Broken Dolls (7 page)

he storm intensifies. Sticks and other small pieces keep flinging against the window. It’s really creeping me out. I keep imagining a demonic deer hovering outside, saliva dripping from its snarl as it headbutts the pane.

Why a demonic deer? No clue. Deer are terrifying. I’ve never even been able to finish
Bambi
. Most people are traumatized by the mother dying, whereas the fact that the story revolves around deer is what gives me the creeps.

My bed isn’t as comforting as usual. It’s the one place I always felt safe in, but not tonight. I keep kicking the sheets off, frustrated by the permanent point in my feet. I want to flex and stretch them out and experience what it’s like to walk flatfooted. Just because I like dancing doesn’t mean my
whole life
should be doing that. The professor won’t even sew me pajamas–the clothes he laid out was just another red tutu. Sequined, no less. How’s that supposed to lure me to sleep?

I sigh and hang off the side of my mattress, staring at Lisa’s empty bed. Has she even slept in it yet?

The professor kept the lid to the chest open tonight, so I can look out into the attic. I actually prefer it closed–the ceiling is decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars, so it’s almost like being outside with them. Instead, I get to gaze up at the cobwebs hanging from the attic beams that have broken bicycles and sleds stored between them.

Maybe he’s punishing me.

I roll over to the corner of my room and frown at the mirror. There’s something on it, but I can’t see well from this angle. I pull myself up and tiptoe towards it. It’s been painted entirely in red, smeared with white strokes. I wipe the paint off with my finger, surprised by how fresh it is. I stand in front of it, startled when I realize that the white streaks aren’t just random lines–it’s a stick figure of a girl in a tutu…it’s a stick figure of
me
.

“Couldn’t smell the fumes, could you?” It’s Lisa’s voice, but childish and high-pitched. “Never look in the mirror–we are trapped in there.”

I turn around and back into the mirror, the paint sticking to my dress. Lisa stands in the dark on her bed, a snapped paintbrush in hand. One end looks painfully sharp, the tip so pointed, it could easily pierce human skin.

“My spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold.” A new lisp to her voice, she tilts her head, contemplating something. “Freezing, freezing. But she’s waking.”

She vaults from the bed, landing with a thud, and brandishes the paintbrush above her head, wielding it like a knife as she ambles towards me.

“Lisa?” I raise my hands protectively. “Lisa, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t respond, instead she continues towards me, forcing me into the corner of the chest.

“Lisa? I can help you! Just tell me what’s wrong!”

“But
I’m
going to help
you
!” She titters, following abruptly with a throaty growl. She swipes at me and rips the strap of my leotard. It hangs by my shoulder, fuzzy threads appearing near the tear. “You have to let me break you–it shouldn’t hurt for long.”

I scream and crouch, covering my head when the paintbrush swings at me, then roll from the corner and leap onto my bed, looking down at her as she spins her weapon calmly in her hands.

“I don’t want to be broken, Lisa.” I try to ignore the tremble in my voice, but I sound shrill.

“You’re already broken,” Lisa enunciates, as if reasoning with a tot. “Destroying you completely is the only way you will be fixed.”

Like a cat, she springs toward me, the paintbrush grasped in her hand like a joust. I dodge, the sharp end of the brush shredding the tip of my tutu.

I leap for the ladder and climb out of the chest, landing awkwardly on my toes with a telltale crack.

“What was that noise?” Lisa’s muffled voice trails from inside the chest. “Are you breaking, dancing doll? You’re not as new as you think.”

I refrain from squealing in terror and launch towards the green chair, its usual sickly color camouflaged by the inky night. I scuttle beneath it, annoyed by the way my hips grind into one another with thunderous creaks. Thunderous to me, anyway—and all too audible to Lisa.

“I always know where you are.” Her head pops up over the top of the chest, scanning the room. “Squeak, squeak, creak, creak, goes the dancing doll.”

She throws herself from the chest and lands gracefully, taking cautious steps towards me even though I’m lost in the shadows.

