Doll

by Sallie Osborne

  “So very nice to meet you both.”

  “Who are you,” replied Gregor?”

  “As you are the Sciencey one, Gregor, I will define some of what we are. Yin and Yang the Chinese call us, two halves that together complete a wholeness; we are the starting point for change and when you split something into two halves it upsets the equilibrium of the wholeness, which inevitably starts both halves chasing after each other as they seek a new balance with each other. You see... I take all those bad memories you have as young children, the ones that haunt your dreams, and She takes all those good memories from you, as young children, so you now have to work out who is good and who is evil, although evil is a strong word, I prefer to use the word...darker, NOW, the doll, if you please.”

  As I passed him Lulu I could feel the disappointment in him.

  “I should have guessed this was not going to be that easy. You can keep the doll.”

  “Will we remember any of this?”

  “Of course,” replied the Rattler, “no one will believe you now... will they?”

  Then he was gone

  “This is definitely going on ‘Creepypasta’ the scary stories website,” exclaimed Gregor. “Just think, we’ve been visited by a paranormal figure that’s been in existence for centuries, whose only ever seen in paintings and lurking in the background of old gritty black-and-white photos, THIS IS AWESOME!”

  “I just want to go home,” replied Danny.

  We have all seen the shadowy figures from the corner of my our eyes at dusk as they move down the walls and the creak of our bedroom door as it swings open all on its own, and I have seen the dark figures standing at the end of my bed knowing now that somehow they play a part in our complex lives... and yet... I am unwilling to draw any conclusion as to what they are only what they represent. That this was the last we ever saw or heard of our nighttime visitors, and in time it might just be one of those bad dreams from which you never quite recover.

  “Come on Danny, I’ll walk you home. “And as we walked slowly home towards Danny’s house, she looked to me and told me. “You should finish that paragraph, for Lottie,” insisted Danny, “I think she would have liked that.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “I think I will.”

  Harriet

  After all the that had happened Danny and I thought it would be nice to see Julian again, deciding he should have the doll, after all if it wasn't for him we would have never found the truth, and maybe Julian somehow deserved Lulu and he had been searching for her most of his adult life. As we approached Claridges Ruby noticed the curtains had been drawn across all the windows and the old house’s flag flying so jubilantly the weeks before, was now at half-mast.

  “That doesn't look too good,” remarked Danny.

  As we neared the door I noticed the curtains flicker as someone inside peeked out to see who was coming up the drive. The door slowly opened and I could see the figure of a woman, Harriet, standing back in the hallway.

  “Please come inside. I have some terrible news I'm afraid. it's Julian, he had a heart attack the morning after you left, it must have been all the excitement, it was just too much for his heart, he never regained consciousness.”

  We all sat there in silence not knowing what to say, Mom was first to speak.

  “I’m so sorry Harriet; I could see how fond you were of him.”

  “Yes, and after all he was my brother.”

  Now, you didn’t see that one coming did you Barnaby, I thought to myself?”

  “He was so happy when he discovered you had found her,” continued Harriet, “he’d been searching for that doll for ages. Would you like some tea?”

  “That would be lovely,” replied Mom.

  “I so knew you'd be back, and I think Julian did too. They buried him in that wig you shrunk, Barnaby, he did so love that one, Fufu, I mean.”

  At which point I wasn’t quite sure whether to giggle or remain silent, although unknown to everyone else I was on the brink of explosive laughter.”

  “You can laugh Barnaby, it's OK, he did so like a joke and I'm sure he wouldn't be to upset at this moment in time.”

  But the laugher had left me as I noticed a picture of Julian on the mantelpiece, with that once enormous wig perched high above his forehead, looking straight at me and saying “Come on now, young man, control yourself.”

  “I think he may have left you something, in his will; he was quite wealthy you know.” Harriet reached across into an old drawer side cabinet and took out what appeared to be a post it note.”

  “He wasn’t a man for writing, just notes, he used to leave them everywhere, it drove me quite mad you know.”

  “Here you are Barnaby, I’ve absolutely no idea what it says. He just said, should you return I was to give to you.”

  Harriet passed me the post it note and I carefully prised the two-glued edges apart and began to read the contents aloud.

  ‘Dear Barnaby. I remember your Mom commenting, that if she found anything of value she just might be able to finish work and open that Botox Shop she seems obsessed with,’ at which point Mom chimed up.

  “I’m not obsessed, it’s just a passion of mime,” then she blushed.

  ‘Although the doll appears to be filled with rice to pad her out this is not the case, because if you remove the black stitching around the bodice she wears you may find I’m correct, ‘Finders keepers young man’, as they used to say when I was a child.

  Yours,

  Julian.

  I gave Mom the doll and we all sat silently as she began to break the stitching free from the dolls bodice. As the last stich gave way a small hole appeared in her side followed by a shower of tiny coloured stones, intermingled with rice grains, that shone like embers from a fire as they cascaded to the wooden floor, bouncing in every direction.

