The Doll's Eye

by Marina Cohen

  Hadley shook her head. She walked to the stairs and tiptoed upward. She would clean herself up and put on something nice. She was excited to spend more time with her father—find out more about who he really was. As she stepped into her room, the smile slipped from her lips.

  Lying neatly across her duvet, as though someone had set it out for her to wear, was a frilly pink dress. It was a tea-length cupcake style—like nothing Hadley had ever owned, let alone worn before. The sleeveless bodice was fitted, with a diamond pattern stitched in fine silk thread. A tulle underskirt added extra fullness to the billowing organza pleats. It looked like something a doll would wear.

  Twenty-four

  Mama and I arrive home from Boston. Papa is still bedridden. His wound has become infected, and Doctor Fenton tells Mama he is making the necessary preparations to remove Papa’s eye in the morning. Mama faints upon receiving the frightful news, but Frau Heinzelmann is there to catch her.

  Frau Heinzelmann forces me to eat a warm bowl of beef stew filled with carrots and potatoes. I take only a few bites, while Mama cannot eat at all. She is weary from the long journey and retires to her room. The listlessness that had briefly left her has returned.

  While Frau Heinzelmann clears the dishes, I sit alone by the fireplace, warming my hands. My dollhouse remains where I left it weeks ago. I reach inside to pull out the doll Papa made for me but I startle. Sitting next to the doll, glaring at me with its black eyes, is the creature with pale limbs and ghostly white hair.

  “I have come to claim my ransom,” it says in a small voice.

  I nearly fall backward, but I steady myself and gather my courage. “But you did not fulfill your end of the bargain, and therefore I owe you nothing.”

  “Ah, but I did,” it hisses. “You asked that your father be home. And so he is. You wanted your mother out of her bed. So she was. And did you not return to your beloved Boston?”

  I think of all that has happened and it suddenly occurs to me that my wishes—they did come true after all, only not in the manner I had intended.

  “But … but…” My voice trembles. “That was not what I meant…”

  “The how is not important,” says the creature, “simply the what. You have received all you asked for. Now you must give me something in return.” It grins wickedly.

  I turn my back on the dollhouse. My mind scrambles for a way out of my bargain. I did indeed ask for Papa to be home, and for Mama to be up, and to return to Boston. But I also asked for one more thing.

  “You did not deliver all I asked,” I say. “You did not provide me with a friend.”

  When I turn toward the dollhouse, my doll is alone. The creature has vanished.

  I almost feel I have escaped it when all at once I feel a cold breath on my shoulder. I spin around to discover, standing full-size by the fireplace, a girl. She wears a pretty dress, and her silky white hair pours loosely down her back. Only her cavernous eyes give her away.

  “I shall be your friend,” she says in a sweet voice. “For now. And for always.” She reaches out to touch my arm. Her touch prickles my skin and chills me to the bone. “But come now, first you must pay me what you owe.”

  “And w-what is that?” I ask, taking a step backward.

  “Why, your eyes, of course,” she says, smiling. “I would like a beautiful pair of silver-gray eyes to call my own.”

  The creature reaches her dainty hands toward my face, but I draw back farther, nearly stumbling over the dollhouse. All the while my mind works feverishly to win time. She reaches a second time, her sharp claws grazing my cheek, which immediately turns icy. With my back already against the wall, there is nowhere for me to go.

  “Give me one day,” I say quickly. “Removing one’s eyes is not an easy feat. Allow me to prepare for the removal, and I swear I will pay what I owe.”

  The girl pauses as if to ponder my request. Then, backing away slightly, she tilts her head and agrees. “I give you twenty-four hours to honor your bargain. Twenty-four hours. No more.”

  Relief washes over me. I have won a reprieve. But I know my relief will be short-lived when she adds, “Just remember, if you do not fulfill your promise and deliver your eyes to me of your own free will—then I shall claim them myself.” She fans her dainty hand with tiny claw-like nails and grins.

