by M. C. Atwood
The dolls, way eerie in the sudden silence, look terrifying, because always and forever dolls are TERRIFYING anyway even when they’re not animated by some dark, demonic force. But in this really messed up House, they are WAY WORSE. Their faces are still doll-like and unchanging and their eyes are totally void of anything but they are still somehow STARING at us and it’s clear they want us dead.
They start moving toward us . . .
Paul and I look at each other and say at the same time, “RUN!”
PAUL
Once again, we are sprinting through a room away from dolls—DOLLS—under a sign that says sea story and straight toward a ramp with a picture of a blue whale and an arrow pointing up the ramp.
I can’t even imagine what is in here. Hopefully there are no sea dolls in here or something.
Dolls, man.
All five of us make it through the room and then Ashley finds the pocket door and slams it shut. We can hear the dolls throwing themselves at the door. Thwunk thwunk thwunk, I’m thinking Shakespeare: When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions. I am hardcore wishing for my fake sword right about now. Anything pointy.
The ramp twists around and there are pictures of all types of whales on the walls. Orca whale. Sperm whale. Killer whale.
A sound of whoosh whoosh comes through when the thwunking dolls aren’t taking up all our ear real estate. We stop halfway up the ramp.
Gretchen turns to Dylan and says hard, “What’s in this room, Dylan?”
Dylan ignores the question and moves toward Violet, eyes concerned. “Dudette is bleeding.”
I remember Violet with that doll attached to her ear and my adrenaline kicks in again. The anger, the fear—all of it is familiar. I have never been so scared in my life, except for that one time with my dad.
I turn to her. “How is your ear?” I ask.
I wonder if I should hold her hand again?
“I hope they aren’t attracted to blood,” Ashley mutters.
Gretchen whirls around. Her eyes are blazing. “Jesus, Ashley! Could you be any more selfish, you self-centered piece of—”
Violet bursts into tears, silencing all of us.
I take her in my arms. I can’t help myself; it’s instinct. Gentle Violet. I can feel her whole body trembling and it makes me want to cry, too. But she doesn’t pull away.
Shakespeare love quotes swim around in my head:
The very first instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service.
And:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Pure beauty, these words, like Violet herself. But what comes out of my mouth?
“Hey. You’re okay. It’s okay. Gotta buck up, okay?”
She leans back away from my arms with a little frown.
Smooth.
Violet wipes her eyes, smearing a bit of blood on her cheekbone. Is it weird that she looks even cuter? Gretchen comes up to her and pats her arm awkwardly. Ashley is instantly on the other side, clearing her throat.
“I hope you’re okay, or whatever,” Ashley says.
We all stare at her. Ashley looks down at her fingernails, all of a sudden engrossed in a paint chip.
Violet does one final wipe of her nose. “I’m fine.”
Then Dylan appears. He’s holding something out to Violet and it takes me a second to see that he’s ripped a swath of his T-shirt all along the bottom. His clothes are always stupid long, so his shirt looks like it’s a normal length now.
“Hey, yo, we can wrap this around your head to stop the bleeding,” he says.
She smiles through her tears. He smiles back.
“You’ll look like a badass warrior,” he adds.
Why didn’t I think of ripping off part of me for her? Stupid Paul. Stupid stupid.
Violet laughs a hiccup laugh. “That’s me,” she says. “A warrior.”
We all start laughing. Violet the warrior. How funny. But then Dylan wraps the shirt around her head and with the blood and the wrap, and damn if she doesn’t look like some beautiful warrior goddess.
“You guys were awesome with those dolls,” she says to Dylan. “That was smart to grab a branch.”
He shrugs. I am totally aware of how close they are standing and how he just ministered to her like some romantic hero in a play. I feel a lightning surge of jealousy—sharp enough that it hurts. I step closer before I can stop myself.
“I knocked that doll off your head,” I say like an idiot.
I, caveman. You, woman.
What is wrong with me?
Dylan, because he seems to know the score, steps back from Violet, his foot making a squelching sound. He gives me a look. I’m not moving in, is what it says. Just being nice. Despite myself, I like this guy. He’s actually really cool and, like, kind. And now I wish I would have stopped people from slamming him into lockers back at school. Or even had the courage to just say something. But. Survival. What I always say to myself to make myself feel better. But a squirmy feeling makes me roll my shoulders around and shift on my feet. Which are suddenly freezing and cold and wet. Now I’m faced with real survival, the fake one seems, well . . . fake.
“Hey. There’s water here.” Dylan says, looking down.
We all do the same. Sure enough, we are standing in about a half inch of water. The whoosh whoosh sound seems to be getting louder.
“Oh god,” Ashley says. Her face is bright white.
Gretchen snorts. “What? Your hair will frizz out?”
Ashley swallows and doesn’t even say anything bitchy. She just groans. “This room. This next room.”
Violet’s eyes go wide. “Oh no,” she says.
Dylan says, “The whale.”
Ashley says, “The squid.”
Gretchen seems to get it as soon as I do. She slumps against the wall. “Please tell me they’re figurines?”
No one speaks.
