In Nightmares We're Alone Page 2

  I say nothing.

  “Macie,” she raises her voice a little.

  And really low, without thinking about it, I say, “I don’t care about your stupid goddamn doll.”

  Mommy’s jaw drops. Sissy chokes back a laugh, but it’s very audible for just a moment. Mommy turns to Sissy with wide eyes and Sissy has both hands over her mouth, the smile still visible.

  Mommy walks to me and smacks me a good one, just like she did Buster. I know it’s coming, so I just stand there and look her in the eye. That seems to make her angrier.

  “Get your dolls and go to your room!” she shouts, pointing down at the garbage can.

  “No!” I scream.

  She hits me again.

  “Mom, leave her alone,” says Sissy.

  Mommy turns and points a finger at Sissy. When Mommy’s back is to me, I turn and run. I’ll go to my room. I don’t care. But I’m not bringing any dolls with me.

  I hear Mommy thumping down the hall after me, calling my name, but I don’t look back. I slam the door shut behind me. She gives an exasperated sigh and I hear her turn back to the kitchen.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” I can hear her saying to Sissy.

  Sissy’s voice says, “I told you. I didn’t—”

  “Where does she get that language from? I know it’s not from me.”

  “Whatever. I agree with her about your doll anyway.”

  Sissy comes walking down the hall with Mommy yelling after her. She goes in her room and the house gets real quiet for a while.

  * * * * *

  I’m lying face down on my bed, still pouting, when Sissy comes in half an hour later.

  “Hey, creep,” she says. “How you doin’?”

  I say nothing. I stay face down.

  “Oh, are you mad at me too?” she asks. “Mom’s taking her nap, so you’re off the hook for a little bit.”

  I roll over and look at her, still upset. She closes the door behind her, and sits on the bed with me.

  “Macie,” she says. It’s weird. She usually calls me ‘creep’ or ‘retard’ or something, even when she’s being nice. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you the other day about Mom’s dolls. That had nothing to do with you. You don’t have to hate them just because I do. If you like them, that’s good. You should keep liking them. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I do like them,” I say.

  There is a pause. “So you just don’t like your dolls?”

  “I like them too. But Mommy’s new doll ruined them.”

  Sissy nods. She looks a little disappointed. “Mm. You mean you want dolls like Mom’s.”

  “No,” I say quietly. “I want to smash the new one and burn it.”

  I see curiosity spark in her face. “Is it… really pretty? Or…?”

  “No. It’s horrible.”

  “How did a horrible doll ruin your dolls?”

  “It made me… hate them.”

  Sissy cocks her head. She seems to search for a question and not find it.

  “I want to see this new doll,” she says.

  * * * * *

  “Creepy,” says Sissy.

  Beth’s sitting up there on the top shelf, dead center, with twenty more dolls on the bookshelf below her and ten more bookshelves around the room. Sissy and I are standing in the middle looking up at her, talking in low voices because Mommy’s sleeping on the couch in the next room and we’re totally busted if she wakes up.

  “Right?” I say. “It’s like she’s alive or something.”

  She gives me that you’re retarded look big sisters are good at. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Mommy said it’s called hetero… something.”

  “—chromia,” says Sissy. “We just talked about it in Biology.”

  “It’s really real?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” says Sissy. “More common in cats and stuff than people, but yeah.”

  I shudder. The room feels too cold all of a sudden.

  “Do you think it’s an animal pretending to be human?” I ask. “Like a werewolf or something?”

  Sissy snorts. She shakes her head.

  “You know,” she says. “There was a time… long time ago… when everybody was afraid of witches. All these people, they thought a bunch of the women in their towns were witches. And people said, ‘My mom’s a witch,’ ‘My neighbor’s a witch,’ ‘My wife’s a witch,’ whatever. And the people in the town, they believed them.”

  I must be making a face like I don’t believe her, because Sissy says, “It’s true. I’m not making this up. You’ll learn this in school in a few years. And what they would do, if everybody in the town decided somebody was a witch, they’d tie her up and burn her.”

