The Doll

by Elizabeth Andrews

  ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  ‘But we have already searched this room,’ pointed out Victoria.

  ‘Where is the key usually kept?’

  ‘It’s in the ashtray on top of the desk.’

  ‘You left the key on the top of the desk,’ said Queenie slowly, ‘where the children could find it?’

  Paul looked uncomfortable and glanced at his wife for support. ‘I didn’t think that they would come in here.’

  Victoria was silent; a faint blush crept over her cheeks as Queenie turned to stare speculatively at her.

  ‘Victoria?’ she prompted.

  ‘I didn’t think it would do any harm,’ she began in a rush. ‘They just wanted to know what daddy had done with it, so I told them,’ she finished weakly.

  ‘Vicky! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t think that they would take it!’

  ‘Well they did!’ Paul answered angrily. ‘And now we have to track the damn thing down.’ He slammed the drawer shut making the lamp wobble on the desk. ‘How could you have done that? You knew I wanted to keep it away from them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,’ she said looking shamefaced. ‘It’s just that they were so upset and I didn’t think it would do any harm.’

  Queenie cleared her throat, ‘Sorry to interrupt this little domestic but we have a more important matter to deal with.’

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Paul, still flushed with annoyance.

  ‘We’ll use the office as a starting point as this was the last place that you saw the doll. Now... if you have finished squabbling and blaming each other I will start.’ She looked enquiringly at them. ‘Are you ready?’ They both nodded. ‘Good. I want you to think about the doll as I begin the finding charm. Visualise it as clearly as you can. Then we shall see what we can find.’

  ‘Myself or Victoria?’

  ‘Both of you!’ She looked at their anxious faces. ‘Okay?’

  They nodded.

  Queenie waited for a moment scrutinising Victoria who was looking very uncomfortable, her eyes tight shut; she had begun to sweat as she tried to concentrate on the doll.

  Queenie chanted quietly, ‘As my magic circles round, find for me what I now seek, Bring it to sight, Bring it this night, Whether it be far or near, I call upon it to come to meet me here, What is lost must now be found. So mote it be!’

  There was an eerie silence as she finished, Paul and Victoria looked at one another and then at the old woman. Paul raised his eyebrows as nothing happened.

  ‘Well?’ he whispered.

  ‘Patience,’ muttered Queenie. ‘It will reveal itself, I promise.’

  The carriage clock on the desk steadily ticked away the minutes as they waited.

  Paul started to fidget, looking impatiently at his wife then at Queenie. ‘Nothing is happening.’

  ‘Shh,’’ warned Queenie.

  A faint sound came from upstairs and Victoria stared in alarm towards the hallway.

  ‘Is that it?’

  Queenie nodded.

  ‘But it’s upstairs with the children!’ she said, panic creeping into her voice and she ran towards the door.

  ‘I’m sure they will be fine,’ said Queenie quickly, ‘but perhaps we had better go upstairs just in case.’

  Paul darted past her and ran out into the hall closely followed by his wife. He raced up the steps two at a time, turning on all the lights as he went until the top floor of the house was ablaze with light. Victoria hesitated at the top and waited for Queenie who was slowly climbing the stairs, each step creaking beneath her feet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she whispered to the old woman.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she muttered, trying not to wince as her arthritic knees protested, then thankfully let go of the ornate banister when she reached the top step. It was freezing under her touch and her hand had begun to burn from the unnatural cold.

  Paul was waiting impatiently in front of the girl’s door, his hand raised to push it open. He looked enquiringly at her.

  She nodded.

  He tentatively inched it open. ‘Girls?’ he whispered. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘They are still asleep,’ Victoria muttered to Queenie, peering into the room over her husband’s shoulder.

  Pausing for just a moment to catch her breath Queenie slowly entered the room; a small night light gave the large room a warm ambience although the room itself was freezing. Their breath was clearly visible in the dim light, and Queenie shivered, pulling up the zip on her purple fleece.

