For Holly

I’ve never been one to play with dolls. 

Can’t say the same for my little sister Holly, though. She’s just five years old, about to turn six tomorrow, and always has a Barbie tucked under her arm. 

So of course she’d be thrilled to clean our late Great Grandma Nellie’s attic. It’s practically filled with her collection of vintage, glass-eyed, porcelain dolls. You know. The creepy kind, dressed in Victorian gowns with eyes that seem to follow you, no matter where you are in the room. 

And me? Well, with Christmas just a few days away, I would pretty much rather be anywhere else than cleaning an old, dusty attic with my overly excited little sister. I look over at Holly whose eyes are bugging out of her head. She’s grabbed somewhere between five to ten dolls and can’t decide which one to take home. Mom is only letting her pick one, thank god. 

I turn away from Holly and face the only source of light in this cramped and solemn place, a fixed, oval-shaped window covered in cobwebs, located at the end of the attic space. Dust particles dance across the single stream of sunlight filtering through the window, casting eerie shadows upon the cracked floorboards. My eyes drift to the walls, which are lined with the torn remnants of peeling wallpaper. I look to my left and see faceless figures cloaked in sheets and shadows, each abandoned antique placed in a state of permanent pause. 

I’m about to head back down when I see it, a small, mahogany chest adorned with a single, faded red bow. 

And it’s strange, but as soon as I see the chest, my feet move completely on their own, pulling me forward. I can’t fully describe it, but it’s more than curiosity demanding I open that chest. It’s almost as if I am drawn to it — willed to open it. 

Suddenly, I am crouching down and resting on my knees right in front of the chest with the big red bow. With shaking hands, I reach forward and lift the lid. 

The first thing I notice are its eyes. 

Sitting upright in the center of the trunk is a doll, staring at me with unblinking blue eyes. The doll is dressed in a tattered white onesie with a single red bow pinned to its chest and accessorized with matching red gloves and a red pointed hat. Its rosy cheeks and pointed ears offset its red plastic lips, curved upward in a knowing smirk. It stays there, motionless, hugging its knees tight against its chest with arms that are too thin. And it’s only then do I notice that the doll is covered in dark smudges, its outfit torn in several places. 

It looks just like an elf, almost like those elf on the shelf dolls kids get at Christmas time. But something is different about it. Something is wrong with it

And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.  

I’m about to shut the chest when I see something lying there right next to the doll that sends chills down my spine: A small, square piece of red parchment paper that reads, in clean cursive, For Holly. 

Why would Grandma Nellie keep this creepy doll hidden way up here, let alone leave it for Holly? I stare down at the doll, its eyes seemingly staring right back at me. 

And then there’s Holly, peering over my shoulder. She squeals in delight at the doll I’ve found, the one with a note just for her. She reaches forward, snatching it up, and declares that this is the one she wants to take home. Then, she turns and pads down the stairs. 

Alone in the attic space, I take one last look around.  

For reasons unknown, I pick up the chest with the red bow. 

Then I leave, too. 

***

On the car ride home Mom explains to Holly the Christmas tradition of the doll Grandma Nellie left for her, recalling that the elf will "report" back to Santa each night and appear in a new place each morning. Dad reassures Holly that it’s ok if the doll seems to move on its own, and to be a good girl, because it will be watching her. 

It will be watching all of us. 

When we get home, it’s clear Holly is sleepy— She doesn't even ask to play with her new toy. Instead she rubs her eyes, yawns, and drops the elf doll on the living room floor. Mom scoops up Holly and takes her to bed. I rummage around the kitchen for a few minutes, then head up to bed, too.

And I’m almost asleep when I hear it. 

At first, it’s only a note or two. And I recognize the sound instantly; someone is sitting at my piano trying to tune it. There’s a pause, a long one, then a few more notes play out, but they’re all wrong. The sound carries up the stairs, distorted and twangy. 

I sigh and cover my face with my pillow, but the awful notes don’t stop. Holly must be playing around. I wouldn’t put it past her, she’s done this before, and she’s probably just really excited for her birthday party tomorrow.  

When I can’t take the horrible sounds anymore, I peel back the covers and fling open my bedroom door, ready to tell Holly to quit it. But once I open my door, the piano notes stop. I stand there in my bedroom doorway, frozen in a deafening silence. 

