Mrs. B's Dolls

Sigh.
I sit behind the desk, reading my book. I look up nervously and see the dolls staring at me. Again. They always stare at me. Never at each other. Never at the cars outside. Me.
Even though City of Ember is a page turner, it cannot distract me from the beetle black and moon blue eyes that watch me every move, that can see my heart beating in my chest.
I have been working at Mrs. B's Dolls for a few months now, it is a family run business, and my boss is an old, rickety woman, who is the great granddaughter of Mrs. B.
Mrs. B IV had four sons before she got a daughter. The daughter would always run the business because women are supposed to care more about the welfare of the children with dolls and the care of the dolls themselves. Men are supposed to care about money.
Her daughter, Ms. B V, didn't care about dolls. She played with them when she was younger, all girls did, but she didn't want to run the old rundown shop. Mrs. B IV, of course, was mad, but her daughter was even more angry and left. She never came back. Mrs. B V soon got old and had to hire outside the family. She hired me.
I'm a guy, but I'm just a down-on-his-luck kid who needs to get a job. I'm 17 going on 18 and Dad said he was gonna make me pay the rent. The man is so aloof I wasn't sure if he was kidding or not.
Mrs. B doesn't come around often. She doesn't say much to me except what I should do and stuff like "Here," when she hands me my small paycheck. I don't even know the broad's real name. She tells me to call her Mrs. B and she still calls me Mr. Oak. I told her to call me Tony, but she won't.
I set down my book and stand up as I hear someone walk into the door with the bell. Not a lot of people come in here around fall. Mostly Christmas some people come in, in spring the bargain shoppers and antique collectors hunt, and summer is the time where people pop baby girls left and right, so that's birthday season. Still, business is slow anyway. The dolls are out of date. Its like we're selling the corn husk dolls the first Mrs. B sold years ago.
In the door walks a girl around my age, she looks around curiously. I smile. I hate it when the little bratty kids come in with their mommys and have fits on what dolls their parents can afford. Only poor people shop here because otherwise they'd be spending money on 75 $35 Barbies and $100 American Girls.
"Can I help you with anything?" I ask politely.
"Oh, no thank you, I'm just looking."
She's very nice. Her hair is Ember Spice and her eyes are black and big. Her tan skin fights the cold and its silky.
"You have a little sister or something?"
"A girl I babysit. It's her birthday soon."
"Oh, how old is she?"
"She's turning 5."
"5?" I scratch my beardless chin and start roaming around the store. We buy unwanted dolls and sell them, we also trade out. So there's usually a new face every couple of weeks. Whoever comes in likes to stare at me. Its dim and dusty, the shelves are covered and piled with dolls upon dolls. They aren't in any specific order. I find a couple that are hard plastic, so they won't get broken and the parts won't come off.
"She likes Heidi, you know, Shirley Temple? She'd like something like that."
"Shirley Temple?"
I look around and find a cloth doll with curly blond hair and a raggedy dress. "Do you think she'll wreck this one?"
"She's careful with all of her dolls. I'm sure she'll like it."
"Shirley it is."
I take out a box from Mrs. B's hoard of them and set it in gently. Suddenly the girl jumps over the counter and hides under it, right by my legs.
A man comes into the store and I try and look busy. I don't trust him.
"Did a girl run in here?"
"She did," I said, "But ran back out. I think she's heading toward the woods."
The man hurriedly leaves.
I feel the girl crawl up my legs. I get tense with fright, not knowing what just happened.
She looks up at me, tears on her face. Her breath escaping rapidly from her lungs slips into my open more. She grabs me. "Thank you."
"Its okay," I console, "Just come into the back room, there's no windows, they won't find you there."
She hiccups and I gently put my hand in my pocket. She looks down and follows my hand as I take it out and place it gently in hers. When I let go, a camping knife remains. "Take it," I said, "You'll need it more than I do."
Two hours later, the store closes. I offer to take the girl home. She accepts and I take her down to her house. She lives in a slum, a terrible house that's old and run down. Its small, too.