  I feel sick now. I want to run out of the room. I say, “Okay, I believe you. Stop. I don’t want to know.”

  Sissy laughs. “Don’t get scared. You’re missing the point. The point is they were burning these women because they thought they were witches, when really they were just a little different. A little moody, or ugly, or tall. And in those days, if somebody had eyes like that, I’ll bet you somebody would say she was a witch. And because everybody was so scared, they got crazy, and they’d believe it even though it was stupid. And they’d burn her.”

  I look up at Beth, sitting there with her stupid grinning face. “You think she’s a witch doll?” I whisper.

  “No, stupid. There’s no such thing as witches. She just has weird eyes. Real people have eyes like that, and you know what? They’re just people. But in the old days, they’d burn them just the same, because everybody else thought they were witches. See, the scary people in the story weren’t the ones with the weird eyes, they were the crazy assholes who burned people because they believed in witches.”

  Sissy looks at me like I’m supposed to laugh, so I force myself to. I don’t know if I get the point of the story exactly. I’m just kind of afraid Beth might be a witch doll. But I guess she probably isn’t because Sissy says they don’t exist. Sissy’s pretty smart. Smarter than Mommy, even.

  “Come on,” says Sissy. “Forget that thing.”

  She walks out of the room and I mean to follow her, but all of a sudden I swear I hear something whispered really quietly. I jerk my head to the left.

  But all that’s there is that doll. Stupid ugly Beth with her mean little smile, staring at me with her two-colored bitch eyes.

  I get out of the room as fast as I can without looking scared. It still feels too cold in there. And the more that dolly stares at me, the more it seems like she wants something from me.

  Sunday, September 26th

  “Sweetheart,” says Mommy the next day, cracking open my bedroom door a couple hours after supper, talking in that peace-maker voice because we haven’t been talking since yesterday.

  She comes into the room and I turn on my side and face the wall. I don’t want to talk. I already know she took my dolls out of the garbage can. I know they’re in the house somewhere and as soon as I fold, Mommy will make me take them back into my room and put them back on that shelf, sitting there in my room where they’ll watch me while I sleep, watch me with Beth’s eyes.

  No. I don’t want them.

  I hear Mommy take a seat in the pink little chair of my coloring desk, situating herself next to my bed. “Look what I’ve got,” she says in that feigned excited voice mommies use when they want you to get all lovey, or when they want the dog to play fetch.

  I don’t look.

  “Macie,” she says curtly, changing vocal tactics, a full one-eighty in half a second. Mommy’s a master tactician.

  I turn over and look at her. I already know what to expect.

  Mommy’s got a big smile on her face and she’s holding out Kaylie. Kaylie wearing a new dress. A long-sleeved summer dress that goes all the way up to her throat and wraps around so tight it’s like it’s strangling her. As though that were the problem. As though I’d love my dolls again if the only one left untainted by M
ommy was suddenly just as tainted as the others.

  Lucky me.

  “I liked her better before,” I say.

  Mommy looks hurt. She puts the doll on her lap and sighs deeply. “Well I just don’t know what to say, Macie. I just don’t know what to say.” When grown ups don’t know what to say, they always say it twice.

  She doesn’t speak for a little while and I certainly don’t have anything to say, so I roll over on my back and look up at the ceiling.

  “If you don’t want your dolls anymore, that’s fine,” says Mommy finally. “We’ll give them to Goodwill or something. But you’re not getting any new toys just because you wanted to throw away your old ones. I predict in two or three days you’re going to get really bored and you’re going to wish you still had your dolls to play with.”

  I keep giving her the silent treatment so she says okay and stands up. She turns to me as she heads for the door.

  “Last chance,” she says.

  I don’t like the tone, like she’s babying me. Like I’m not a big girl and I can’t make my own decisions. But at the same time, I know I’ll miss Kaylie. I want to keep her, but not in a house with Beth. Not in a house where…

  “What color are her eyes?” I ask.