One second goes by, two, three... 

Then out of nowhere a full melody ensues. A discordant version of Silent Night, Holy Night begins playing in a painfully slow rhythm, and the notes, still offkey and dissonant, clash against one another, giving the song an eerie feel. 

This can’t be Holly playing, there’s no way. She hasn't had one piano lesson in her life. So, maybe Dad, then? 

I tiptoe down the long hallway and peer down the staircase into the living room. No lights are on. Whoever is playing the piano is sitting in the dark. 

I make my way down the stairs, all the while listening to the haunting melody fill the house. When I turn the corner the floor lets out a moan, creaking under my weight. 

The music stops. 

I switch on the light.

Then I jump back. 

There, on the piano stool, is the elf doll. It’s facing me and standing upright, it’s long, thin arms by its side. The first and only thought I’m able to form is it shouldn’t be standing like that. 

I don’t know what to do and my heart is pounding. Maybe this is just a dream, a doll-inspired nightmare? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember to breathe, to just bre—

THRUM.

Breaking the silence, the lowest note on the piano smashes down in a brash hum, loud and grating. I open my eyes and see that the last piano key is being held down by a phantom finger, its dark note reverberating throughout the room. 

The doll before me remains motionless, but it’s eyes, I swear, they’re looking at me.

And in that moment, I can’t help it, I can’t stop it. I shut my eyes and let out a scream that cuts through the night. 

Dad sprints down the stairs and reaches me first. He asks what’s wrong, and when I point at the doll, I see that it’s not standing anymore. Now, it’s sitting on the piano stool, its arms outstretched towards the keys. 

But its head is turned towards us. 

And it’s grinning.

Dad laughs and gives me a squeeze. He eyes the piano, then tells me that I must have been sleep walking, because that was some of the worst playing I’ve ever done. Mom, now here too, nods, still half asleep. She stifles a yawn then says I added a nice touch with the doll, and that Holly is going to love seeing it at the piano in the morning. 

I shake my head and try to tell them that it wasn’t me playing the piano. But Dad just pats me on the back and Mom yawns again.

At that moment, I realize that it’s pointless trying to convince them of what I saw. They’re never going to believe me, and why would they? They’d have to see the doll in action to believe it. 

So, I tell my parents I’m tired and we go back to bed. But as I follow my parents upstairs, I can feel the doll’s eyes on my back, watching me, the whole way up. 

***

It was impossible to fall back asleep last night. I still can’t explain what happened, and really, there’s no point in trying, especially today with Holly’s birthday party starting in just a few hours. 

Mom got a variety of markers and paints and set up the kitchen table as an arts and craft zone for Holly and her friends. Soon enough, a dozen or so squealing six-year-olds fill our kitchen table, smearing glue and glitter together. 

Cute. But messy. And really loud. 

I feel a migraine coming on, so I decide to go lay down. Before heading up, I approach Holly to give her a quick kiss, but stop abruptly. Sitting next to her at the table is the elf doll with a plate of paint set before it. 

Not wanting to get too close, I blow Holly a kiss instead, then go upstairs. I practically fall into bed, and having not slept the night before, I sleep the rest of the afternoon and into the night. 

Until hours later, when I wake to the sound of a loud THUD. 

A few seconds go by, then a few more. I’m starting to think I imagined it, but then I hear the sound again. This time, I can tell with certainty it’s coming from downstairs. 

I don’t want to go look, I really don’t, but I know what’s causing that noise. And I know what I need to do. 

Quietly, I grab my phone and turn on the video. Since the doll seems to only act up for me, I’m determined to catch it on camera. 

Slowly I tiptoe down the hallway, down the stairwell, and into the living room. In the darkness, I hold my phone as steady as possible. Everything in the living room seems normal, but—

THUD. 

Another loud sound and this time it’s coming from the kitchen. I rush over to the kitchen, phone in hand, and switch on the light. Then I gasp, because I can’t believe what I’m seeing. 

Our kitchen, our cozy little kitchen, has been demolished. 

Looking as though a tornado obliterated the space, the kitchen is littered with remnants of ripped wrapping paper and shredded trash. All of Holly’s birthday presents, and even all the family Christmas presents, have been torn open and broken. Our once beautifully decorated Christmas tree has been stripped bare, the ornaments now lay shattered on the floor. 

