The Doll

The Doll

She stood in the shadows of the attic, alone, and brushed a cobweb from her hair. The silence felt suffocating. "Where do I start?” she asked the room.

A bare light bulb swayed over her head, like the metronome, ticking with cold precision, that Aunt Rose used during piano lessons when she was a child. The memory sent a shiver down her spine.

The room was stark, unclothed, and in need of some tender loving care. The window, beneath the peaked roof, shed little light. It was streaked with grime from years of neglect.

How will I ever get this done? A broken mirror blocked another window at the far end of the room. Amelia pushed through the debris, clearing enough space to let a sliver of dusty sunlight in.

What was Mom thinking? How does one person accumulate so much? Glancing at her watch, she took a deep breath, removed her sweater, and dragged an old trunk out from behind a pile of broken-down boxes. After brushing away the dust and cobwebs, she sat down.

The first box labeled, “Memories” was in her mother’s outlandish, outdated flowery handwriting. As the dust swirled beneath the bulb above her, Amelia pulled out a purple folder– mother’s favorite color. Violet was her name, and her way of telling the world, I'm here.

“I’m here,” a voice behind her boomed.

Amelia jumped, bumping her head on the lightbulb. Rubbing her skull, she turned around.

There, in the dimly lit staircase, stood a memory–a voice from the past–her sister, Mabel. Ten years had passed since she’d seen her, but she hadn’t changed–much.

Speaking to her sister for the first time in a decade, Amelia forced a weak smile and said. “I’m glad you made it. This project is larger than I thought. I brought bins so we can sort things into three groups: keep, donate, trash,” she said, pointing.

Mabel pulled a rickety stepladder from beneath a broken rocking horse and sat, testing it first to make sure it would hold her weight. Looking at the sturdy trunk her sister sat on, then back at the wobbly ladder, she grimaced. “I guess this’ll work,” she mumbled.

“What?” Amelia asked, cupping a hand behind her ear. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Mabel smiled crookedly, shook her head, and yelled, “Never mind." Then whispered, "It’s not important.”

“Did you know Mom had this much junk in the attic?” Amelia asked.

“Sure, I knew. Mom was always asking me to lug stuff up here,” Mabel said.

Amelia looked up from sorting a stack of papers. “What? You did? Why didn't she ever ask me? Why didn’t you stop her if you knew?”

Mabel set a box down. Stared at her sister. “Sometimes, I don’t think you even knew Mom. She always complained about how you tried to make her change–eat healthier, exercise, drink more water. She wanted to live her life, her way and resented you interfering.”

Amelia sat glaring at her sister before speaking. “Well, at least I tried to help. While you ignored her, I made sure she went to her doctor appointments, paid her bills, had food to eat. You went on about your life as if she was some extra appendage that needed removing.”

The room felt cold and icy as they sat in silence and sorted.

After an hour, Amelia stood, lugged a bin downstairs, and returned with it empty. Mabel sat, watching her. After Amelia returned the third time, Mabel looked up and said softly, “I’ve been thinking, Sis. Thinking a lot lately.”

Amelia sat back on the trunk and looked over at her sister. Seeing tears glittering in the corners of Mabel's eyes, she asked tenderly, “What were you thinking?”

Mabel squirmed from atop her little perch. She leaned forward, looking across the bins and into Amelia's eyes. “I’ve been trying to remember what happened. How did we reach a point where we stopped communicating? I know we’ve fought and bickered our entire lives. But how and when did we get to a place where we just… gave up?”

Amelia stood, dragging a huge box into the space between them. Then another and another. Once the gap between them was filled, she turned to her sister, put her hands on her hips, and looked down at Mabel. “You don’t remember?”

“Uh Uh." Mabel shook her head. "I don’t. I’ve wracked my brain ‘til it’s raw and can’t retrieve the memory. Please tell me,” She begged.

Amelia shook her head. “I don’t know. If you honestly don’t remember, maybe you should let it stay forgotten,” she said tenderly.

Mabel sat, head in her hands, and wept. Amelia tiptoed over, laid her hand on Mabel’s shoulder, and whispered, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I love you."

Mabel looked up, asked, “Why?”

Amelia knelt until their eyes were level. She took Mabel's face in her hands and, looking into her blue eyes, asked, “Why what?”

Mabel peered back into Amelia’s brown eyes and said softly, “Why did we stop talking if you love me? I love you, too, so what happened? Please–I need to know, or I’ll go crazy.”

