with a delicate face and hands and soft blonde curls. Its dress was stiff pink taffeta, and on its feet were little white boots. On the crook of its white elbow were two words, stamped in gold ink, For Caroline. My name wasn’t Caroline, so I assumed she had found it at a yard sale or something and thought it would be a nice present. She said she had had it for years - but of all the times I had been to her house and explored her attic I had never seen it. It didn’t matter. You know how kids of our generation were - I was more interested in the latest Barbie doll at that age and had no use for an antique.

My mother set the doll on a shelf over my bed and that was the end of that. I never played with it. It just sat on the shelf and stared me down in the mirror that was on the wall right across from my bed. If you want the truth, it scared me to look at it too long. I was never one to fear dolls but there was just something about it that made me pull the covers over my head like a scared five year-old. Nothing happened until I was twelve. Three days before my birthday, my grandmother died. I heard my mother wailing and my stepfather trying to comfort her. My grandmother hadn’t even been her mother … she was my dad’s mother, but my dad was dead. I hadn’t heard her cry like that since his funeral.

For the longest time I sat on my bed in the midst of a sea of stuffed animals and brink pink pillows, just staring at myself in the mirror. I had long ago cried myself dry, leaving my eyes sore and my cheeks raw from the stains. I was exhausted and soon fell asleep in my school clothes. I don’t remember how late it was. That night I woke up to a loud thudding that seemed like it was coming from right over my bed. I pulled my blankets up over my head (they had slipped down in the night) and tried it ignore it. Usually when I heard that it meant that I should just stay in bed. The first time I had heard it when I was four I ran into my mother’s room. I was greeted with the sight of my dad’s bare backside. I couldn’t see my mother but she was screaming, and I was scared - thinking he was hurting her. I started crying. They heard me, and after some panicked scrambling my mother found her robe, put her arms around me, and carried me back to bed. She told me that if I heard thudding on the wall that I should just sleep until it went away. It was sound advice that had stuck with me for certain. But this thudding was louder, more persistent. I was beginning to get annoyed. I wasn’t four anymore, and now I knew that there were ways she and my stepfather could be more considerate. I reached over the side of my bed and banged hard against the lavender plaster with my fist. It quieted for a moment, and then started up again. I groaned and buried my head beneath my pillow. It just got louder, quicker. In exasperation I sat up, and my eyes fell onto the mirror. And that was when I saw it. Little white boots, no bigger than my own feet, were banging against the wall, knocking holes into the plaster with their force. On the tiny white shelf above my bed sat a girl, no older than me and definitely as big, right in the place where my doll usually sat. She looked exactly like the doll, as if it had been modeled perfectly after her. Her gaze locked with mine in the mirror and she stared me down, kicking the wall furiously, annoyed.

My mouth fell open, but I was too shocked to scream. I looked up above my head but there was nothing. Only the doll, sitting quietly on the shelf. But once I reverted my gaze back to the mirror there she would be sitting, kicking. After what seemed like forever, I shook off my paralysis and was able to throw back my covers and jump out of bed. I ran out of the room, fleeing to the living room where I knew it would be safe. I curled up on the couch, throwing one of the old knit blankets over my head and didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. My mother found me in the morning, she still red-eyed and worn, and told me that I didn’t have to go to school. She took my hand and escorted me back to bed, telling me to lay down and she would bring me some breakfast in a few hours. I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my room at all. But I looked in the mirror and the girl was not there, only the doll. Anxiously, I waited until my mother closed the door behind her and then I snatched the doll from its place on the shelf. I clutched it in my hands, staring it down. Its bright blue glass eyes only stared back at me, expressionless. Suddenly seized with an irrational paranoia, I chucked it into a corner. Its porcelain head hit the wall with an ugly crack and it slumped against the baseboard, staring at me. I stuck out my tongue in its direction and then fell back to my pillow, pulling my covers over my head. I waited to see if the thudding started up again, but there was nothing. I was able to fall back asleep. I woke up I don’t know how many hours later. I was still under the covers. I could see the noon sun that was coming through my window filter through the pink fabric of my coverlet. I sighed and threw them off, suddenly aware of how hot I was. Off-handedly I threw a glance towards the corner.

The doll wasn’t there. Fear gripped me once again, causing a knot in my throat to tighten. I looked around for any sign of it, and when I glanced in the mirror, I saw the girl again. This time, she was sitting cross-legged on the foot of my bed, her back to me. I tore my eyes away and glanced down. The doll was propped up against the foot of the bed. I hoped to heaven that my mother had put it there. I looked back at the mirror. The girl was just sitting there, staring at me with unblinking blue eyes. I couldn’t move. I tried use my legs to sweep the doll off the bed, but my feet were too tangled in the sheets. The girl’s mouth didn’t move, but I heard a sweet, childish voice in my ear. “Come play with me,” “No,” I said, without thinking. The girl’s forehead wrinkled and her lips turned down in a frown. “You can’t say no,” she said. “You’re not real.”

