In Nightmares We're Alone (5 page)

This was way, way back a really long time ago, like over a year. Back before the new baby came out dead and Daddy left and Mommy started collecting dolls and stopped loving us.

So Sissy was really ticked about changing rooms and Daddy bought her off with this big, fancy vanity. A bunch of drawers and a jewelry tray and a big circular mirror and the whole thing in polished oak. And he said it was going in the spare bedroom and it could be her room if she wanted it to. So right away Sissy packed up all her stuff and moved into the room she has now. The only thing she left behind was her old vanity—this big, clunky thing they bought secondhand when Sissy was barely older than I am now.

Daddy said they were going to throw the old vanity out and put in a crib and everything.

Then, as Mommy says, life happened. And then there wasn’t a baby coming anymore and Daddy was always drinking and breaking things and he went away and left the old vanity in the doll room. And I guess nobody ever felt like going to the trouble of taking it apart to get it out of the door, because the vanity is still right where Daddy moved it all those months ago, right in front of the closet.

That’s where this doll is pointing. At the vanity.

In the middle of the vanity is a drawer that’s cracked open like all the right doors seem to be. It’s not a huge drawer, but it’s big enough for… well, it’s big enough.

I go to the vanity and put a hand on each side of the drawer. I can hear my own heartbeat and I notice I’m not breathing.

Come on, Macie. You can do this. Be a grown up.

I close my eyes, take five deep breaths, and count down from ten. When I get to zero, I pull the drawer open.

There she is. Her half-grin looks bigger now and I give it fifty-fifty whether that’s my imagination. Even the side she’s not grinning with looks like it might be grinning a little.

I don’t know if Mommy lied about getting rid of her or if she just came back from the store, but I’m not surprised to find her. As soon as I woke up and saw Kaylie up there where she’s not supposed to be anymore, I knew Beth was in the house somewhere.

I look down at the doll.

I could burn it now.

The fireplace starts with a light switch. I’m not tall enough to reach by myself but a kitchen chair would do the trick. I could burn the body and smash the head and bury the pieces in the yard. But what would Mommy do?

Actually…

Nothing. How can she?

If she says the doll is missing I can remind her she returned it to the shop. She doesn’t even know I know where she keeps the key to the doll room, not that I needed it to get in. Mommy can’t even get mad unless she admits she lied to me.

I reach down with both hands and grab the doll’s body.

Before I can pick her up, her right hand comes up unassisted and lands gently on my left index finger.

She doesn’t move other than that slight jerk that almost could have happened on its own, but I hear a voice that goes with it. I don’t hear it like it’s in the room, more like when you imagine something so clear you swear it’s real. And I know I don’t imagine it because it’s not a baby voice or a little girl’s voice like I’d imagine for Beth. If anything, it’s a kindhearted old lady’s voice.

In my head, it says:
I’m gonna be your new Mommy, Macie.

And that’s when I start screaming.

Tuesday I don’t even go to school. Mommy takes the day off work and takes me to a doctor and the doctor is the seven billionth person to tell me witches aren’t real and dolls can’t talk and then ask what’s really bothering me, is there trouble at school, are the other kids mean to me, and all that. He even closes the door and asks if Mommy ever hits me and I shake my head no because I’m pretty sure he’s talking about a kind of hitting meaner mommies and daddies do and I’m not sure Mommy’s whuppings qualify.

The doctor tells Mommy I’m just an imaginative little girl and the whole ride home Mommy keeps saying she just doesn’t know what she’s going to do with me and my sister never acted out like this, not when she was my age, she was a good little girl, and blah, blah, blah.

I don’t know what Mommy was expecting anyway. That the doctor would give me pills that make dolls stop pointing at doors in the night? Maybe just that he’d say, ‘No worries, ma’am, we’ll find a new home for your daughter.’ Not the worst idea, really. Everybody’d be all sad and everything but at least Mommy could keep collecting her stupid dolls and I wouldn’t have to live in a house with them. A dollhouse. It’s not a people house anymore, it’s a dollhouse. More and more, every day.