What do I do? Hiding and running seem like the best options. If I can’t do either, I have to fight back. I’ve never known how to fight–I don’t even like watching it on TV.

Lisa creeps closer, silent lightning flashing on her vacant face. I turn to run, only to be violently hurled back against the leg chair. My tutu is caught on a splinter and no amount of tugging frees it.

“Slowly and silently, cries the dancing doll, meekly, angelically, she weeps for her soul.”

I pull down my tutu, leaving it stuck to the chair and canter as fast as I can, struggling with my perpetually pointed feet. Wait, I can leap! That’s my only shot at outrunning Lisa.

I reach the attic door and glance at it, defeated by its size. I’ll never reach it.

“Ella!” She says my name in her usual voice, husky and constantly irritated, and jogs towards me, the paintbrush leaning against her shoulder. “You’re being silly, now. There’s nowhere left to run!”

“There’s always something…” I say through gritted teeth. I run my hand along the wall and sprint towards the dark corners in the attic. Lisa spent a lot of time there. Clearly, it’s the perfect place to hide.

She runs behind me, but she isn’t as fast. The professor didn’t make her legs as long as mine.

The corner is littered with lots of tiny pieces of paper with writing on them. I’m not a great reader, but I recognize a few words like “experiment” and “trap”.

“Don’t read my notes!” Lisa cries, her feet slapping against the ground.

I ignore her and search frantically, desperate to find something–
anything–
that’d help me fight back.

There’s a nail in the corner. It’s rusted and heavy, but it’s a weapon nonetheless. I bend over to pick it up and accidentally kick it instead. It rolls deeper into the darkness, seemingly forever. I chase it, but it’s gone.

That doesn’t make sense. Something can’t just disappear like that! I get on all fours to crawl when I’m encompassed by complete darkness. I glance over my shoulder as Lisa searches for me with a confused look on her face.

“Did you find my mouse hole, dancer doll?” A demented smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a maze in there.”

Mouse hole? Of course! The professor didn’t plaster over them all! I check my surroundings and spot the dark tunnel, which is possibly the way out of the attic.

I quickly leap up and barge through the tunnel. I can’t see a thing, but I don’t slow down. I don’t have
time
to slow down!

The tunnel narrows, so small now that I find myself bending over while I run. If I’ve never felt claustrophobic before, I definitely do now. I’m lost in the walls of my home with a psychopathic dolly on my tail. This isn’t a story that can end well.

I smack into the wall, the dead-end—the nail in my coffin. I slap my hands on the surrounding walls, but they lead to nowhere.

“Took a wrong turn?” Lisa’s voice echoes through the walls. “That’s good. You won’t see me when I break you. It’ll be less upsetting.”

A whimper escapes my throat. There’s no point trying to hold it in–she already knows I’m here. Terrified, I slide down the wall and curl myself into a ball, preparing for my grizzly end.

There’s a surprising amount of room down here, though. I don’t have to stay in a ball at all – in fact, I can stretch out without touching the other wall.

I get on all fours and try to slap my hand against the barrier that’s no longer there. Of course! Mice are short, they would only need small spaces to travel through! I crawl to the narrow opening and squeeze through, losing my left hand in the process. I can’t say I care. It was a pathetically small hand, anyway.

I stand still in the open, gaping at the bright paneling in the hallway. It’s much cozier than the attic. And then, there’re three doors and the stairs. One has to lead to the professor’s room, right?

“Ella! Come back!” Lisa screams through the walls. “Don’t go to our maker!” She tries to slip through the crack, but gets wedged in halfway. She hits her free hand on the paneling to get my attention. “Ella! Seriously, stop! I’m trying to help you!”

Part of me feels compelled to yank her out–she looks so stranded, stuck in the wall like that. But the other half–

“—Ella!
RUN!
” Lisa points at something behind me. I turn and scream at the black cat that towers over me, its hiss volatile.

I don’t know why I do what I do next. Somehow, coming head to head with an unpredictable beast has a higher success rate than spending another second with Lisa. I slide between the cat’s paws and grip onto its tail, which thrashes me around. It growls and shoots down the stairs, desperate to get me off.

