by Kat Shepherd
“It is too late,” Mary Rose intoned. Her voice had lost its breathless, childlike quality. There was a shrill note to it, almost one of desperation. Tanya could feel the searing heat coming off the doll. As Mary Rose closed in on her, Tanya noticed the clown’s plastic face growing shiny. It softened and began to melt. The clown’s brightly colored costume burst into flames.
Tanya used the shovel to fling the burning doll aside, praying the frost on the frozen ground would keep the fire from spreading further. The heat from Mary Rose was so great that Tanya could feel the shovel grow hot in her hands. She raised it over her head just as she felt blisters begin to form on her palms from the searing metal.
She slammed the edge of the shovel down on the gazing globe with all her might, and a spiderweb of cracks formed on its surface. Mary Rose screamed in fury, and Tanya heard another scream as Kira fell to her knees, clutching her head in her thin hands. The other dolls pushed Kira toward Mary Rose, who was still desperately trying to complete the Night Queen’s final transfer into the little girl. Tanya raised her arms again, and this time the blow rang true. The globe shattered, the pieces catching the setting moon’s glow as they flew into the night sky like fireworks.
Kira let out a keening wail and collapsed face-down into the dirt. Mary Rose’s scream of rage shook the ground like an earthquake. Tanya dropped the burning hot shovel, her blistered hands an angry red. She fell to her knees and covered her face as Mary Rose flew at her, but before the doll could reach her, it exploded. Porcelain and cotton limbs sailed across the yard and burst into flames. The head and torso dropped to the ground, and the maw of a mouth opened, but no words came out. Only a final, fading hiss. The other dolls fell limp where they stood, arms and legs twisted at awkward angles, and their blank faces stared lifelessly at the frigid, early-morning sky.
Mary Rose’s fiery form burned rapidly until all that remained was a charred patch on the ground and a blackened silver lump in the shape of a tiny human heart.
Maggie hugged herself, wincing at the cuts on her arms. “What just happened? Is it over?”
Tanya took a deep, exhausted breath. “Yeah, it’s over.”
Clio knelt over Kira, who let out a moan and rolled over. The little girl blinked her pale eyes. “Where am I?” she asked blearily.
Tanya crawled over to her and helped her sit up. “You’re outside in the yard,” she said softly. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“I don’t know,” Kira said faintly. “I just remember that I was scared.”
“I was scared, too,” Tanya answered.
Kira slipped her hand in Tanya’s. “But when I saw you, I felt better.” She nestled her head against Tanya’s arm. Tanya’s eyes were suddenly damp, and she blinked and looked up to find Maggie beaming at her.
“Kira? Kira, where are you?” Mrs. Fogelman’s sharp voice called out from inside the house.
Rebecca ran to the open back door. “We’re out here!” she called inside.
The artist shuffled into the doorway wrapped in a red-and-black batik-print robe. She stepped into a pair of garden clogs and brushed her wiry curls back from her face. “What’s going on?! It’s not even the crack of dawn yet. Why is everyone outside?”
“We were looking for Kira,” Tanya admitted.
Kira’s face darkened. “I had a bad dream. It was about Mary Rose,” she said sourly. “I hate that horrible doll, and I never want to see her again.”
For the first time, Mrs. Fogelman looked around the rest of the yard, and as her eyes took in the sea of twisted, dismembered dolls, the charred patch of earth, and the shattered gazing globe, a flicker of understanding crossed her face. “Poor Kira must have been sleepwalking again.”
“Um, yeah, I guess so,” Tanya said, looking at the others.
“Much of my childhood is lost to me now, but I believe I used to sleepwalk quite a bit myself when I was Kira’s age.” Mrs. Fogelman looked down at the silver heart and the lone doll shoe that sat nearby, and her voice grew sad. “Mary Rose is gone, then?”
“I’m sorry,” Tanya said. “We couldn’t save her.”
“It’s probably for the best,” Mrs. Fogelman said. “I don’t think she was the right sort of doll for a little girl after all.”
Kira burst into tears, and Mrs. Fogelman bent down and gathered her great-niece tenderly into her arms. Kira let out a long, keening wail. “I miss my mama,” she cried, her body wracked with sobs.
Mrs. Fogelman, her face a mask of pain, rocked the little girl and stroked her hair. “I know, baby, I know. Auntie Dot is here for you, my love.” Tears streamed down her face. “Something had ahold of me for a while, and I know I haven’t been myself.” She looked over at Tanya and her friends. “But I promise you, I’m here now.”
CHAPTER
20
LATER THE NEXT day, the girls were settled around the little kitchen table in Kawanna’s apartment while Kawanna and Ethan bustled busily about them, serving up pastries and tea. Tanya’s bandaged hands were still tender, so she wrapped her palms gingerly around the teacup Ethan handed her, wincing a bit from the heat of the liquid inside it.
“Have you talked to Mrs. Fogelman since yesterday?” Maggie asked Tanya. “How’s Kira?”
“She seems to be okay,” Tanya answered. “Her great-aunt says she’s eating and sleeping well, and her eyes are bright again. She doesn’t seem to remember much.”