  Twenty-five

  Hadley trod ever so lightly down the steps, like Cinderella making her grand entrance into the ball.

  The organza dress rustled. It was tight and horribly uncomfortable. The neckline itched, but Hadley didn’t dare scratch, because once she started, she’d never be able to stop. She kept asking herself why she’d put on the darn thing, but the answer was simple—she wore it to please her father, because she was somehow sure it was what he wanted.

  Reaching the threshold to the living room, Hadley paused. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. Her father sat on the sofa reading a newspaper. As she stepped inside, he looked up at her and his eyes lit up like summer sparklers.

  “You look beautiful, Doll Face,” he said. “Perfectly radiant.” He motioned for her to sit beside him.

  Hadley’s cheeks flushed. She’d met with his approval. Slowly, carefully, as though treading on eggshells, she moved toward him and settled into the comfy sofa by his side.

  He set down the newspaper and put an arm around her. “I can’t believe how grown-up you’re getting. It seems like only yesterday you were a baby … spitting up all over me, drooling, and all that other disgusting stuff.”

  Hadley blinked, trying hard not to let a frown muscle its way through her bright smile. What was so horrible about babies? Throwing up and drooling was what they did. She inched ever so slightly away, but he drew her back in tight.

  “How about a game of cards before dinner?” he asked. “Or that kite I gave you last week—how about we try to fly it?”

  Hadley’s body went rigid. A kite. He wanted to fly a kite. Just like Ed and Isaac. She sighed softly. Ed and Isaac …

  Hadley wanted to tell her father she’d rather do something else, but there was a look in his eye she couldn’t quite identify. A look that told her she’d best not disappoint him.

  He hauled her to her feet, only they didn’t seem to want to cooperate. She nearly tipped sideways, but luckily he caught hold of her.

  “You’re like a bull in ballet slippers,” he chuckled.

  Hadley’s mother poked her head into the room. “Where are you two off to?”

  Her voice was an echo of what it used to be. There was no strength in it. No assuredness.

  “Shouldn’t you be making dinner?” Her father winked. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “Of course, dear.” She smiled. “I’m making all your favorites.”

  Hadley’s lips were sewn tight. This mother was unrecognizable. Her face was not her own. Her voice was someone else’s. The mother she knew would never have responded that way. The mother she knew would have said something like, If you’re so hungry, why don’t you get up off that sofa and help so we can get it done quicker?

  Now that she had her real father, Hadley found herself missing her real mother—the strong, fearless parking enforcer who would give tickets to truck drivers and UPS deliverers and order them to move their vehicles. This new mother couldn’t command a fly. Hadley gazed at the impostor with a mixture of disappointment and contempt.

  Hadley’s father pulled her by the upper arm and together they headed toward the door. She slipped into a pair of shiny black patent-leather shoes that sat waiting. She’d never owned a pair of patent-leather shoes in her life, but these seemed to fit perfectly.

  She followed her father around the side of the house. He went straight to the garage and yanked open the door. The old mess had been replaced with absolute order. Hadley gawked at the floor—it was so clean you could eat off it.

  At the far end three bins formed a perfect line. Two blue recycling boxes—one labeled Paper and another labeled Plastic—sat side by side. A green bin lab
eled Compost completed the trio. Any rusty old gardening tools that had littered the floor were now good as new and hung neatly on a system of hooks along the walls. Even the old croquet and badminton sets Hadley had played with were now sitting neatly on a wooden shelf.

  Her father walked to the back and located a kite. It was the same blue-and-orange one Ed and Isaac had been trying to fly that afternoon that now felt like centuries ago. Pangs of guilt jabbed at her insides.

  “There’s no wind,” she said quietly, as they stepped into the yard, but even before she finished her sentence, a gentle breeze blew softly across her face.

  “There’s enough,” said her father, chuckling. He walked to the center of the lawn. “Perfect weather to fly a kite.”

  “Perfect,” echoed Hadley.

