Among the Dolls

by William Sleator

  “Their slave?”

  “Shhh! Yes, their slave. That’s what they want to do with you. They’ve already thought up all kinds of chores for you, like bringing all the furniture up and down the stairs to different rooms, and polishing the walls and the ceilings and the roof, and waiting on them … . But it isn’t right. You’re different from us; you’re not a doll; you don’t belong in here. That’s why … why I’ll help you.”

  This time, her tears were not for herself. She reached out and touched his rough sleeve. “Thanks,” she said. There was a long silence, while he continued to stare, embarrassed, at the floor. “Thanks,” she said again, softly. “I won’t forget. I promise I won’t.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. If you get out. But it won’t be easy.” He looked at her. “They’ll be listening every instant, of course. If they hear so much as a creak or a footstep out there, they’ll be at you again. The only thing to do is get them away from that door. What I can do is pretend you ran downstairs. I’ll start yelling that you ran away, downstairs, and make a lot of noise, and hopefully they’ll all run down there after me, without thinking. The aunt is down there already. And that’s your chance. You’ve got to hurry up to the attic and find that doll. Once you’ve got it, you’re safe. Just put it back in the dollhouse. But you won’t have much time. They’ll catch on quick enough and be back up there, looking for you. And if they catch you, and you haven’t found the doll, then … then I don’t want to think about what will happen next. And it will be just as bad for me.”

  “You mean I have to go up there alone?”

  “But how else can we do it?” he said with exasperation. “I’m doing everything I can.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” She looked away for a moment, thinking. Then she pushed her hair back and stood up. She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready, I guess. Let’s get going.”

  She never would have thought that Dandaroo, who was always so quiet, could make so much noise. His solid, stiff little body was suddenly a darting whirlwind of energy as he sped, thumping and shrieking, out of the room. “She’s running away, she’s running away!” he screamed, already clattering down the stairs. “She’s going downstairs, she’s getting away. Downstairs! Downstairs! She’s getting awaaaaay!”

  The noise and confusion on the landing were instantaneous. “You fool! You simpleton!” came the harsh voices of Ganglia and the mother, and “Dear! Dear!” she heard the father mutter, as momentarily their footsteps and rustlings filled the hallway. And Dandaroo had been right. They were in a fury to catch her, and no one waited to guard the stairway to the attic. Before she knew it, they were down the steps. It was time now, and she didn’t have a second to lose.

  Chapter Eight

  The doorway was very low, and it did creak, but that didn’t matter now. She was through it in a moment and on the steps. They were even steeper than the others, and very narrow. In the darkness she could barely see, and kept bumping against the wall as she stumbled up.

  Something thick and sticky brushed against her face at the top. A spiderweb. She saw now that the attic was full of them. They were not doll size, of course, but real; and they were draped, in the gray dimness, across whole walls, hanging loosely from the pitched roof to the floor, all stirring slightly. Vicky did not allow herself the time to wonder very long about their inhabitants, but she was shivering as she peered around the room.

  The attic was the one place in the house that was completely enclosed, and Vicky would not have been able to see at all if it had not been for the small round window in front. The first pale beginnings of daylight were beginning to filter through it, falling coldly on the few dusty pieces of junk: a bit of black ribbon in the corner; a hatpin, like a sword, leaning against the wall; a dried-up wad of chewing gum, the size of her head. But her eyes stopped at once on one very strange and beautiful thing. Transfixed, she moved slowly toward it.

  The house was large, and sat proudly on an old spool in the center of the room. Every detail was absolutely perfect; but for the one missing wall, it resembled her house in every way. She was fascinated by the little light bulbs, the miniature faucet, and the tiny droplets, like silvery motes of dust, dripping into the sink; the perfect little piano, on which her thumb alone would play an octave; the magazines and books, the newspapers covered with a gray blur; the intricacy of the stairways; the rugs and the furniture.