Amelia stood up and laughed. “Go? I thought you already were.”

“Stop,” Mabel said, “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I need answers. Was it something I did or didn’t do? I’ve gone over it again and again, but it still eludes me. Was it because Mom liked me more?”

Amelia looked down at her sister and said, “The reason Mom paid more attention to you was because she felt sorry for you. She didn’t love you more.”

Mabel furrowed her brows. “Sorry for me? Why?”

Amelia sighed. “You know–because I was Daddy’s girl. She tried to make up for it.” Then she turned, walked back to the trunk and sat.

Mabel stood, looking at Amelia sitting across the mess between them. Neither spoke. There they remained–Amelia on the old trunk staring at her sister, and Mabel standing frozen in time.

Amelia broke the spell, picked up a photo from her lap and said, “Hey do you remember this?” and laughed. “Come here, look. It's the one where Mom and Aunt Rose are wearing identical outfits that Grandma sewed.

Mabel walked over and grabbed the picture. “Let me see.” Smiling, she said, “Of course I remember. We thought it was so funny how Grandma used to make matching outfits for them. Except for the color. Purple for Mom. Pink for Aunt Rose.”

“Mom used to do that, remember? Dress us alike. We were only eleven months apart, so many people thought we were twins. And Mom loved that.”

“Except your eyes are blue and mine are brown,” Amelia said.

Mabel grew quiet again. “Why did we stop talking? I need to know.”

Amelia stood. Gulped the words on the tip of her tongue and turned around. Before continuing down the steps behind her, she said, “I need some fresh air and lunch. I‘ll be back in an hour.” Then she left.

One hour and fifteen minutes later, Amelia returned. When she got to the top of the stairs, she squinted. The light bulb was off, and nothing more had been done. Seeing no sign of Mabel, Amelia shrugged. Maybe she went to get some food.

Amelia filled the three boxes and pulled them down the stairs one by one. Clump, Clump, went the bins, and she burst out laughing, remembering how they used to slide down these stairs on their sleds. Upon reaching the bottom, she sat on top of the last bin and burst into a fit of giggles.

“I’m glad you find this all so amusing,” a voice from nowhere stated emphatically.

Amelia stopped, stood, and looked around the room. “Where are you? Have you been here the whole time?”

Silence. She tried again. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” she said in a sing-song voice.

She waited, listening to the dead silence. Amelia crawled around the couch and behind it. Nothing except dust bunnies. Standing up, she looked around for clues. Then, she noticed the door to the closet in the foyer was open a crack. That closet was so huge the girls used to play school inside.

Tiptoeing over she opened the door as quickly as she could. A wave of nostalgia almost knocked her down. Nothing had changed. She felt she’d stepped back in time.

Two identical, attached desks were still there. In one sat her sister, holding a flashlight in one hand and an old rag doll in the other–Betsy. She'd completely forgotten about that doll. Its half-purple, half-pink dress and matching bonnet were faded but still intact. Its once bright, violet and rose yarn hair was now a dull shade of purple and pink.

Aunt Rose had thought it would be cute to make one present for them. “It’ll teach them about sharing, taking turns, and working together,” she'd told their mother. But all it did was create one more thing for them to bicker over.

On the desk in front of Mabel was a grey metal box. Beside it, a pocketknife and an envelope. The lock had been pried off and lay on the floor at Mabel's feet, while she sat looking numb.

“I remember now,” she said, her voice hollow.

Amelia squeezed into the desk beside her.

Mabel handed her the envelope but kept the doll clutched tightly against her.

Inside the envelope was a piece of lined notebook paper. The light was dim, but Amelia could still make out the words. Halfway through, she reached out and placed her hand over Mabel’s. Still staring straight into space, Mabel mumbled. “You were right. You were always right. Deep down, I knew it. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Amelia folded the letter along its creases and placed it back inside the envelope. Then she turned and took Mabel into her arms.

“I never wanted to be right. I couldn't stand how sad you were when Daddy paid more attention to me. Stupidly, I thought Mommy spending more time with you, evened things out,” Amelia said.

Mabel closed her eyes, shook her head, and said, “And I never should have called you a liar when you told me. I should have believed you. I just didn't want to believe that about Mom.”

“I couldn’t believe you didn’t remember why we stopped talking. The day we had our last huge argument was the most horrific day of my life,” Amelia said.