“That’s probably good,” Clio said. “But what does Mrs. Fogelman remember?”
“More than most adults,” Tanya said. “A lot of details are fuzzy for her, but she seems to know that she was possessed by something, and she wasn’t very surprised to find her entire doll collection in pieces all over the backyard.”
“What did she do with them all?” Maggie asked.
“Got rid of them,” Tanya said. “Straight to the dump.”
Maggie shuddered. “Good.” She pulled up her shirtsleeve and eyed the scratch on her arm critically. “Do you think I’ll get a scar?” she asked.
“I doubt it,” Rebecca answered. “None of the cuts were very deep.”
“Too bad,” Maggie said wistfully. “Not many people could say they got a scar from fighting off homicidal dolls.”
“True,” Rebecca answered. “We are part of a very exclusive group.”
Maggie’s mouth quirked to one side, and she held up both hands for high fives. “Doll-bite sisters for life?”
The other girls laughed and slapped hands. “Doll-bite sisters for life!”
“So you won, right?” Ethan asked. “You beat the Night Queen.”
“Yeah, and no thanks to you,” Tanya retorted jokingly. “It turns out your magic fix-it trick to exorcise Mary Rose actually just made her stronger.” She shook her head in mock disappointment. “Honestly, Ethan, I expected more from you.”
Ethan blushed and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I should have known that finding that paper at just the right moment might have been a little too good to be true.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Tanya said. She put down her teacup and picked up a still-warm chocolate chip cookie from the platter in the middle of the table. “We all thought it was real. And besides,” she added, “I’m the one who really put everyone in danger. I cut my fingers on those shards and started all of this. And when I felt like something was wrong, I just chalked it up to my own anxiety instead of listening to my intuition and taking it seriously. I didn’t think scientists needed intuition, but I was wrong.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Kawanna said. “That’s how we learn and get better.”
“Well, I cut it pretty close.” Tanya took a sip of her tea. “When all of you wanted to destroy the doll right away, I wouldn’t do it. If I had just listened to everyone, maybe this whole thing could have been avoided.” Tanya pulled Mary Rose’s silver heart out of her pocket and held it up. “See this?” She shook it, and liquid could be heard moving around inside. “I’m
pretty sure that’s mercury in there.” She put it down on the table. “Kira would never have had a chance as long as Mary Rose was around. You all were right.”
Rebecca picked up the heart and tentatively ran her fingers over the realistic ridges and bumps in it. “What should we do with it? Bury it with the pieces of mirror?”
Tanya shook her head. “Liquid mercury is really poisonous, so this little sucker is going straight to the hazardous waste disposal center.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Kawanna said.
Tanya looked around the room, and her voice grew soft. “I just want to thank you for being there when I was scared and didn’t know what to do. You were brave when I couldn’t be, and you helped remind me of who I was when I needed it.” She bent her head and picked at the hole in her jeans. “I’m pretty sure I’d be a total mess if it weren’t for all of you.”
“I think we’d all be total messes without each other,” Clio said. “At least I would. Because I really, really hate fighting supernatural undead things. But if I have to fight a bunch of supernatural undead things, there’s no one I’d rather do it with.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Maggie said.
Rebecca rested her head on Maggie’s shoulder. “Same.”
Ethan reached for a peanut butter cookie. “So, what now?” he asked. “Is the Night Queen back in the Nightmare Realm, spying and waiting for revenge like always?”
“No,” Tanya said. “Remember what Miss Pearl wrote about the vessel? How without the beacon it was doomed to wander and could never return home? Once we smashed the globe, the Night Queen was trapped in Mary Rose, and the doll just wasn’t strong enough to hold that immense power. I realized it when I saw that it was starting to fall apart.”
“I don’t get it,” Maggie said.
Tanya struggled to find a way to explain. “Imagine trying to fill a water balloon with a fire hose. Mary Rose was the balloon, and the Night Queen was the fire hose.”
“Ohhh,” Maggie said. “I think I get it.” She bit her lip. “Kind of.”
“The Night Queen was destroyed by her own power,” Clio said thoughtfully. “She burned herself out.”
“So, that’s it, then?” Maggie asked. “We’re done? No more supernatural battles?”
“It seems like it,” Kawanna answered.
“It’s about time for life to get normal again,” Maggie said. “Because I’ve been seriously neglecting my wardrobe, Clio hasn’t finished reading a book in months, and I don’t remember the last time Tanya updated us on her Space Camp application.” She took a bite of her cookie. “And no offense, Rebecca, but these cookies aren’t exactly your best.”
“Hey!” Rebecca laughed and tossed her balled-up napkin at Maggie.
Kawanna held up her teacup. “Sounds like it’s time for a toast.” The others held up their cups. “To normal life,” Kawanna said.
“To normal life,” they repeated, clinking their cups.
“And,” Tanya said, holding her cup higher, “to friendship.”
They clinked their cups again. “To friendship.”
Outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun bathed the town in a warm amber glow, and deep purple shadows pooled behind the old buildings along Coffin Street. Piper, Oregon, was quiet once more. Its dark past had finally found peace.