  The youngest of the girls, Eva, was curled up on the rug, thumb in her mouth and the worn ear of the rabbit tucked under her nose. She was breathing deeply, as were her sisters. Paul quickly scooped her off the floor and carried her to one of the beds. Tucking the warm duck down quilt around her little body he gazed at her peaceful face and frowned.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ he muttered, ‘I brought it into the house; I can’t let anything happen to them.’

  ‘It won’t, don’t worry,’ Queenie reassured him and tiptoed further into the room, momentarily leaning over Eva she reached down, gently touched her head and muttered a few words under her breath then turned her attention to the other two.

  Abigail, book in hand, and Lily , were sprawled on the bed beneath the window, they looked peaceful enough as Queenie peered into their sleeping faces.

  Lily stirred when her mother draped a woollen throw carefully over the sleeping girls and muttered in her sleep, a frown appearing on her face.

  ‘Shh,’ murmured their mother. ‘Go back to sleep, everything is fine.’ She shivered, ‘It’s so cold in here, Paul.’

  ‘I’ll check the boiler later,’ he whispered.

  ‘The heating hasn’t anything to do with it,’ said Queenie coolly. ‘It means that there is a ...’ and stopped as something scraped against the wall.

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Victoria.

  ‘It’s coming from there,’ said Queenie, pointing to the adjoining room.

  ‘That’s our bedroom,’ said Paul

  Queenie nodded. ‘Okay, so we need to investigate in there.’

  Another faint scrape followed her words and Victoria shrank back from the door. Looking quickly at the sleeping girls she moved closer to her husband. ‘Paul?’ she whispered nervously.

  ‘Is that it? Is that the doll?’ His startled gaze travelled from his wife to Queenie.

  A dragging noise reached their ears and they took a step back.

  ‘Queenie?’

  She walked quickly to the door then paused with her hand on the knob. ‘Stay here with the children,’ she suggested.

  ‘Yes,’ said Victoria thankfully then started in dismay as Paul made to follow the old woman. ‘What are you doing? She said to stay here.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you stay here with the girls,’ he replied trying to sound reassuring. ‘But I have to go with her. It’s my fault; I brought this thing into the house.’

  ‘But Paul, you don’t know what to do.’

  ‘No I don’t, but I can’t let Queenie deal with it on her own.’ He glanced towards the door as Queenie stepped out into the brightly lit hall. ‘Wait,’ he whispered urgently as he hurried after her. ‘Wait for me.’

  Queenie snorted. ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with a doll, Vicar.’

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ he said stubbornly, ‘but I am coming.’ His boyish face was pale but determined and as he stepped to her side he stared defiantly into her pale eyes.

  A slight smile crossed her face and she muttered, ‘If you insist, my hero.’

  ‘What?’ he hissed.

  ‘Nothing.’

  She stepped out into the hall, Paul close to her side. The door to their bedroom was ajar and inside was pitch black.

  ‘Shall we?’ muttered Queenie, and pushed the door open letting the bright lights from the hall flood the large room. As with the children’s room it was icy cold. A floor board creaked beneath her fee
t as she stepped inside. The lights flickered briefly overhead and Paul’s sudden gasp did not disguise the dragging noise coming from deep within the room.

  ‘What was that?’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘Vicar,’ she muttered, ‘as young and charming as you are I really don’t appreciate you breathing down my neck, so a bit of space please!’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled but seemed reluctant to move. There was a movement in the shadows and he clutched at her arm. ‘There’s something there!’ he squealed.

  ‘Paul!’ she snapped, pulling her arm away from his pinching fingers, ‘Get off! Go and stay with your wife if you are scared!’

  ‘Scared...I’m terrified! Aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ she said bluntly and reaching forward flicked on the bedroom light.

  As was the norm in Victorian buildings the bedroom was a generous size dwarfing the double bed and the other pieces of modern furniture; Victoria had done her best to make it look comfortable with floral paper covering the walls with matching bed cover and cushions.

  ‘So,’ she muttered, walking further into the room, Paul hovering at her side. ‘Where are you doll?’