"You better get out of her," she says, "my stepfather doesn't like me to have people over, especially men. He gets angry quickly."
I retire home and go to bed, the girl in my mind.
The next day. I return to the shop to work. Mrs. B leaves me a note to tidy up. I know what this means. With a spray bottle and a rag, I go around and dust the dolls in the shop. They stare at me again.
Something grabs my wrist and I turn around screaming, knocking down a bunch of dolls. Some brake and one cries out, "Mama."
Its the girl again, her eyes eat at me like a doll's eyes.
Sighing in relief, I grab my heart, it pounds in my chest. A smile goes across her face.
"Hey," I say.
"I forgot to pay you for the doll."
"Oh, that's okay, just keep it, its on the house. We don't have set prices here, anyway."
"I guess you get creeped out here, alone with all these dolls," she looks around.
"Did you ever figure out what was with that guy chasing you?" I ask, changing the subject. I slowly walk around and keep working, but I am listening, waiting to catch every word.
"I saw them do something," she said, "to my friend."
I drop the doll, "What happened?"
She puts her hands behind her back, she sways her hips back and forth. Her black eyes look up at the ceiling. Today, on this cold fall afternoon, she wears a loose grey sweater, dark baggy jeans, and black and white standard sneakers. Her eyes are glassy with tears. "They hurt a woman. She was on my softball team."
I know what that means. "Did you tell anyone? Did you talk to her?"
The girl shook her head, "I told the police, but they couldn't find her."
She hands me a folded paper. It is a missing poster. I recognize the girl from school. I helped her with her books, once.
"There's rumors going around he and his friends killed other girls, too. I don't wanna be the next one, I'm going into the WPP."
"I guess you'll have to leave then?"
She nods, tears on her face.
"Here's another doll, I want you to keep this."
The doll is like Raggedy Ann. It is plushy and its dress is lacy and pink. A matching bonnet is sewn to its head. Its hair is made of yellow yarn and bangs stick out of the bonnet. Its eyes are black buttons and its mouth was stitched.
The girl cuddles it as if she wasn't old enough to play with dolls. She's still crying.
I reach to the back of my neck. I fiddle with the necklace I'm wearing and I get it off, shaking my hair loose. "Here, take this." I'm not religious, but I always wear a the blue cross necklace my mom gave me. It brings me comfort.
"I'm not really religious," she confess.
"I'm not, either," I explain, "but it kept me in this store with all the dolls staring at me and I haven't gone insane yet. It can't bring anything but good." I put it around her neck. It looks wonderful on her. She smiles and wraps her arms around me before she leaves.
*
It has been a month and I haven't seen the girl. I never get it out of my brain. Ever minute of every day contributes to thinking about her. One day, on a cold, early winter morning, I go up the steps to the shop. A box sits there. It is a large box. I grab it and drag it inside. I search around for my pocket knife, then I realize I gave it to the girl. My heart feels sad again. I liked that girl.
I find a scissors in the back and I open the box. In it is a doll, but not a doll like the dolls on the shelves.
It wears a patchy, colorful dress with white and read strips. Shiny flats fit on its feet. Its skin is porcelain white, but its lips are rose red and its cheeks have blush applied very professionally. Its eyelashes are thick and long and its eyes are big and black. Its wiry, dark red hair is tied in thick braids. It is a beautiful rag doll, but it is almost as big as I am.
Expecting it to be heavy, I brace my self and wrap my arms securely around it. To my surprise it is quite light. I set it in an old rocking chair. It falls loosely over it.
I struggle to get it back up and I finally get it in an upright position. I stare at it. It is beautiful.
I smile and stare at it for a long time. I hear someone coming so I grab my book, not to be seen staring at a doll.
A man has come in with his daughter. She looks around in disgust.
I set my book down and ask if there be need of assistance. He's just looking. The girl points to the large doll in the chair. "I want that one."
"That doll's on layaway. Its sold already." I say almost automatically.
"Sorry baby, someone else has that one," the dad mollycoddles.
The girl is a brat. She grunts and fits about it. "I want it!"
"Are there any more in stock?"