  Mommy gives me a weird look. “Who?”

  “Kaylie.”

  Mommy looks down at the doll.

  “Blue.”

  “Both of them?”

  Mommy laughs slightly, confused. “Yes, sweetheart. They’re both—”

  “I’ll keep them if you get rid of Beth.”

  The smile that was on Mommy’s face a moment ago freezes and drips away. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She comes over and takes a seat next to me on the bed. “Macie, if you want one of my dolls, maybe we can work something out where you look after it for me for a while, but Beth is… rare. She’s a special edition. You know, they only made—”

  “I don’t want Beth. I just don’t want her in the house.”

  Mommy pauses. “Why not?”

  “Because…” I look for a lie or a half-truth but I can’t find one. Mommy sits there impatiently. I can’t think of anything and I end up going with the truth. “I think she wants to hurt me.”

  For a little while Mommy just looks at me, then she shakes her head from side to side. “Oh, honey. Have you been watching scary movies? Or reading books that—”

  “No.”

  “Did Sissy give you comic books again? Where are they?”

  “Mommy, listen!”

  She turns to me and raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to explain, and I suddenly realize there’s nothing more to explain.

  “She looks at me… in a way that… Her eyes… It’s not just that they’re different colors. It’s like they’re… too human. You know?”

  “No. No, Macie, I don’t know. She’s just a doll. Come here.”

  Mommy pulls me up out of bed and out of the room. She strategically leaves Kaylie in my room so that if I want to be rid of her I’ll have to throw her out a second time and risk starting the whole ordeal over.

  * * * * *

  Walking into the doll room next to Mommy, the room doesn’t feel as cold as it did with Sissy. Maybe it’s just that I don’t think Beth will try any of her crap with Mommy here. Instinctively I know she’s going to play Mommy’s Little Baby. If Mommy can’t see the wrongness behind her eyes, if Sissy can’t see it either, I’m in this alone.

  Mommy steps up on her footstool and lifts Beth gingerly off the top shelf. “Here,” she says, stepping down. She holds the doll out to me. “Hold her.” I hesitate. “Hold. Her.”

  I take a step back. I keep my hands firmly at my sides.

  “Macie, this is not healthy. You can’t be traumatized by an inanimate object. Put your arms out and hold her.”

  “No.”

  “Macie, I’m about at my limit here.”

  I take a deep breath and tug Beth violently out of Mommy’s hands.

  “Careful!” says Mommy.

  I hold the doll back out to Mommy. “There. I held her. Can I go now?”

  “Not yet. You stand there and look at that doll until you realize it can’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I don’t care if it takes all day!”

  I exhale deeply. I concentrate on my breath. My hands are shaking, I’m sure Mommy can tell. I have to stop them. I have to look calm.

  “Do not drop her,” says Mommy, but I’m so focused on breathing I can barely hear her.

  Whoever made this one did a crummy job. She doesn’t look real, not like Mommy’s other dolls. The other ones are painted well, with that soft, dry paint that feels like a frosted Christmas tree ornament. Beth’s too polished. Her skin is shiny, like the kitchen floor after Mommy mops. Not like a baby. Her skin is too tan, her cheeks are blushed too red to look real. She’s ugly. A stupid, fake-looking doll.

  Except for the eyes. What is it about the eyes? One blue, one green. The way they sparkle, that glassy coat of glaze over it like she’ll blink if you stare long enough.

  My hands shake harder. My tummy hurts. I want to go to the bathroom.

  I look up at Mommy and she raises her eyebrows, tells me silently to keep looking, keep conquering my fear.

  I look Beth in the eyes. I try to remember what Sissy said about witches and fires. All that stuff about who the real scary people are. It doesn’t help. Reflected in Beth’s eyes I just imagine toothless old women riding on brooms, laughing hyee-hah-hah, that creepy witch laugh, stirring a big pot over a fire and dropping in puppies and babies and lizards.