We reach the bottom and I release my grip, the cat slinking into the darkness. I stand and check the rest of my limbs. Apart from my missing hand, I seem to be okay. On the plus side, I
sort of
pet a cat–Gabby will be pleased that I ticked off another item on the bucket list.

I’m in what looks like a combined lounge room and kitchen. The professor has rather distinguished taste–the kitchen has marble tiles and countertops with wooden pantry doors. The lounge room is covered in various artworks and plants, with a glass coffee table and matching, grey couches. It’s actually a lot more modern than I was expecting.

“Jupiter? Jupiter, what’s all the fuss?”

A human’s voice. I hide behind the banister when the lights switch on. Someone comes through the door by the lounge room, their eyes puffy and their hair ruffled. They’re in a pink onesie which I don’t care for. Onesies are inexplicitly in style again despite the revolting way they pull at the crotch.

“Jupiter? Come on, boy. Why were you growling like that?” The girl bends over to pick up the cat, stroking it gently.

Wait. That’s Gabby! I emerge from my hiding place and jump on the spot. “Gabby! Down here! It’s Ella!”

Gabby’s eyes widen, and she drops the cat onto the couch. She rushes towards me and cups her palms so I can clamber up.

“Your hand! What happened?”

“The professor made another doll and she’s
crazy
! She was trying to break me!” I cuddle into her hands. “Please, don’t take me back up there. Why are you here? Do you live here?”

Gabby rolls her eyes. “My parents are away for the weekend, so I’m staying here. Are you telling me there’s another human that’s a doll?” When I nod, she continues. “And when you say she’s trying to break you… does that mean she’s trying to
kill
you?”

“I don’t know!” I sit in her hand, biting my finger. “I don’t know how any of this works! I don’t understand how I was human and why I don’t remember any of it! Everything was fine before Lisa showed up!”

“And Lisa is the crazy doll?”

“Yeah, she’s a goth.”

“Well, that probably explains a lot of her behavior.”

I frown. Is this a joke? Being a goth shouldn’t make anyone a killer. I bet it’s the whole being turned into a doll and still remembering a past life that’s made Lisa this way.

Gabby carries me into her bedroom, which looks remarkably plain, like the guestrooms on TV. Apricot walls, white bedspread, and a side table. Apart from that, there’s nothing to really note.

She lowers me onto the bed and sits cross-legged on top of the covers. “So, why is she trying to kill you?” Her tone drips with both wonder and disgust.

I shrug and mimic her position. “She said it would help me. I don’t know how dying could help anyone. I don’t even know if I
can
die. I haven’t aged in years. At least, I don’t think I have. My head even fell off and the professor just had to screw it back on.”

“Maybe she’s jealous of how pretty you are and just wants to mangle you?”

“I’ve considered that. But… I think her actions run deeper than that. Oh, I’d hate to get the professor to deactivate her!”

“What does that mean?” Gabby leans over to the side table and takes a sip from the cup of water that’s there. I watch in envy. If only I could remember what it was like to drink! The professor tries not to eat or drink in front of me to prevent me from desiring human needs. Could I ask Gabby to do the same thing? Or would it be totally rude?

“It means… I don’t know what it means! He has to find her first–and that’s the most difficult part. She has a remarkable skill of showing up when you don’t want her and squirreling away when you need her. Once he has her, he’ll take her into the lab and do… something that would stop her from walking and talking.”

“So killing her, yeah?” Said with such ease, it metaphorically makes my stomach lurch.

“Yeah,” I whisper. I don’t want Lisa to die, but I can’t have her chasing me around for the rest of my life. “I don’t think the professor has ever done that before. Lisa’s the only other human doll I’ve met.”

Gabby shrugs. “Aunt Sianne used to say the professor crafted dolls all day and night. She hated it.” I tilt my head to the side, mutely requesting a more in depth explanation. Gabby laughs. “
SO CUTE
. Anyway, Aunt Sianne died a while ago. Grandpa and she never got along too well. I never understood why she had such a grudge about him making dolls, but I never knew about you being human until yesterday.”