  He handed Hadley the spindle and walked to the back of the yard, as the string unspooled in her hands. And then, like some bizarre déjà vu, he motioned for her to run with the spindle to force the kite airborne. Hadley turned, trying not to let him see her face. She missed Ed. He never ordered her mother around. He made her mother smile.

  “All right,” said her father. “Go!”

  Hadley had no choice but to run, her pink organza dress billowing around her. The neckline grated against her skin, but she resisted the urge to scratch. The string behind her pulled tight and the kite sailed upward. Her father shouted encouraging things like, “Great job, Hadley! Keep going!”

  Then, like Ed, she turned at the wrong moment, and she tripped over her own feet. She fell hard, sliding along the ground.

  The words of praise stopped immediately.

  Hadley lay there, catching her breath, staring at the cloudless blue sky. She remembered how Ed and Isaac and her mother had laughed. It made her smile. She closed her eyes. The sunshine was warm and bright on her face, until a shadow crept over her.

  Her father loomed, his face pinched and red. He grabbed her shoulders and hoisted her to her feet.

  “You’re as clumsy as a cow,” he said. “Don’t you know how to do something as simple as fly a kite?”

  Hadley shrank from his hot breath that jabbed at her with each word.

  “I—I just,” she stammered. “My feet—they got tangled…”

  “Look at you,” he said, roughly brushing dirt from her dress. “Look what you’ve done.”

  Hadley noticed there was a tiny rip in the seam near her shoulder. She raised her hand to inspect the damage, but her father pushed it aside.

  “You’ve ruined it,” he said.

  “It—it’s okay, Dad,” said Hadley. “I can fix it. Honestly. I can sew it and it will look good as new.” Her lips quivered, but she commanded them to smile just one second longer.

  “Fine,” he said, stepping away. “You do that. And clean this mess.” He pointed to the tangled kite string and the blue-orange battered lump lying in the grass. “Throw it out and take the bins to the curb. Tomorrow is garbage day. We wouldn’t want to miss getting rid of all that trash.”

  “Sure,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Hadley forced her smile to freeze in place. One more second. Just one more. And then he turned his back, and her jaw muscles went limp.

  Hadley gripped the spindle and began winding the string, moving at a steady pace toward the kite. She breathed deeply, trying to decipher what had gone so terribly wrong. She hoped Gabe wouldn’t show up. The last thing she needed was for him to see her wearing this ridiculous dress.

  Inside the garage, she tossed the broken kite into one of the recycling bins. She began lugging the one labeled Plastic toward the curb. She returned for the green compost bin, and then the one labeled Paper. She plunked it down at the curb beside the other two. Satisfied, she wiped her hands on her dress.

  She was about to turn when the top newspaper in the recycling bin caught her attention. The heading read: MISSING. It was the newspaper from some time ago—the one Althea de Mone had handed her mother the first day they’d met.

  Hadley lifted the paper and stared at the photo underneath the headline. It was of a man, a woman, and a little girl. The paper slipped from her hands and fluttered to the ground. They were identical to the family of dolls that had disappeared from her dollhouse.

  Twenty-six

  Hadley picked up the needle and thread her mother had given her. She slipped out of the dress and put on a clean pair of shorts and a fresh T-shirt. It was like she was stepping out of someone else’s skin and back into her own.

  Carefully, she mended the rip in the dress as best she could. When she was finished, there was a jagged line of uneven stitches. She turned the dress over in her hands and noticed a small grass stain on the back of it. Good thing her father hadn’t seen that or who knows what he might have done.

  Carrying the dress into the bathroom, she wet a corner of a towel and then rubbed it with soap. She dabbed the stain, careful not to harm the delicate fabric. When she was sure the dress looked as good as it was ever going to she took it back to her room and laid it on her bed, dreading the thought of putting it back on.

  Hadley sat beside the dollhouse. The three dolls were exactly where she’d left them. What had happened to the family that had lived in the house before her? What had happened to their dolls? For the first time she believed Isaac. He hadn’t taken them.

  Her father bellowed up the long dark staircase, announcing it was time for dinner. The sharpness in his voice told Hadley he didn’t intend to call a second time.