I shake my head, "Its the only one we have. There are plenty more dolls, though."
"But I want the big one, daddy!"
I want to smack the little girl.
"Its ugly, anyway. Why don't you look at the pretty little ones over here. They go with your collection."
I want to smack the dad and then the girl. How dare he say that about the doll?
Finally he gets her to take a big glamor doll on a stand and they leave. I sigh and turn my head back to the doll.
Something made me want to keep this doll. Something made me want to keep it for my own. I want to take it home. Put it in my room.
I continue to stare at the doll. She's my new doll.
"Daisy." I mumble in a sing song voice. I sound high, like I am on LSD or something.
When the time comes for the store to close, I find myself not wanting to leave the doll. She would get frightened, being all alone in the dark store. And the other dolls might make fun of her for being so large and so different.
I have a blank stare at dinner, fiddling with my food. I cannot stop thinking about that doll, its wild and lovely, lacy clothes, its draping hair, its emotionless yet pretty face. It is like she is an angel.
That night, I sneak out and drive back to the store. I light a few candles and sit down. The doll is just as I left her.
"Hey, Daisy," I whisper, I don't want her to be afraid. "There's no need to be scared. I'm Tony, I'm gonna take care of you." I took the oatmeal bars out of my pocket and set it in her lap. "I thought you might get hungry."
I realize how ridiculous I was being. It is a doll, there is no need to do this. But she is so lovely and so innocent. I want to talk with her. To tell her what I am thinking about.
It turns out I have a lot of secrets to tell her. It is nice having something to talk to. She listens, and it is as if she is letting me know she understands. I can see it in her eyes.
"It must be strange being in this new place," I say to her, "You'll learn to love it, its very cozy, and I come here to work, so you'll see me a lot." I touch her knee. She is cold. I take off my jacket and dress her in it. I feel a dim voice inside my head. It isn't like words, but it just tells me. I take my shirt off and put it over her legs like a blanket.
"I need to go, I have school tomorrow. You'll see me this afternoon."
I return home. I am happy that I got to meet with her. Daisy is a lovely doll. I plan to take her home with me someday when I have a home of my own. The first thing I want to see in the morning and the last thing I want to see at night is Daisy.
I continue seeing her at work and I go out at night to her at least three times a week. After about a month of being with her, I confronted her. She hadn't moved, but I dust her once a day, making sure she is better than the other dolls. I know about her, whether she told me telepathically or I made it up in my mind. Today I decide to take her home.
My parents are gone on a visit to my aunt and uncle's far away. They will be back in a week. This is perfect. I would take Daisy home, she could see my room, eat with me, and sleep in the bed with me. It will be more comfortable there than in that chair.
I gently carry her through the house and she is pleased. Finally, I show her my room and set her on the bed. She feels nervous. "Don't be nervous, Daisy."
"Its so big. What if things are hiding?" Daisy wonders.
"I'll protect you, Daisy."
I am not crazy. My brain is completely right. Daisy really talks to me and I talk to her. You don't understand, but I do not belong in the mental hospital. I am not doing any harm.
Daisy lies on the bed, her wide eyes on the ceiling. I try and comfort her, laying with her and wrapping my arms around her.
I felt attracted to Daisy, more than a friend. I remind you that I am not messed up in the head. This is what it is like to be in love.
"Daisy, I know you saw this coming. If your not ready, I understand. Just stop me if you don't feel comfortable. This is all you."
I grab onto her. Her head lulls toward me. Her eyes are expectant and her red lips are...kissable. I smile and lean forward. I press my flesh lips to hers. I keep it classy, but I can't control myself. She's the most wonderful girl in the world, and this is my first kiss with the girl of my dreams.
I let go and look into her eyes. She enjoyed it. I curl up with her, kissed her neck briefly, and hugged her. "Oh, Daisy." She would be my lovely doll forever.
Breathing through my nose, I smelled her. It was a chemical odor, it reeked like a cleaning closet.
It must be what the previous owners cleaned her with.
"It hurt me, Tony, please be gently with me."