  His fingers dug even further into her arm and he pointed to the carpet. A strange mark ran across the carpet from the door to the bed. Queenie trod softly over to the bed and lifted the side of the cover, bending stiffly she tried to peer beneath the divan.

  ‘Shall I do it?’ suggested Paul, looking nervously at the strange drag marks.

  ‘I think not.’ Queenie dropped slowly to her knees, wincing a little, she ducked her head and stared into the dusty space. ‘Doesn’t your wife have a vacuum cleaner?’ she complained as dust puffed up into her face.

  Paul wisely ignored the comment; he lay down on the carpet and reached in, feeling about for the doll. His fingers brushed against something hard.

  ‘I’ve found it!’ he announced then yelped as an intense pain burned his outstretched hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  He dragged his hand back and sat up, cradling it against his chest. ‘Damn! What was that?’

  ‘Let me look,’ ordered Queenie. Small beads of blood were slowly oozing from three red welts on the back of his hand. ‘Are you sure you didn’t catch your hand on something?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Of course not!’ he snapped. ‘There’s nothing else under there.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Victoria had appeared in the doorway. ‘I heard a yell.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Queenie quickly.

  She didn’t seem convinced and crept nervously into the room where she suddenly caught sight of the blood on her husband’s hand. ‘You’re bleeding!’

  ‘I’m fine. Go and stay with the girls,’ he replied, and looked exasperated as Victoria, ignoring him, advanced into the room.

  ‘Where is it? Victoria asked Queenie. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘Underneath,’ she replied, pointing to the bed.

  ‘It’s been under my bed all this time?’

  ‘I am afraid so,’ said Queenie briskly. ‘That explains your nightmares at least.’ She lifted the cover again and peered into the shadows beneath the bed, she could just make out the vague shape of the doll lying on its back, its head turned towards her. ‘I wonder if I can reach it,’ she muttered to herself then jumped as Paul snatched her hand away from the bed.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Not like that Queenie. We’ll move the bed to one side.’

  ‘That’s a good idea Vicar,’ she said approvingly struggling to her feet. ‘Now Victoria is here, she can help you.’

  It was big heavy bed; the castors digging into the carpet made it difficult to move but eventually it was pushed to one side revealing the missing doll lying beneath.

  ‘Disgusting thing!’ Victoria muttered and leant forward to pick it up.

  ‘No!’ said Paul quickly and pulled her hand away. ‘Leave it!’ He nudged it with his foot and one of the limp arms dropped to its side making Victoria start.

  Unusually quiet, Queenie stared down at the doll. It was old, older than she had imagined. It had been crudely carved from a lump of pine, now dark and cracked with age. A gouged out nose, mouth and eyes roughly indicated its features with a few wispy bits of hair fixed to its head with yellowing glue. A stained linen shirt hung in tatters on the solid body and a once blue pair of trousers still clung to the legs.

  This was not what she had been expecting and her lip curled in disgust.

  ‘You see what I mean? It’s awful, isn’t it? I can’t understand the girls’ fascination with such an ugly doll. What child would want that as a plaything?’ said Victoria.

  ‘No child,’ said Queenie soberly, ‘because it’s not a doll. It’s a poppet.’

  ‘A poppet?’

  ‘This is a witch’s doll.’ She held out her hand. ‘Find me a towel or something to wrap around it. I don’t want to touch it.’

  Victoria ran out of the room, returning quickly with a pink hand towel and handing it silently to Queenie. She dropped it over the doll and tightly wrapped it in the material. Holding it at arm’s length she looked at Paul and Victoria. ‘Well, that explains everything,’ she muttered.

  They looked at her expectantly. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now I am going to get this thing out of your house.’

  ‘And the girls?’

  ‘I am sure that once its influence has been removed from the house they will return to normal. Just don’t tell them where it is, Victoria! The less they know the better.’