GRETCHEN
“You’ll love this place.” That’s what he said to me. Never mind the fact that the little shit lied about having been here before. Dylan. You are truly going to get your ass kicked. Truly. Why oh why did you lie? I don’t ask for much. Just loyalty and, you know, not being lied to.
Violet, with her head wrap on, and who actually does look kind of like a righteous killer ninja in it, says, “They’re . . . big.”
“Of course they’re big,” I say and slump more. I put my head against the wall and rub my eyes.
Ashley sniffles. There are tears in her eyes. Real tears. I’d almost feel sorry for her-—pretty faces and tears can do that to me. But not quite. She’s too much of a bitch-hole for any compassion to stick.
“They’re more than big,” Ashley says. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this room.”
Paul says, “Whatever they are, they may not be . . . alive . . . or whatever.”
Violet nods, her face brightening. “Yeah! We don’t know when things start moving. Maybe we can run through this section and get to the end. We do not want to . . . go up against this room.” She puts her hand on her ear. The blood is soaking through the bandage. It must hurt like a mofo.
Better than fighting, though? Running like hell. “Yes. Let’s try to sprint through this room. Is it pretty straightforward? Like a straight shot?”
Ashley shakes her head. “No, it’s a ramp like this one. We follow this ramp and then there’s the entrance to the room. And then another ramp around the edges of the whole room leads us up and out of this section. But we have to go up that big ramp in the room—it’s the only way out. Right past the . . .” She stops talking and shakes her head again.
I sigh. “Of course. Well. We’re just going to have to run fast.” But after I say it, I start worrying about Dylan. He�
��s not exactly a model of health, that one. He went through a cigarette smoking phase when he was younger and he’s still in his weed phase, so his lungs aren’t awesome. Plus, he weighs about 4 pounds, and most of that is bone. I look at him. I can see he is thinking the same thing. His eyes shine at mine through his eyeliner.
I give him this look, You can do this, dude.
He answers back with his own look, I’m going to have to, dudette.
If only I didn’t love him so, the little shit liar.
I stand up straight. “Okay. Let’s do it.” I start wading up the ramp. Only now do I realize the water is now about ankle height. Fuckity fuck fuck. Water seeps through my shoes. Great find at Lulu’s Vintage in the Twin Cities when I visited last year, looking at fashion schools. Asshole House. It owes me another pair of these shoes.
Then I get to the entrance of the room. I can see why Ashley lost it.
In front of us is an ocean. Or, what is supposed to be a fake ocean, I imagine. Only it’s not a fake ocean and it’s starting to lap out of the little enclosure it’s built into.
But that’s not the worst part. Feet and feet and feet above us, a ginormous whale and what looks like a huge fucking squid are locked in some embrace.
“Oh shit,” I whisper, and stop.
The ramp is built around the outside of the room and it circles up and up and around and around the whale and the squid. Just like Ashley said. The only way out is up the ramp.
The water in the place is splashing around, real and wet and deep. There’s a guy in a boat on the water, but he isn’t moving so I guess he’s fake like the whale and squid. I heave a sigh of relief. Stay that way you sea sons of bitches. Stay that way.
I jump when a music machine at the far end of the room starts playing “Under the Sea.”
Now it’s just the shushing sound of the water in front of us and the manic music from the machine. And something else.
Squeaks. Almost like screams.
I flip around, my eyes wide. Is it those dolls again? I see Violet wince and cover her ear.
But then something flies in front of me and when I turn back around I see it’s a seagull. There are seagulls swooping around. And a crow.
Ashley says in my ear, her teeth clenched, breath hot, “Let’s go. Now.”
For once, we are in agreement. I nod and look back at Dylan, who is rocking from foot to foot, eyes darting around, chewing on a finger. My anxiety climbs.
Come on, Dylan, baby, you can do it. I still have to kill you for lying to me and then figure out why you did. I turn back around.
“Now!” I say and start the sprint up the ramp.
To the right of me is the giant cavern of water and whale, and to the left are glass cases full of huge model ships and other random sea shit. But all I pay attention to is the seagulls and the eye of the squid getting nearer.
Right when I reach the eye, it blinks.
Dylan says, “Oh shit.”
And then the room explodes.
DYLAN
I am suddenly aware—like a G-Damn prophet of God—that I am not going to get out of this room alive.
And peace descends upon me like an angel on high.
Only it’s not peace and it’s no angel. It’s a motherfucking squid leg that slams down in front of me, splintering the wood of the ramp. I throw up my arms to protect my face and a huge wood chunk sticks into my forearm. I rip it out and scream. Water starts to pool deep in the ramp gash. Blood pools in my arm gash.
Ow, fuckity, ouch, Squid!
Ashley, Paul, Violet, and my Gretch are running ahead. I am stuck behind a slimy squid leg and my arm feels like it’s going to fall off.
If I yell, though, Gretch will try to come back for me. No way I’m putting her in danger.
One thing my baby is not is a scared-y cat. She’d kill herself saving someone she loves, especially her family. I’m her family.
And then I know, right there, right with a stinking squid leg blocking my run and my arm about to fall off that the girl I’m in love with totally does love me like family.