  But most perfect of all were the dolls. Her father was curled up uncomfortably on the couch in his study, his face a delicate pink, his little fingers almost too small to see, each thin strand of his hair fashioned separately. Her mother lay on her stomach in the bedroom, the tiny bones in her shoulders as fragile as match sticks, her waist the size of Vicky’s finger. They looked so real, but were they? Vicky wondered. Were they breathing, or were they just perfect little dolls?

  It was very strange to be looking down at this tiny replica of her house and family; and all the more disconcerting because until a moment ago she had felt very tiny, but now she felt like a giant. Which was she? She could not decide.

  But she had no time to wonder now. Downstairs she could hear distant footsteps and squeals. Had they caught on yet? She had to find that doll! For an instant, the thought of the fragile little thing lost in this unruly household made her heart stand still. What if it should get broken, what would happen to her? Stop it! she ordered herself. Stop thinking and look!

  On her knees, she ran her hands rapidly over the floor around and underneath the house, toward the stairs; perhaps Ganglia had dropped it as she ran. There was nothing but dust. She moved toward the ribbon, pawing at the floor, ignoring the spiderwebs clinging to her face and her hair. There was nothing but dust. Behind the hatpin she searched, behind the wad of gum, each place more and more unlikely. Into the dark corners where the ceiling met the floor, into the thickest webs, her face grimy, her skirt torn. And there was nothing, nothing but dust.

  And now she heard the dolls on the stairs, their voices growing closer. If only she hadn’t spent so much time staring at the house! She jumped to her feet, coughing and gasping, and began running her hands frantically over the lowest beams and rafters. Her fingers closed around something soft—and then she dropped, with a shudder of disgust, the remains of a fly as large as her forearm. It was no good. The little doll was nowhere.

  The dolls were on the attic stairs. Not knowing what else to do, she backed toward the house, spreading her arms protectively behind her.

  Ganglia burst into the room, stopping suddenly at the top of the stairs. The aunt rose up stiffly behind her, and the father; and then the mother elbowed her way through them, pushing Dandaroo ahead of her, her arm wrapped tightly around his neck. Now there was no doubt at all that his face could have expressions, for in his eyes there was agony and despair.

  “So,” said the mother quite softly, her head wobbling, while the others waited, suddenly silent. Though her voice trembled with fury, her face, as always, was bland and cherubic. “So, you’ve disobeyed us again, and you’ve found our toy, with the help of this sniveling little monster.” She squeezed Dandaroo’s neck, and he squirmed. “But little good it’s going to do you; very little good. You’ll never get away now, you’ve missed your chance. Ganglia, get the hatpin!” she said sharply, then turned back to Vicky. “And now,” she went on, even more softly, after a pause. “And now, before we do anything to you, you will have the pleasure of watching us ‘play’ with the two dolls that are left.”

  Vicky took a step backward, blocking the house with her body. Though filled with terror, her mind was very clear. “Where did you lose it, Ganglia?” she said, her voice shaking. “Where is it? Just tell me where you lost the doll. I can do anything you want, you know I can!”

  “But I tell you, I didn’t lose it!” Ganglia cried, stamping her foot and almost dropping the hatpin. “Everybody thinks I lost it, but I didn’t.” She turned to the mother. “It just disappeared. As soon as I took it out of the house, it vanished i
nto thin air, right in my hand. Why doesn’t anybody believe me?”

  Vanished into thin air. Vicky’s mind was racing now, as the mother and the other dolls began moving purposefully toward her, Ganglia awkwardly brandishing the hatpin, which looked very sharp. Into thin air. Those little dolls were so realistic … . For an instant she looked down at herself. And then the thought came to her: Perhaps she was the doll.

  Perhaps, when Ganglia had taken it out of the dolls’ dollhouse, her little doll self and her real self outside had somehow come together into one being, had merged in the in-between world of her dollhouse. The doll had vanished, there had to be a reason for it; she had vanished from her bedroom, and here she was. It must be the answer. She and the doll were the same thing.