"Mine too,” Mabel said, opening her eyes and looking into Amelia’s. “We were having some huge fight over this stupid toy.” she said, waving Betsy in the air. “It was the day you left for college. I insisted I should keep it because Daddy loved you more. You argued you should, because Mommy loved me more.”

“You’re right, but what really got you pissed was when I told you why Daddy loved me more,” Amelia said.

“Yeah, you said it was because he wasn’t my real Dad–that Mom had an affair when you were a month old. We were 17 and 18 at the time, way too old to be playing with dolls, that’s for sure. But you insisted on taking her with you, and I didn’t want you to.” Mabel raised Betsy in the air and said, "It's unbelievable that we stopped talking because of a toy."

“It wasn’t because of the doll, you ninny; it was because you didn’t believe me about Dad. You were one hundred percent convinced I made the whole thing up. 'I won't believe you until you give me proof,' you yelled at me,” Amelia said.

A blank look came over Mabel’s face, followed by a glimmer of light in her eyes. “Now I remember. You couldn't prove it. You overheard Grandma and Aunt Rose discussing it.”

“That’s right. You were livid because you thought I was telling lies about Mom. So livid, you said you were never going to speak to me again until I either proved it or retracted my allegations,” Amelia said.

“But here it is–proof. A letter from Grandma telling Mom that she, Aunt Rose, Mom, and Dad were the only people in the entire universe who knew,” Mabel said. "If only we’d found this years ago, we could have stayed friends. I’m so sorry, Sis, for the way I've treated you over the past ten years."

Amelia didn't answer. She just sat with a dazed look in her eyes.

"What?" Mabel finally asked.

Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have something to confess.”

Mabel stared at her sister. “What could you have to confess?" she asked.

“I..I..lied,” Amelia said, closing her eyes tight. “I was so jealous of how much more attention Mom gave you, I made the story up.”

Amelia watched her sister stand. Her blue eyes glowed as if they were in a trance. Slowly, methodically, Mabel straightened her arms closer against her body and clenched her hands tighter around the flashlight and doll. Her face became a mask, hiding something ugly.

Amelia shuddered; she'd seen that look before when a younger Mabel stood before her and vowed never to speak to her again. Amelia stood and tried to back away. But her feet wouldn’t move. It was as if they’d become an extension of the floor.

Amelia watched as Mabel raised the hand with the flashlight. She stood helplessly as her sister swung it through the air with a force that didn't seem human. A sharp pain rang out over her left eye, splaying colored rings of light in every direction until blackness erased it all.

When Amelia awoke, the house was dark, cold, empty. Her sister and the doll were gone. She tried to sit up, but even the tiniest movement was too much. She collapsed back down, shivering. I need help.

Laying there, she tried to piece it all together. She thought back to other times Mabel had acted this way. Suddenly, she knew–it was the doll. Every time they’d had an argument, not little squabbles but huge full-blown fights, Betsy was there. Amelia played those scenes in her mind. It was the same. Mabel’s face was twisted in rage and always clutching Betsy.

While waiting for the ambulance, Amelia picked up the box that once held the doll and the letter. Could anything else be inside? She turned it upside down and shook it.

A postcard addressed to her parents from Aunt Rose fell on her lap.

Dear William and Violet,

I trust you received the gift I made for the girls. It is sewn from scraps of our childhood dresses and filled with ancient stuffing from toys we used to play with and fight over. The eyes are made from the buttons from our vintage school uniforms– one brown for Amelia's, one blue for Mabel's.

I recently cleaned out my attic and found Frank’s diary, describing your sordid affair–he even admitted to being Mabel's father. So I will be leaving him. But I wanted the girls to have this doll, made from my heart, hoping it will teach them what it means to share something with someone they love.

Of course, this card won’t arrive until after the girls have opened their present and fallen in love with it. That way, you can't really make it suddenly disappear, can you?

All my love and gratitude for showing me what a horrible two-timing person I married,

Rose

Amelia's hands trembled. She could see the ambulance lights strobing on the ceiling above her. As she waited, she looked over to the open door of the room that had held the locked box and other secrets for all these years. And finally, to where Betsy, the doll had sat.

What would happen now? To her, to Mabel? Could she survive the curse Aunt Rose sewed into the doll? In those final moments before she was taken to safety, Amelia made a vow to herself, her sister, and her family:

"If I ever encounter that doll again, I will do everything in my power to destroy it–before it destroys anyone else.