  And I want to throw Beth right in with the puppies and the babies and the lizards. I don’t care if she’s just a girl who looks different and I’m one of the crazy villagers who wants to burn somebody just because I don’t like her, I still want to burn the ugly bitch. I want to see what those eyes look like when the rest of her is charred and broken.

  The harder I stare, the harder I hate, the more alive the eyes look to me, until they’re more alive than even a human’s eyes, almost like they’re shining or glowing. And then I can’t stand it anymore and I jerk my eyes away from hers.

  That’s when I see it.

  Oh God.

  Oh my God.

  The whole shelf behind Mommy, twenty dolls at least, every single one of them has Beth’s eyes. Blue on the right, green on the left. Every last one of them, staring at me with those impossibly deep eyes. Every one of them smirking that giggling baby half-smirk. Every last one.

  I can’t help it. I drop Beth on the floor and scream.

  * * * * *

  “For Heaven’s sake, Macie.”

  Beth’s barely hit the ground before Mommy has swept her up and inspected the head for cracks and scuffs and scratches. Even when I was as young as Beth looks, I’m pretty sure Mommy was never that concerned about me.

  “What? What? What is it?” asks Mommy angrily.

  “It’s all of… They’re all…” I try to put the thought into words but the fear clouds my brain.

  Mommy waves one hand through the air in her what am I going to do with you gesture and gets back up on the footstool to put Beth away on her perch up there, way up high where I can’t reach.

  As Mommy reaches up, she exposes her whole body to twenty blue-and-green-eyed dolls all grinning at me like something’s about to happen.

  “Mommy, no! Stop!” I scream. “Be careful!”

  She puts the doll away and turns to me, never looking at the horde of evil dolls. “What? What is the matter with you? This is ridiculous.”

  Sissy comes running into the room asking, “What happened? What is it?”

  Even Buster, who’d been sleeping on the couch, he’s standing in the hallway just outside the doll room with his head cocked to one side the way he does whenever there’s excitement he’s not involved in.

  Mommy grabs my face and turns it away from the dolls so my eyes meet hers. “Honey,” she says. “Calm down and tell me.”

&nbs
p; I take a moment to breathe, to find what I want to say.

  “All the dolls have her eyes,” I tell her.

  Mommy turns to look at them.

  I can’t see the dolls now, but before Mommy even turns, I already know. Their eyes are normal now. Browns and blues and greens and blacks. No heterochromia. No depth. No life. Mommy and Sissy and maybe even Buster, they’re all looking at a shelf full of dolls and thinking I’m a stupid little girl who read a scary book.

  I don’t have to look at the dolls to know it. You win, Beth. You’re Mommy’s favorite. You stay.

  Mommy pushes me out of the room and shuts the door behind us and I’m still shaking and there are tears in my eyes and Buster wants to lick them off but I won’t let him. Sissy’s standing next to me and giving me a look like I’m being stupid and she’s disappointed in me. Mommy’s shaking her head and making that frustrated sound she’s always making.

  But until the door is closed, I keep looking at Beth, sitting up there on her perch with the same expression as always, but it feels like it’s more pronounced the more I look at her. Handy craftsmanship, maybe. Or lots of lizards in her witch brew.

  Mommy shuts the door. And just before it closes, probably I’m just imagining it, but that creepy doll up there in its little throne looking at me with its human eyes, I could almost swear I see it wink.

  * * * * *

  After Mommy tucks me into bed that night, I’m afraid to close my eyes. Kaylie sits there on top of the dresser staring at me, and every time I blink I expect her eyes to change. Sissy says if you’re scared your mind plays crazy tricks on you, but I know what I saw yesterday when I looked into Kaylie’s eyes. I know I saw Beth inside.

  I wish she wasn’t there. I wish Mommy could have just left the dolls in the garbage and let me make my own decisions for once. Kaylie was supposed to be my doll. If Mommy gets to decide whether we keep Beth, I’m supposed to get to decide whether we keep Kaylie.