  The dolls were close now, surrounding her and the house in a half circle; silent, but for Dandaroo’s gasps, their expressionless faces were looming over her. She stepped backward again, until her dress was actually touching the house.

  And if it were true, that she and the doll of herself were now the same thing, then the way to get back would be to go into the dollhouse herself. She spun around. But how, how? The dollhouse was so small, she could never fit inside.

  And then the aunt’s arm was on her neck, and she felt the point of the hatpin pierce her dress and press coldly into her back. There was nothing to do but try. It was her last hope. Just as the aunt began to pull her away, she stuck her hand into the little bedroom.

  It was like the force she had felt before, but in reverse. She was being pulled into the house, too strongly to resist. The aunt’s hand slipped away behind; she felt rushing movement all around her and the odd sensation of shrinking and growing at the same time, of being sucked into a kind of whirlwind. And, fading away into the distance, Dandaroo’s wailing cry, “Remember meeeeee!”

  And then she was lying on her own bedroom floor, in the pale dawn light from her own windows. She rose to her feet, a bit bewildered, but filled nevertheless with soaring joy and relief. “I’m home,” she said softly, “I’m home again,” and then she shouted from sheer happiness and leaped into the air.

  In the next moment, her cry caught in her throat and she turned to the dollhouse. They were all still in there, up in the attic, and at any instant they could simply take her out of their dollhouse again, and there she would be, just as trapped as before. She had to get that dollhouse out of there, before they had a chance to take her out of it and bring her back to them.

  Chapter Nine

  Vicky fell to her knees and began tugging at the wall just below the roof, the wall that covered the attic. It seemed to be nailed tightly in place and would not move. Dandaroo must be keeping them away from the dollhouse; if not, they would have taken her out instantly. “Keep fighting, Dandaroo, keep them away!” she shouted, pulling at the wood, shaking the whole house. The dishes rattled and the living room lamp tipped over, but the wall stayed in place.

  Should she run down and get her father’s hammer and pry it off? But that would take too long; they’d have her before she even got back. “Keep fighting, Dandaroo,” she moaned, her voice choked with fear; and then her hand brushed accidentally against a little knob at the side of the house, and the attic wall sprang open.

  It had only been just in time. Ganglia, the father, and the aunt all had their arms wrapped around Dandaroo, standing just to the side of the tiny house. In front of it stood the mother, reaching toward it. Her hand shaking, Vicky pushed the mother away; the doll fell stiffly, helplessly to the floor. Carefully, very carefully, she picked up the dolls’ dollhouse. She was going to have to find a safe place for it, a very safe place, she decided as she lifted it out. But the moment it was out of the dollhouse the little building simply faded away.

  For a moment Vicky stared, amazed, at her empty hand. But of course, she realized, it would have to happen that way. Just as she and the doll had become one in the dollhouse, so now, in the real world, the dolls’ dollhouse would become one with her house, and the dolls’ little dolls would merge with her and her parents.

  But she still had something very important to do. Carefully she pulled the dolls’ arms away from Dandaroo, leaving them lying carelessly on the dusty floor, and very gently she lifted him out. “A safe place,” she said softly. “I’ll find you a good safe place, and they’ll never hurt you again.”

  She left him at last on her pillow, and then went to clean herself before going down to breakfast. It was then she noticed that she was not wearing shoes. She hurried back to the dollhouse, and there they were, smaller than her little finger, beside the living room couch. She wondered how she would explain their loss to her mother and father. She did not know quite what to expect from her parents or what their attitude would be toward her absence.

  To her relief, they did not seem to have noticed that she had been gone at all. And much more important, they had gone back to being their old selves: The influence of the dolls must have vanished along with their dollhouse. It would have seemed that nothing could make Vicky happier than she already was, until her mother, studying her face, said, “You look tired, dear. You’ve been so droopy recently.” She turned to her father, “You know, I think it’s that dollhouse.”