Dumbfounded, I choked on a frightened laugh. “What!” I said. “I am real!” Her face cleared. “Daddy says I can have another doll. My old ones are broken. I can’t play with them anymore.” This was ridiculous. “You are a doll,” I said viciously, hoping maybe she would snap back to reality and go back to being inanimate. Maybe then she’d leave me alone. A childish giggle echoed in my ears, loud and high and entirely inhuman. “No, silly, I am not the doll,” the girl in the mirror actually smiled. I expected teeth, but when she parted her tiny pink lips there was only gaping darkness. “You will see.” I was shaking. I yanked the covers off the bed and the doll fell to the ground, the head breaking from the neck and rolling across the floor. But the girl was still sitting on my bed. “You will see!” she started to chant, sing-song. “You will see, you will see, you will see! Daddy says I can have a new doll! I need a new doll to play with!” I burst into tears. My door flew open and my mother came dashing in, arms already outstretched for a hug. She fell onto my bed and wrapped herself around me, holding me tight. “My poor baby!” she said. “I know it’s hard, baby... I know...!” She didn’t know. She had no idea. Over my crying mother’s shoulder I could still see the girl in the mirror. It bothered me that my mother apparently could not. My stepfather lingered in the doorway. I could barely see past my mother, but I could tell he was staring at the foot of the bed. It made me wonder if he could see the girl. That night, I would not sleep in my room. Mother let me stay on the couch, but warned me that I would still have to go to school in the morning. I agreed. School was great. School would get me out of the house. She shut off the lights but left the TV on mute, so at least I would have something. Our house was small. The living room opened up into a small, narrow kitchen - and from there you could see out onto the porch. Through the screen door I could see my stepfather pacing and smoking his little white cigarettes, his heavy boots making the rickety wooden boards creak. The good half of his face was turned towards me, and I was grateful. He told us that he had lost half of it in a fire, and I didn’t like looking at the burnt side. I thought he was talking on the phone. I could see his mouth moving and I could hear snippets of conversation. “I know, but I have to be careful.” “I will make them for you, I will.” “Caroline, Caroline, don’t cry - please - papa is sorry.” Not long after that he swung the screen door open. A gust of brisk night air wafted in and sent a chill down my spine. He looked at me only briefly as he passed through the living room and into my mother’s bedroom. He shut the door behind him and locked it. A few minutes later my mother started screaming. I pressed my lips together and turned up the TV volume. I wanted to yell or bang on the door but I remained on the couch, desperately trying to pay attention to the late night sitcoms and not to what was happening in there.

The next morning I didn’t go back into my room to dress, instead I had chosen to sleep in my school clothes. My stepfather stepped out of his bedroom and shut the door behind him, buttoning the cufflinks on his dress shirt. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “Where is momma?” I asked in return, clutching my lunchbox to my chest. “She isn’t feeling well. I am going to take you to school,” he smiled at me. “Come on, let’s go.” I balked. Something was wrong, I could feel it. “No,” I said, “I want mom to take me.” The corner of his lip curled back in a snarl. I recoiled. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. “You are going to be late. Go out to the car.” “NO!” “Caroline, get in the car now!” he roared. “My name is not Caroline!” I shouted back. He paused, but only for a moment, as if my response had shaken him. “Of course it isn’t. Get in the car,” unwilling to fight any longer, he grabbed my arm and hauled me up, all but dragging me out to the car. I struggled in his grip, hitting him with my lunchbox and kicking him with my shoes. He growled in frustration. “I have no time for you!” he said. Before I could register what was happening he sent me reeling backwards with a painful blow to my head. I cried out, dazed, and I felt him shove me to the ground and hold me there with his foot pressed against my back. With a few swift movements, he jerked my arms behind me and bound my wrists with a hard plastic zip tie. He then lifted me up and set me in the passenger seat of his car. He got in on the other side and began driving, but I knew I wasn’t going to school. We drove for what seemed like forever. He eventually veered off the main road and headed towards the river where we used to picnic as a family. I felt more tears welling up as I thought about what was going to happen, or what would probably happen

There was kicking on the back of my seat. I glanced into the rearview mirror. There was the girl, sitting in the back seat and bouncing up and down excitedly. She stared at me, almost in anticipation. I looked away The car hit the muddy riverbank and stopped. My stepfather got out first, then he opened the passenger door to pull me out. “Don’t break her!” a tiny child voice called out in dismay. “I won’t, baby girl,” my stepfather said, dragging me over to the edge of the bank where the water lapped at your toes. He forced me to my knees and said, “I am trying to preserve her.” I looked up at him, hoping I could change his mind. “Why?” I asked, plaintively. He locked gazes with me, his one good eye devoid of all expression. “Because,” he said. “Caroline needs more dolls.” he pressed against the back of my neck, forcing me to take my first big gulp of river water. I struggled futilely, my body spasming in panic, the toes of my shoes digging into the mud as I tried to push myself up. Even then, I heard a sweet voice in my ear. “Don’t worry,” it whispered. “It doesn’t hurt for long. And then you and I can play together.” even as darkness swallowed my world I heard her voice singing, “New doll, new doll, new doll! Play games! All day! Play, play ,play!”

I woke up feeling like my eyes had been ripped out of my head. It took me some time to adjust my vision, but the world was still like looking through a warped fisheye lens. I tried to move my hands but I could not. All I could do was stare ahead, straight into the mirror hanging on the wall - and at the little girl’s room it faced.