EPILOGUE
BENEATH THE ARBOR of cobweb-draped trees, the dais sat empty and unswept. Piles of rotting red leaves lay in mounds that stained the stone below. The marble tombstone throne was pitted and streaked with moss, the carvings worn almost smooth from years of wear. The bonfire was cold and unlit, the embers damp from the dew that covered the glade. A tarnished silver crown of rams’ horns lay forgotten in the weeds, left behind like a child’s plaything.
The clearing was empty. No creature—living or dead—stirred between the thick trees. Even the babbling brook had dried up; only a few scum-laden puddles remained between the roots of the massive yew tree that stood, dead and broken, at the forest’s edge.
The air was hushed and stagnant. No breeze stirred the remaining few leaves of the twisted maple trees. Bare black branches stretched silently to the empty sky.
Then something rippled across the mossy ground. Sticks and stones danced as the earth began to shake. A dark crack split the clearing, black light oozing out of it like smoke. Something twisted and ancient rose from the inky black depths; darkness flowed out of it and curled across the ground like mist.
When the mist reached the trees, the trunks bent, cringing against the ground. The leaves on the dais turned black and swept away. A skeletal hand curled around the crown, and the metal bent and twisted itself into long, jagged spikes woven through with serpents.
The voice spoke with the rattle of dry branches scraping across a broken window. The rusty squeal of a forgotten door. The cold finality of soil dropped into an open grave.
“Yesssss,” it hissed. “At lasssst…”
Acknowledgments
I’ve been traveling a lot this past year to promote my books, and one of the questions I get asked most often in my school visits is “Where do you get your ideas?” Some kernel of each idea usually comes from somewhere in my own life, and The Vampire Doll is no exception. Growing up, I was a stuffed animal person (still am), but my mother had two musty trunks where she kept her childhood doll collection. Her chipped and cloudy-eyed charges were the perfect combination of well loved and deliciously eerie, and on very special occasions I got to take them out and play with them. They have captured my imagination ever since.
Being on the road is exciting, but it’s also tough. There were mornings when I would wake up and try to remember what day it was and what city I was in, and I am so grateful to all who made me feel at home no matter where I was. Jenny and Chris; Jason and Jerry; Lori and Bob; Brenda and John; Claire; Danielle and Mark; Elly and James; Neville and Craig; and Regan and Mike are just some of the many wonderful people who hosted me this year and treated me like family. And special thanks to Alex Manfredonia, Jessica Myles Henkin, and Brendan Greeley for making my hometown always feel like home to me.
Enormous thanks to my parents for their continued enthusiasm and support. Through thick and thin, they still manage to cheer me on, check in on me, and affectionately strong-arm their friends into buying my books. My technophobe mother even managed to write an Amazon review. (And if you haven’t written one yet, please do; they really make a difference!) Thanks also to Dallas and Amy Knudson, their kids, and my whole extended family of in-laws and outlaws for your good humor and willingness to show up, especially when I need it most. (I’m looking at you, Matthew Gamarra!) I love each and every one of you.
Children’s book people are some of the best people around, and I’m so lucky for all the book people that made this work such a joy. Erin Stein, Nicole Otto, Weslie Turner, and the wonderful team at Imprint are just so cool and smart, as are Katie Halata, Kelsey Marrujo, and the many other terrific publishing folks I’ve had the pleasure of working with on this series. Even in a big house like Macmillan, they always make me feel like I matter. Illustrator Rayanne Vieira has been a joyful collaborator, and I loved seeing how she brought these characters to life in each book. My incomparable agent, Erin Murphy, and beloved extended EMLA family continue to nurture and sustain my creative spirit, as do the wonderful Minnesota and SCBWI writing communities. And extra special thanks to all the teachers, librarians, and other champions of children’s literature who work every day to connect kids to books they will love.
I am profoundly grateful to my husband, Eddie Gamarra, for the incredible love and encouragement he has shown me throughout every moment of my writing career. He has supported my work as an author financially, emotionally, and creatively, and he has planned unbelievable surprises and thoughtful gestures to mark each special milestone along the way. None of these books could have been written without him. What a remarkable gift it has been to have him by my side.
For me,
the heart of this series has always been the friendship between the girls, and the way they accept and support one another in all of their messiness and mistakes and imperfections. Because that is what friends do. I am not an easy friend to have, and for all who have embraced me wholeheartedly, loved me when I felt unlovable, and allowed me to fail and try again, there are no words I can possibly string together that can adequately express my thanks. Whether I’ve known you for forty years or forty minutes, my life is richer with you in it. Your love is the very air I breathe, and my gratitude for each of you knows no bounds. Thank you, dearest ones. Thank you all.
About the Author
KAT SHEPHERD loves to create fast-paced adventure stories that are likely to engage reluctant readers, because she wholeheartedly believes that reading should be a joyful experience for every child.
A former classroom teacher, Kat has also spent various points in her life working as a deli waitress, a Hollywood script reader, and a dog trainer for film and TV. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband, two dogs, and a rotating series of foster dogs. Babysitting Nightmares is her first middle grade series.
Visit her online at katshepherd.com, or sign up for email updates here.
babysittingnightmares.com
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