  “Yes,” her father agreed, laying down his knife and fork. “She’s been spending altogether too much time with that thing. She should be outdoors more. Would you mind terribly, Vicky, if we got rid of it?”

  “Get rid of it?” Vicky said, hardly able to believe what he was saying. “Get rid of it? No, no, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  It was not long after that that she came home from school to find her room cleansed of its presence. Dandaroo had not gone with it; she had hidden him in a cotton-padded box in her drawer. “Where did you throw the dollhouse away?” she said to her mother.

  “Throw it away?” her mother said. “A valuable thing like that? Don’t be ridiculous, darling. We sold it to the Larners. They told me that Judy was longing for a dollhouse. I’m sure it will be a treasure to her.”

  “But,” Vicky started to warn her. “But you shouldn’t have—” Then she stopped. Perhaps, if another girl played differently with the dolls, then they would change. There was no way of knowing. But it did seem that it was beyond her control; whatever would happen with the dollhouse now was not for her to decide. But she kept Dandaroo to herself for the rest of her life.

  Don’t get left behind!

  STARSCAPE

  Let the journey begin …

  From the Two Rivers

  The Eye of the World: Part One

  by Robert Jordan

  Ender’s Game

  by Orson Scott Card

  Mairelon the Magician

  by Patricia C. Wrede

  Ender’s Shadow

  by Orson Scott Card

  Orvis

  by H. M. Hoover

  Prince Ombra

  by Roderick MacLeish

  Pinocchio

  by Carlo Collodi

  Another Heaven, Another Earth

  by H. M. Hoover

  The Wonder Clock

  by Howard Pyle

  The Shadow Guess

  by Joan Aiken

  Song in the Silence

  by Elizabeth Kerner

  Putting Up Roots

  by Charles Sheffield

  In the Land of the Lawn Weenies

  by David Lubar

  Octagon Magic

  by Andre Norton

  When the Beast Ravens

  by E. Rose Sabin

  Fur Magic

  by Andre Norton

  To the Blight The Eye of the World: Part Two

  by Robert Jordan

  The Cockatrice Boys

  by Joan Aiken

  The Whispering Mountain

  by Joan Aiken

  The Garden Behind the Moon

  by Howard Pyle

  The Dark Side of Nowhere

  by Neat Shusterman

  The Magician’s Ward

  by Patricia C. Wrede
>
  Deep Secret

  by Diana Wynne Jones

  Hidden Talents

  by David Lubar

  Obernewtyn

  by Isobelle Carmody

  This Time of Darkness

  by H. M. Hoover

  Red Unicorn

  by Tanith Lee

  The Billion Dollar Boy

  by Charles Sheffield

  The Farseekers

  by Isobelle Carmody

  Clabbernappers

  by Len Bailey

  A Scholar of Magics

  by Caroline Stevermer

  TOR BOOKS

  Reader’s Guide

  Reader’s Guide

  WILLIAM SLEATOR

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The information, activities, and discussion questions which follow are intended to enhance your reading of Among the Dolls. Please feel free to adapt these materials to suit your needs and interests.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  William Sleator, the eldest child of a pediatrician mother and a scientist father, grew up in St. Louis, Missouri. He began writing stories and composing music at the age of six. In 1967, he received bachelor’s degrees in music and English from Harvard University. He next studied musical composition and worked as a pianist at the Royal Ballet School in England. An avid journal keeper, Sleator recorded his experiences living in an ancient English cottage which he brought to life in his first young adult novel, Blackbriar. After nine years working as a rehearsal pianist for the Boston Ballet—and composing music for three ballets—Sleator turned to writing full-time. Many of his award-winning books and stories imagine strange applications of real scientific phenomena, while another recurring motif is the impact of architectural surroundings, such as the many variants of the Tithonus home in The Green Futures of Tycho or Vicky’s adventures inside the mysterious dollhouse in Among the Dolls.