Like a brother.
Luckily, before I have to look that monster in the face, the real monster in front of me lifts up its leg and a huge pool of water is now between me and the dry ramp the rest of my crew is still sprinting up.
I look at the water.
So . . . I never technically learned to swim. Like, not really. I mean, my parents took me and shit because they’re good parents and wanted me to do everything, but I never actually went. I mean, I was 10 and just getting into skater shit. And smoking.
But I realize now is not the time to think about missed moments and shit. Time to swim, motherfucker, because ain’t no other way around this calamari. Before I can think too hard, I crouch down, take a deep breath, and jump—making sure to hit up my man before I hit the water.
Jesus? Please . . . just please don’t let Gretch notice me. Let her get out of here.
And then my head is underwater and I open my eyes. I can see squid squidding around and a whale belly bellying. They’re stuck on the floor basically, because there’s not enough water. Except we are all getting moved up so I’m guessing there’s more water happening somehow . . .
And then I am frightfully fucking aware that I can’t breathe.
I paddle-paddle-paddle and my lungs are screaming so hard and pain shoots through my arm. And then finally, finally, my head is out of the water and I gulp in a big breath. But the screaming is still happening and I realize it’s Gretch, who has now noticed I’m gone.
Jesusssss, Dude, You are not holding up your end of our bargain.
She is at the top of the splintered ramp, which has spread out further because of the rising water level, and one arm is being held by Paul who is sitting on the ramp with his feet dug in and pulling at Gretch while she reaches her other hand toward me. Ashley is halfway up the ramp still going and Violet is standing there with her badass warrior wrap and her hands over her mouth. But Gretch, Gretch . . . She’s going to fall in the water coming after me. Not cool. Most def not cool.
“Gretch, go!” I try to yell. I swallow a huge gulp of ocean water and go down again. This time, I can’t move; my arm is like numb deadweight now, and I’m mad panicked that Gretch is going to fall in. But then, the squid leg plunges into the water directly in front of me. The thing wraps me up and launches me in the air.
I am sailing. I am flying. I am BREATHING, so that’s pretty cool, even if I am being hugged by a giant squid. The world is small below and I see everyone from above—Gretch by the ramp, Paul holding on, Violet looking up at me, mouth in an “O,” Ashley now fighting with something in some weird space suit or something way far up—and I think for one silly, giddy, squiddy second, “Thanks, Squid!!”
But then I land in the water again. This time by the whale.
Well, shit.
The squid lets go of me, but now the whale is rolling and I am close to going under that gigantic belly. On the other side of me is a giant eye.
Whale body or squid eye? Choices. I do not like the choices in this House.
I close my eyes and try to will my body to stop fighting and clawing for breath and to just, like, GIVE IN, because this shit is pointless to try to fight against because, you know, squid eye or whale belly, but then something grabs my shirt and hauls me out of the water and into a boat. The boat we saw when we first entered the room. With the fisherman dude. Who is now fully alive.
And so am I. I breathe in so huge my rib cage hurts.
I look at the grizzled-looking man in a floppy hat and a yellow rain slicker and dude yells something at me, but I can’t hear him because the noise of everything else drowns him out. The whale bellows a loud-as-fuck primal scream and I see we are right by his teeth. His really, really big teeth. Fisher dude picks up a paddle and starts paddling backwards.
I can still hear Gretch yelling, “Dylan!” but now from way up above me. Water splashes into the boat—we are riding some big waves and we hit against the wall halfway up because the water level has gotten higher. The giant motherfucking animals aren’t higher though, on account of how big they are, so at least there’s that. I guess.
The guy yells at me again. This time I’m able to get what he’s asking me.
“Where’s your boat, son?”
I shake my head and wipe water out of my eyes. “I need to get to my friends!” I scream, pointing straight up, behind the whale head. The whale’s tail slaps down and splinters the ramp on the side where Gretch was.
I scream, “NO!!!!” But I look up and I can see seagulls and Gretch’s face over the railing way, way up the ramp so I know she’s safe.
“There,” I point and try to get up. “I need to get there!”
The fisherman shakes his head at me like I’m crazy. “Son, that just ain’t going to happen. And anyway, up there ain’t much better.”
He points and now the whale head isn’t in the way and I see that Ashley is still fighting with the guy in the space suit. Only she’s been joined by everyone else, too. Gretch is half fighting then half leaning over the railing to look at me.
And then right by her, the guy in the space suit somehow shakes off Violet and Paul and walks with Ashley held over his head like he’s going to throw her into the whale mouth.
Dude’s right: Up there ain’t much better.
ASHLEY
I am not going to die like this. I am NOT GOING TO DIE LIKE THIS! How embarrassing would this be?
But the gross looking guy in an old-fashioned scuba suit—the kind you see on the covers of beat-up library paperbacks from, like, the 1940s or whatever—is holding me straight up like I’m a barbell. And he’s LAUGHING. He’s going to throw me into the whale’s mouth. I can see huge teeth, a pink squirming tongue. I’m going to be chunky krill for this fucking whale. I am pretty sure I’m peeing myself.