  Chapter three

  It was dark and cold by the time Queenie left the Vicarage, the frost was nipping at her nose and bare hands. The poppet was tightly wrapped inside a carrier that Victoria had provided and she walked swiftly down the hill holding the bag out in front of her as though she was carrying a dead rat by its tail.

  A fluttering of wings in one of the trees on the deserted Green made her jump and she glared up at the black crow that had just settled on one of the branches, a few black feathers fluttered down to the grass.

  ‘Go away, stupid bird,’ she muttered, eager to get home, she had refused the offer of supper at the Vicarage and now she was very tired and hungry. An image of her sister Sybil popped into her head and she quickened her step.

  The crow tilted its head on one side, its beady black eye watching the old woman stride off down the steep hill.

  The early evening frost was already making the narrow passage slippery and Queenie walked cautiously, feeling her way along the dark alley. A few lights were on in the adjacent houses but Queenie’s home was dark, she unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The house was still warm and she sighed with relief as she stepped into the hall. Behind her a crow silently glided down on to the rough stone wall bordering the cemetery and watched as she slammed the door.

  The bag bumped against her leg as Queenie walked along the hallway to the kitchen and she stared at it in disgust; flinging open the back door she hurled the bag into the yard.

  ‘I don’t want you in my house so you can stay out there!’ she said curtly and slammed the door. It lay against the wall where it had fallen, a limp arm hanging from the bag.

  A nagging pain started behind her eyes and she irritably rubbed her forehead while filling the kettle. The gas popped alight and she turned it up full while she grabbed a mug from the cupboard; a half eaten packet of biscuits lay at the back of the cupboard and she crammed a handful into her mouth. Ignoring the stale taste she resolutely munched on them while waiting impatiently for the kettle to boil. She had just popped another into her mouth when the phone in the front room started to ring.

  Typical... she thought. Always when I have a mouthful! She stumped grumpily down the hall and picked up the phone. ‘Hello!’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Where have you been? I have been ringing for the last hour!’

  ‘Sybil! Is that you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me, Queenie, you must be slipping. What’s happened to your witchy senses?’


  ‘I have a headache,’ she answered gloomily.

  ‘You never have headaches.’

  ‘Well, I have one now! Queenie snapped. ‘And I’m hungry and I’m tired.’

  ‘You aren’t looking after yourself properly,’ scolded her sister. ‘Make sure that you prepare yourself a good meal tonight and I’m sure that will make you feel better.’

  ‘I have just eaten,’ said Queenie, glancing guiltily at the biscuit in her hand.

  ‘Grabbing a handful of biscuits from the cupboard doesn’t count Queenie!’

  She suddenly grinned at the exasperation in Sybil’s voice. ‘You know me so well.’

  ‘Yes I do, but I shall be over tomorrow in any case...with lunch. So you will get one home cooked meal this week if nothing else.’

  Sybil still lived in the village of Medbury in Devon where they had spent their childhood and it was not often nowadays that she undertook the long journey to her sister’s home.

  A lump rose in Queenie’s throat as an unexpected sense of relief swept over her and for a moment she struggled to speak.

  ‘Queenie, are you there?’ Sybil asked sharply.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Get off to bed dear, you sound exhausted, and I will see you tomorrow.’

  The nagging pain behind her eyes had blossomed into a fully fledged migraine by the time she had finished her cup of tea; it was so bad that for once Queenie reluctantly had to resort to a couple of painkillers. Filling a glass of water at the sink she stared out into the dark yard, the meagre light from the single bulb in the kitchen just picked out the pale shape of the carrier lying against the wall. A frown creased her forehead as she noticed the crumpled towel on the flagstones. She was still deep in thought when the cold touch of the water made her jump as the glass overflowed. A strange feeling of apprehension made her walk towards the door; the handle was freezing beneath her fingers as she slowly swung it open. The towel was, as she had seen from the window, in the middle of the yard and the doll was lying just to the side of it. Queenie frowned and stepped out onto to the old brick paving. The doll was on its back, its lifeless eyes staring up at the night sky.