"Don't worry, Daisy, I'll take care of you like a newborn. I won't use chemicals with your white, lovely skin." I feel her blushing cheek, it is smooth and cold. I warmed her with my hands.
I clean her with a rag, but it doesn't work, the stench resides.
I soon forget about the chemical odor, for I loved her too much to care about what she smelled like. I kiss her again and set her on my lap.
"Dance with me, Tony."
I hold her up and dance with her around the room, she is happy. Then my mother's voice calls out, "Tony! We're home! We need to move the trip to next week, your cousin's got pneumonia!"
In my horror I drop Daisy. They can't know of my secret love.
I know I am being rude as I shove Daisy in the closet. Her words of protest ring in my ears as I tell her I'd explain later. Mom comes in and bids me good night. After a few hours. I take out Daisy again. "I'm so sorry, darling, I couldn't let my mom see you."
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"Never! Its just, she wouldn't approve. No one would approve of this. The don't know how I feel when I'm around you."
I have to slam her on the ground and shove her under the bed as my dad opens the door. I stand up and sit on my bed.
"Were you talking to someone?"
"No." I say loudly. Daisy's cries are loud and disturbing.
Dad doesn't hear it and shrugs. He retires and I drag her out again, careful and quiet.
"I am so sorry, Daisy." I gasp, realizing that I had cracked Daisy's porcelain skin dangerously around her eye.
"I'll fix it, I promise." I say. She is still unimaginably beautiful. She's crying. I try to wipe her tears. Her marble black eye and a ring of skin pops out. I try to keep myself from screaming. I am ruining my love!
I look inside the hole I made. In it there is bone! Yellowing, gross bone under that lovely white skin.
She is yelling at me.
"I'm so sorry, Daisy, I'll fix you, don't worry." I crack the stomach on her and lift up her dress to look. She doesn't resist. I see ribcage.
I grow terrified. Daisy is dead. A corpse turning into a doll. The rotting stench mixed with the chemical scent from the formula used to preserve her body is disgusting enough to kill someone. But I still love her. What should I do? If I turn her in she'll get justice. But they would take her away from me. They would mutilate her! And the wouldn't even be able to find anyone. No one knows who dropped her off at Mrs. B's Dolls a month ago.
I stroked her face to comfort her. On her neck there was a string i hadn't noticed before. I pulled it and I grabbed onto the charm at the end of the necklace. It was a cross. The necklace I used to wear that Mom gave me. "Wait a minute," I say. I flashback zooms through my mind. I almost forget, the girl from the store! She bought the Shirley Temple doll! I remember her face, then I looked down at Daisy. There was no doubt they were the same person, in porcliean or in flesh. I have first fallen in love with a doll, and now a corpse. 1

"You don't love me anymore, do you?" She asked.
"I'll always love you, no matter what, Daisy. But what do you want me to do with you? Should we go to the police?"2

"I want to stay with you."
I scooped her up and went downstairs, carefully gluing the pieces back in place. With a little paint, she would be good as new.
"Don't leave me down here, Tony, with the rats and the bats."
"Its okay, Daisy, you'll be safe here. I have to leave you, but I'll be back. In no time I'll take you away and we'll live in a little place together, you'll see." I pull up some floorboards in the basement and set her in a box. I close it and set her gently inside.
"I love you, Daisy."
She didn't answer.
At work, It pains me that she isn't in the chair by my side. Instead she was in a box, waiting for me. Waiting for me to kiss her. Waiting for me to hug her. Waiting for me to love her again.
Mrs. B died last night. The store will close soon and the dolls remaining will be given away or thrown out. I don't care, for I have no emotional connection with this place. I could stay home all day with Daisy, but she wants children, so I have to hurry up and get financially stable until we could start a family.
I look for jobs online at a local job searching website. An add in the sidebar has a picture of a familiar and pretty face. Its the girl. It says she's been missing for two months. The girl's name is Loretta, but she is now my Daisy. She isn't missing, she is in a box under my floor. Waiting for me to return home to her. She's safe and sound. I love her. She is my doll and my doll alone.3