I cover my mouth and continue to record the rest of the room. Pieces of Holly’s cake are smashed on the floor, smeared on the walls, and the walls… 

Graffitied in paint, the kitchen walls are covered in random scribblings and markings that look child-like. In fact, everything about this mess looks childish, everything except the unmistakable words written in clean cursive on the center wall, still dripping with red paint: 

Through the years, we all will be together. 

That sentence, I’ve heard it somewhere before. It’s from a song, I think. Yes, a Christmas song—

SMASH.

On instinct, I spin around and turn just in time to see a porcelain plate fly off the counter and smash onto the floor, its pieces scattering. 

Heart racing, my eyes land on something that wasn’t on the table before. In the center of the kitchen table with a paintbrush in its lap, is the doll, sitting motionless. I notice immediately that the brush is coated in a fresh swatch of red paint. The elf’s onesie is covered in splotches of maroon, I watch as a single drop of red paint trickles down the corner of its mouth, unhurried, unfettered.   

I keep my phone pointed at the doll, hands shaking. Time passes. More time passes. And I stay there, trembling, never taking my eyes off the doll, never wanting to miss it move. 

And this is how my parents find me, standing in the center of this catatonic kitchen state. 

I rush to their sides, stop the video, and replay the whole thing for them. I pause and rewind the moment when I heard the plate smash. In the video you can only hear a loud crash; everything else is blurry. 

Frustrated, I pocket my phone and resort to telling them about the doll, about the piano the other night, and how I absolutely did not make this mess. I point to the doll, pleading with my parents. But Dad just holds up a hand and tells me to stop. 

He says I’ve gone too far and that he never would have thought I’d act out like this. Mom kneels beneath the Christmas tree and begins to sort through the broken gifts, salvaging anything left unscathed. I cry out to her, but she won’t meet my eyes. Instead she stands, without saying a word, then pulls a broom from the closet. She’s about to start cleaning when Dad takes the broom from her and hands it to me. He tells me this is my mess to clean. 

Then my parents leave and I’m alone in the kitchen. Well, almost alone. 

I look over my shoulder at the doll. The doll who destroyed our kitchen, our Christmas, and my sister’s birthday. The doll who screwed with me, night after night. 

But this is my house. And this is my family. 

So the next day, when my parents leave me home alone to clean the kitchen, I know what I have to do.  

***

It wasn’t that hard, not once I decided I’d had enough. And I knew I kept the chest with the red bow for a reason. 

I threw the doll in the chest, closed it shut, then carried it straight down the backyard canyon trail that leads to the old bridge. 

When I reached the bridge, I peered over the railing and looked down at the running river sweeping through the channel; it was the perfect place to displace a secret. 

I made a silent prayer to Holly, hoping she wouldn’t be too upset. Then, I threw the chest over.

I watched as it landed with a satisfying splash before fully submerging beneath the murky water. Then, the chest resurfaced, bobbing up and down as the current swept it downstream. Already, I felt lighter. 

Holly was sad, of course. You can’t blame the kid, she loved that creepy doll. And for it to go missing on the night before Christmas? Well, what rotten luck. My parents definitely suspected that I did something to the doll, but I didn’t care. Because I knew the truth. 

I knew that now, and only now, was my family safe. 

It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. 

***

I sleep straight through the night and don’t wake until Holly is pounding on my door, excitement pouring out of her. She’s screaming, “It’s Christmas morning, it’s Christmas morning, wake up sissy!”

I smile, knowing she’s bounced back. Today will be a good day. For her and for me. 

As I peel back the covers and lift my head, I notice that my hair is soaking wet. I turn and look at my pillow and see that it’s drenched, too. In a stupor, I press my hand into the pillow and watch as water seeps out its sides. Then, I feel a solid object beneath the damp fabric.  

Slowly, I lift the pillow up. Then I’m staring in disbelief. 

Because underneath my pillow is a single red bow. 

Right then Holly bursts through the door and starts jumping on my bed. She’s giggling and telling me that Santa was here and he brought the best present of all. 

It takes me a second to register what she’s saying, but I finally tear my eyes away from the bow and look at my sister. 

And there, tucked under her arm, is the elf doll, grinning. 

Always grinning. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Holly squeals.