  “So that’s the secret Lulu was also hiding, four hundred year old precious jewels,” clapped Harriet, with glee.

  I looked over at Mom, who was still holding Lulu, and I could see a large shop displaying “Get Your Botox Here”, now reflecting in her eyes.

  The Visitor

  As the lights dim in the old chateau, Aimee retires as usual to her the old four poster bed before carefully drawing the curtains around her, but this night is different because within minutes of falling asleep, she’s abruptly awoken by the cry of an animal in distress.

  Slowly sliding herself out of bed, she makes her way over to the forest window, as it seems the obvious choice, and as a hand now driven by curiosity but weakened by arthritis attempts to tighten its grip on the old Victorian handle, the fixings give way, forcing a century of window craftsmanship to fall from her frail hand and allowing a window, only partially open minutes before, to fly uncontrollably open as a howling wind takes hold of the frame, allowing a stream of torrential rain to pour in.

  There’s now something other than Aimee in the room - the fox maybe she thinks and she turns around she senses the presence of something that’s been before.

  “Hello, Aimée,” whispers a voice from the darkness. “Come, take my hand,” and though compelled by an irresistible wish to do so, Aimée holds out her hand.

  “He does that sometimes you know... the dramatic entrance - so I thought I might give it a try.”

  “You might try knocking next time,” replies Aimée, as she takes the hand, knowing at once who or what it is.

  “It was you that night, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was I who saved you, not him; I’ve been trying to tell you for years but those drugs you’ve been taking seem to block my thoughts. I’ve been hiding that doll of yours for centuries - and you were right - it’s a game... a game I don’t wish to lose.”

  “Why now tell me...why not years ago?”

  “You’ve let most of those unresolved memories go Aimée and you finally told that girl, Holly, the truth. He was there... in the barn that night... for the doll - it was his chains you broke - I just caught you in the moments before you fell. Once the l
inks you took from Him were no longer in your possession, we were free to talk - you see it’s you who have the four centuries of memories; I placed them in your head... that night... in the barn. I knew he couldn’t look there and it’s kept you safe. Your uncle found the doll buried in the old cellar where it had been left by soldiers staying there overnight, a doll belonging to the daughter of an army doctor - he’d been given it by his daughter Lulu. Every time her father picked up the doll he would think of his daughter - you didn’t think the bomb was an accident did you? He made it happen; He hides his presence through death and devastation, so there’s never any evidence of where he’s been. He needs the dolls memories and experiences - he doesn’t realize however - the doll is just an empty shell.”

  “So what happens if he finds the doll...he wins the game or loses.?

  “As I said, the doll is just that - a doll.”

  “He’s only ever beaten me once before... but if he does I have to pay a forfeit... so he can’t win... I can’t let him do that again. He feeds on the suffering of people, the negative energy if you like - I feed on the positive energy - the doll contains both...all games need to end... but not just yet. The night Barnaby’s sister died, he was after all that negative energy from the sorrow and grieving Barnaby and his sister were experiencing,” then turning to Aimée, She asks her.

  “Did you ever played hide and seek - when you were a child - becoming angry when you couldn’t find your friends because everyone had gone home... then you threw a tantrum, - well His tantrum was the plague. I am allowed to interfere however, so I began a fire...a fire to end the plague he had caused... a disease carried by that black cloak of His.”

  “Eighty thousand souls died that year. You see the streets were narrow and dusty, the house flimsy... made of wood and very close together. In those days people’s rooms were lit by candles and the cooking was on open fires, fires which could easily get out of control with no fire engines or firemen to stop it from spreading, and in the darkness a shadow passing over the last flicker of a dying candle is easily ignored as it falls silently to the floor, igniting the greatest fire of all time and ending the plague of 1666... 666.”

  “So it was you who ended the plague.”

  “No, I just created the right circumstances for it to burn out - shall we say.”

  Shadows

  No one noticed the two shadowy figures passing through the hallways of the chateau, and as they drifted slowly towards the garden entrance, hand in hand, they paused to turn to each other.

  “So, you win again and our game begins again. I will find them this time, my love.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” She replies. “You see, I’ve hidden them quite well this time...’MY LOVE’, and Barnaby and his friends... I hoped you haven’t harmed them - it’s quite unnecessary you know - no one will believe them - it will all become one of their urban legends, like ‘Slender Man’.”

  “Yes, but he’s not a legend my love, he’s REAL.”

  “There’s just one thing that concerns me, and that’s the one link that’s missing.”

  “That’s all been taken care of; you know how I hate loose ends.”

  Plague

  Awoken by the sound of an ambulance siren, Holly sees a blur of colored lights streaming in through her bedroom shutters. Reminding her, just for a moment, of that child’s disco party she had once been to; she fumbles in the dark for something to wear. Hoping to grab anything laying there, she accidentally catches her knitting bag, precariously perched on the bedside chair, spilling its contents onto the cold hard floor.

  Reaching down to collect the strewn contents, she notices a small chain link gleaming in the darkness. “How on earth did that get there,” she mutters.