Mommy won’t even own up to lying to me. She says well what did I expect, she has to send the doll back to the shop and the mail goes out in the mornings so she couldn’t do it yesterday and there’s no time today either because I’ve been acting out so much and she had to take me to the doctor, and the way I’m acting she doesn’t think I even deserve to have the doll sent back in the first place so maybe I should just get used to not always having my way.

I barely talk all day. I throw all my dolls back in the garbage and Mommy doesn’t seem to care anymore and I spend the rest of the day watching cartoons and reading books about turtles or mermaids or anything except for stupid-ass dolls.

When I go to sleep, I wake up again during the night and there’s Kaylie again, standing on the shelf and pointing. And the door is cracked again, same as it was last night. I can even hear the voice again, somewhere out in the house, or somewhere inside my mind.

I stand up without my flashlight, walk to the door, and shut it. I throw Kaylie back in the closet, get back in bed, and go to sleep.

“Macie Michelle Giddings, you get out of bed this instant!”

That’s what I wake up to the next morning. Mommy is standing at the foot of my bed with both hands on her hips like an angry cartoon character.

I look at my clock. It’s only 6:30. Normally I wake up for school at 7:00 so I don’t know what she’s upset about.

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t
what
me, young lady, you know darn well what.”

“Um…” I rack my brain but I can’t come up with anything. “Probably something to do with dolls, I guess?”

“Don’t be smart with me. Get up.”

She’s not satisfied with the speed I’m getting out of bed at so she grabs my arm and pulls me through the hallway into the doll room. If there were dolls on the floor last night the way there were the night before, they’re gone now. Everything’s back to normal so that I don’t even have evidence.

Inside the doll room, Beth sits alone on the top shelf where she always sits. On the floor beneath her are two dolls with smashed open heads who have fallen from their places next to Beth on the top shelf.

“You want to tell me how this happened?”

“I didn’t
do
it.”

Mommy puts a hand over her face and shakes her head. “Macie, this doll stuff is getting really,
really
old. Do you expect me to believe it was your sister? Or that Buster unlocked the door in the night?”

“I don’t even have the key.”

“Bull! Two nights in a row you’ve been in there. I should’ve moved the key yesterday, but you had me so caught up in everything with the doctor. That was stupid on my part. But you have no excuse. This has to stop, or… or I don’t know what, Macie, but it better stop before we have to find out.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” I stand there looking down at the floor, trying not to let tears come out. I’m sick of crying these last few days.

“Well, it’s done now. It’s too late for sorry,” she says. She looks down at the broken porcelain. “What happened?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Were you climbing the shelf to get to Beth? Because it’s really dangerous for you to—”

“I don’t
remember
.”

She just looks disappointed with me the way she always does lately. “Macie, I’m going to make this very clear:
do not
touch Beth. Do you hear me? I mean it. Never touch her. And never, ever come in this room again. You’re not grown up enough for it and I think you’ve proved that. You are not responsible enough to touch Mommy’s dolls anymore.”

“Okay,” I say, wounded. I don’t see the use in fighting.

“Go get ready for school. You can make your own lunch today. I’m not doing it.”

“Okay, Mommy.” I start to walk away and I stop. “I’m sorry your dolls are… I’m sorry I broke your dolls.”

She just keeps shaking her head. And up above her Beth is grinning that baby grin.

While I’m making a peanut butter sandwich in the kitchen I can hear Mommy sweeping up the mess and mumbling to herself about how she can’t do this anymore. I can’t do it anymore either. It wasn’t perfect before Beth got here, but it was never this bad. Maybe me and Sissy can run away somewhere. Maybe if I could find out where Daddy went he’d let me come live with him. But I don’t know how much longer I can be in a house with Beth. Even if she doesn’t kill us, I don’t think I can take it.

* * * * *

When it’s time for Show and Tell I raise my hand right away. I’m the only one with my hand up. Mrs. Harris doesn’t look thrilled about it.

“Macie,” she says. “Maybe you want to tell us why you weren’t at school yesterday?”

“No,” I say. “I brought something to show.”

I reach into my backpack and get out the doll. Kaylie. Wearing the dress Mommy made for her instead of the original dress I liked. I walk to the front of the room holding her at my side.