  The dress felt tighter and more uncomfortable than ever. The neckline was now like sandpaper. She quickly combed her hair, her scalp stinging with each knot she yanked out.

  Hadley’s knees trembled as she made her way into the kitchen. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted meat. Her mother stood at the counter, placing the quinoa mixture into a bowl. Her father sat at the table, waiting.

  Hadley eyed the crisp white cloth, the starched linen napkins, and the gleaming cutlery. She recalled how Ed and Isaac and her mother had sat there not long ago, laughing, eating, playing board games. Though she had been starving, her appetite was suddenly gone.

  “You’re late,” said her father.

  “Late?” she asked.

  “Don’t talk back to me.”

  Hadley scurried to the chair beside him.

  “You’ve fixed your dress,” he said, flicking a finger at the jagged seam. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a warm smile like the first time she’d seen him. It was more of a sneer.

  “Well?” he said. He looked toward Hadley’s mother expectantly.

  She practically jumped, spun around, and brought over the bowl of quinoa. She set it down, smiled, and then was off again to grab a platter of thinly sliced rare roast beef. A bowl of salad sat waiting on the table, and when Hadley reached for it, her father’s head snapped in her direction. She withdrew her hand as though it had been smacked.

  As soon as Hadley’s mother slipped into her seat beside her father, he reached for the salad bowl and placed a large helping on his plate first. Next, he served her mother, and last he served Hadley.

  Hadley watched her mother carefully, waiting for some kind of cue as to when she might be allowed to begin, but she just sat there staring off into space, smiling.

  As soon as Hadley’s father picked up his fork, her mother did the same. Hadley took hers quickly, too, as though she had to keep up. A sprinkling of sweat dampened her forehead. She had never worked so hard at eating a meal before.

  Biting daintily into a wedge of cucumber, Hadley snuck a sideways glance at her father. A fly zipped about his face. At first he made no move to shoo it, then in one swift motion, he caught the insect in his fist. Hadley watched as he slowly squeezed the life out of it, then placed it into his napkin and handed it to Hadley’s mother to dispose of.

  Hadley’s stomach turned. Suddenly she was desperate to leave. She stood, but her father slammed his fist once onto the table. The china plates and glasses clinked in shock. Hadley stood statue-still, unable to leave and unab
le to sit. Her father resumed eating like nothing had happened. Hadley met her mother’s gaze, and their eyes locked for an instant.

  Say something, Hadley willed. Do something. But her mother just smiled that same synthetic smile as though everything were simply perfect.

  “I—I need to go to the bathroom,” Hadley stammered, as soon as she could get her mouth to cooperate.

  “Of course,” her father said gently. “But don’t take too long. You wouldn’t want your dinner to get cold.”

  Hadley forced her feet to move slowly, steadily, until she was safely in the hall, and then she dashed up the stairs and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  She turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto her face, not caring if it soaked her dress in the process. She swallowed great gulps of air, and when she’d managed to catch her breath and calm her stomach, she sat on the edge of the tub.

  If nothing else, she now had a very clear picture of what not very nice meant. Not very nice meant a pathological obsession with neatness. Not very nice meant prone to bouts of explosive rage. Not very nice meant cruel words and behavior. Hadley’s real father was not very nice. She should have left it at that.

  Hadley managed to avoid her parents for the rest of the evening. She told them she was sick to her stomach. It was the truth.

  As twilight smeared a hazy film over the neighborhood, she stared at the street. More than ever, she longed for the apartment in the city. For the noisy traffic, the stinky sewers, the bicycles and pedestrians that made it impossible to feel lonely.

  She found the eye in the pocket of her shorts and nearly made another wish. She quickly stopped herself. Each time she had made a wish, it hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected. Grace was right—she should never have begun wishing.

  She gazed out the window, setting her sight on the bins lining the curb. The idea came to her so suddenly it nearly knocked her over.

  “It’s time to take out the trash,” she said, grinning.