  Opening her door, Holly is now confronted by a flurry of paramedics charging down the hallway towards the resident’s accommodation. “What’s happening,” she enquires?

  “It’s Miss Durant, replies Gérard. “She’s been taken ill and the whole corridor been co-cordoned off, there’s some kind of quarantine in place.”

  Holly makes her way toward the corridor, but her progress is interrupted by the rather large gentleman dressed in blue and displaying a badge telling her, he’s from the hospitals Infectious Diseases Department.

  “Sorry Miss, you can’t go down there.”

  “Miss Durant... she was in my care,” replies Holly.

  “Then you had better come with me please,” insists the officer.

  As Holly enters the room, she notices Gérard, his sleeve partially rolled up.

  “Antibiotics, powerful ones I’ve been told,” he remarks before pointing to a tiny, almost invisible, red dot on his arm left by an injection.

  “Why,” replies Holly still confused by the situation and feeling like, she only left Miss Durante’s side only moments before.

  “Miss Durant? She died about an hour ago; some kind of contagious infection is what they’re saying.”

  Aimée Durant, Resident of the Chateau, a home for the mentally disturbed, died June 1st, 2006. Possibly, the final victim of the London Plague.

  End Game

  Maria brought tea, every morning, to Miss Osborne - nine a.m. on the dot, and as she opens the door to the room, she can just make out the silhouette of a woman, framed against the blue stained-glass of the Chateau's enormous gothic windows.

  “You can almost feel it Maria? The torrents of rain I mean - beating down on that old garden pagoda - it’s like music mutters the old lady as she stares ever harder through the thickening curtain of rain. Stepping away from a window, now awash with rain, she begins to wonder how she ever got here, in ‘The Chateau’, so long ago... then she remembers.

  “Aimee, my friend... she brought me here...she said It was for the best, and that the nightmares and whispers inside my head would end... but she lied; I still have them... even though I take my medication then turning to face her guest, she reminds herself. “No one ever writes to me, you know... I was very young when it happened... that night... the night I held that chain... for MISS DURANT.”

  As Holly brushes the hair from her eyes, her hand hesitates momentarily and a tattoo hidden from view moments earlier now becomes clearly visible, a five-sided star.

  Maria sat beside the old lady, she enjoyed her stories and would sit there with her well into the late hours, hanging on her every word, but they were only stories...surely.

  Closure

  “Good Morning Clive,” welcomes Dave, the postman. “I’ve got some post somewhere in here for you,” he mutters, looking into the depths of his bulging post back. “It’s mainly junk mail I’m afraid - sorry about the shop by the way - my kids loved this place,” he remarks, pointing up at the now redundant, 'The Bloody Cauldron’, sign. “I’ve no idea what they’ll do now with their Saturday mornings, I’ll probably have to join them in a football team or something.”

  “Thanks Dave, it’s nice to know it was appreciated.”

  “There’s a letter here for you as well,” informs Dave, searching through his post bag, “and some local flyers, not like you’ll need them now but here you are anyway,” passing Clive a handful of mixed mail.

  “You take care now, Clive and good luck with whatever it is you do next,” and as Dave continues up the road, he turns to shout back. “I really do hope things work out OK for you - and your mom? - I’m sorry she passed away- she was a great Lady.”

  “Thanks - thanks very much,” calls out Clive as he watches Dave disappear around the corner. Clive then turns back toward the empty shop doors and walks through them for the last time.

  “Look at all this rubbish,” he mutters, his hand now struggling to contain the masses of junk mail. “Bloody stuff,” he exclaims. “It must cost a fortune to send all this crap,” as he begins to rifle, one by one, through the contents of his overloaded hand, until eventually coming across what appears to be a hand addressed letter. He examines the envelope before slowly ripping it open, revealing what looks like the torn page of a
book, and its one he recognizes, along with a letter.

  “Well bless my soul,” he cries, as he begins to read the letter. “He’s actually finished it. Well done son.”

  Dear Clive,

  I promised I would finish this paragraph for Lottie. She kind of inferred that’s what she would like - so I have - although it may not be in her style, but here we go anyway.

  The Rattlers

  A dimensional creature that feeds on unwanted emotions and memories - A memory eater that draws psychic nourishment or power from a young person's emotions and can instill those emotions in others.

  You can hear them at night if you concentrate hard. They take things, and then are gone, leaving just a faint sound in the background. Appearing as noises in your house at night, like the creak of the floorboards or the click of a radiator as it comes on, they steal children’s meaningful moments and emotional experiences, those that shape personalities and belief systems. Occasionally captured on devices, you may accidentally leave on, recording late at night, you might just hear them - faint at first, but definitely there amongst the background noise, you may not think too much about it at the time, after all it's only background noise, and it won’t be until later you realize 'The Rattlers have been'......

  Regards

  Barnaby

  Clive read the letter, closed the door behind him for the last time then descended the stars. Lottie always preferred Earl Grey but Clive liked Tetley’s, but just for this one last time Clive decided on Earl Grey..........