“This is my doll Kaylie,” I say.

Eyes shift from side to side. Boys look like they can’t wait to hear where this is going and girls look ready to close their eyes and cover their ears. Mrs. Harris looks unamused.

“She’s not the witch doll,” I say. “The witch doll is my mom’s. My mom’s only had the witch doll for a week or so but I’ve had Kaylie for two years. Even though I threw her in the garbage, she came back. And every night I bury her under clothes in my closet but when I wake up at night she’s on a shelf in my room and pointing to my mom’s doll room.”

“Macie…” says Mrs. Harris.

“I don’t want to get rid of Kaylie, because I love her. But I want to get rid of her because I think she’s friends with the witch doll and that’s why when I throw her in the garbage or bury her she comes back, because the witch doll won’t let me get rid of her.”

“Okay Macie. That’s enough. Back to your seat.”

“The witch doll has one blue eye and one green one and when I wake up at night that’s always how Kaylie looks. Her eyes change when I’m the only one around so she can look like the witch doll.”

“Macie, am I going to have to call your mother again?”

I stop. I realize I’m being immature. I look at Mrs. Harris and say, “Please. Just another second. It’s important.”

Mrs. Harris pauses. “If you aren’t going to tell the truth…”

“It
is
true!” I say. “If any of you have parents that know about ghosts or monsters or anything, you have to help me. The witch doll talked to me the other night and I think it wants to kill my mommy or take her away from me and I have to stop it!”

Mrs. Harris is shouting “Macie! Macie! Macie!” over and over, trying to grab me and shake me so I’ll stop talking, but I won’t. Not this time.

“It said it wanted to be my new mommy. It talks like an old woman in my mind. I think I’m running out of time. It gets scarier every day.”

Mrs. Harris grabs my arm and tries to pull me away from class, but I resist. I start banging Kaylie on Mrs. Harris' desk as hard as I can.

“I don’t want her anymore! I don’t want this doll or Mommy’s doll or any goddamn doll!”

I keep screaming and pounding and crying until Kaylie’s head breaks off on the desk and bounces through the classroom and the whole class is silent and uncomfortable save for one bold boy who keeps suppressing chuckles and looking around stupidly and finally Mrs. Harris gets me around the waist and lifts me up and carries me out of the classroom.

* * * * *

Mrs. Harris yells at me for a few minutes in a janitor’s closet before she even sends me to the office. She tells me I’m not the only one with problems and I need to be respectful to everybody else in the class. Even when I try to protest and make her understand, she says there are channels available for me to go through but I can’t be immature and cause a disturbance like this and I should be ashamed of myself.

She doesn’t care. None of the grown ups give a shit. Mommy, Mrs. Harris, Principal V. They’re all too caught up in their own lives to listen to anything a kid says. They think I’m a liar.

The way I get chewed out by Mrs. Harris, I don’t even bother trying to explain myself to the nurse or the principal. I just agree with everything they say and if they ask why I did it I say, “Why not?”

Because they don’t actually care why I did anything. They just want me to sit and be quiet and get good grades and make their jobs easy. Between a healthy kid and a quiet one, these school people would all pick the quiet one ten times out of ten. Why indulge them in their game where they pretend they care what’s wrong. They’re not asking “Why are you upset?” They’re asking “Why won’t you shut up?”

I don’t say it, but the whole time they interrogate me, the phrase that keeps going through my head is
fuck you.

“You’ve been a fine student until recently. What happened to change that?”

Fuck you, Mr. V. We’ve been over this.

“Your sister never had problems in school. Why do you think that is?”

Fuck you, Mrs. Harris. I’m not my sister.

“What do you think would happen if everybody vented their problems the way you have been?”

You know what I think, Mr. V? Fuck you. That’s what I think.

Mommy’s got nothing to say anymore when they call her. She just sounds tired. Too tired to be mad, even. She says she’ll see me after school and maybe we’ll talk if we have anything to say.

Mr. V says I’ll have to spend lunch in detention for the rest of the week and he hopes at the end of it I’ll be ready to talk about what’s happening.

I’m ready to talk now. But all I have to say anymore is fuck you.