Paper Dolls

by Anya Allyn

35. THE TWO HENRYS

  I wake into an uncertain day. The sky outside my window is an inky patchwork of clouds. It is as though the day could not decide whether to dawn or remain chained to the night.

  Reality crushes into me. I am a ghost.

  I tread down the stairs. A man and two women walk through the house. The man looks like Henry but he isn’t Henry. The clothes of the people are odd, unlike clothes I’ve ever seen before.

  One of the women is stout, with a face like a beaver. I imagine her swimming in a cold river, pushing sticks with that face to make a dam. The other woman is thin with hunched shoulders and a notepad.

  “We cannot stress enough the historical importance of this property,” says the beaver woman.

  “Yeah, gotcha.” The man sounds disinterested.

  “Of course,” she adds, “I completely don’t understand how this house escaped our attention all this time. It’s as though it never existed. All records of it appear to have been either lost or erased. Anyhoo, this house lies on government land now. Protected forest. You may not clear or chop trees that lie outside the boundary lines.”

  The man lets out a low whistle. “You mean to say I could have just walked into this house without anyone knowing and claimed it without all that rigmarole I had to go through?”

  The woman glares at him as though he is a naughty child. “Well perhaps. How did you find out about this house anyway?”

  He shrugs. “A box of old photos was given to my family a month ago. They belonged to a friend of the original Henry Fiveash. In the box, I found a photo of a party held at some mansion in Australia. Standing outside the house was a bloke that looked a lot like me. I did some digging and found out his uncle had owned the house. Which made me the sole heir.”

  Henry strolls from the dining room and steps in front of the woman, mimicking her. I gasp. But beaver woman walks straight through him. Somehow, Henry is able to conceal his voice from the people. I realize that our voices are not the voices of live human beings—our voices are just some sort of projection, and we’re deluding ourselves that we actually need to move our mouths to speak.

  He winks at me. “We’re going to have a visitor here from now on.”

  “Who is he?” I ask Henry. “He could be your twin. Is he from one of the other worlds?”

  “Nothing so exotic. He, apparently, is a relative of Tobias Fiveash.”

  The woman turns her broad back around to the man. “You may have inherited the property, but that doesn’t give you any privileges in regard to the character of the house. You may not make unauthorized renovations. The property is nearing a hundred years old and must be treated with great care.”

  I feel weak. “What did she just say?” I ask Henry.

  “She said the house is old as the hills. Jessamine, you’ve been asleep for almost a century.”

  I shake my head rigidly. “You’re lying.”

  “Go to the window. See for yourself.”

  I creep to the window. The gravel road is gone—overgrown with grasses. The bridge has collapsed into the river. Thomas’s carefully tended hedge is a wild tangle. Henry’s car has sunk into the earth, its body rusted and a door swinging on its hinges. And the forest has stolen closer towards the house.

  I shriek, pulling at the thick velvet curtains and trying to close them. A tiny flurry of dust plumes out from the material. Only the man notices and he looks over in surprise.

  “You’re stronger,” Henry whispers to me. “See what you just did?”

  I crumple, falling to my knees. A hundred years have passed? Did grandfather return? Grandfather would be dead by now. Dead, dead, dead. But if he’s dead, why isn’t he here to help me, to guide me?

  Audette floats over to the man. “Hmmm, he’s a dead ringer for you, Henry. Except shorter. And his eyes aren’t as beady.”

  “Funny girl,” says Henry wryly.

  I guess that Audette and Henry have been awake for quite some time. Audette seems to have accepted her fate.

  The women turn to leave—Beaver woman marching towards the door first.

  The man follows after them. “Hey, there’s something I forgot to ask.”

  Beaver woman looks around sharply. The mousey one stands behind her blinking and adjusting her glasses.

  “Now that this old place has been discovered, does that mean I’m going to have people tramping through it? You know, history-lovers, curious hikers, crooks looking to nab some antiques?”

  “Well, the newspapers will of course be interested in the story,” she tells him.

  Audette throws up her arms. “Oh just wonderful. Now we’re going to have to put up with idiots walking through here all the time.”

  Henry smiles so widely I can see his gold tooth. “Not necessarily….” He grabs Audette’s hand and strides up to the people. Standing directly before them, he materializes into a more solid form. Audette appears shocked, but she follows suit.

  The women eye the bullet-riddled bodies of Henry and Audette and scream shrilly. They practically trip over each other as they run for the door. The man scrambles away to the stairs. Henry waves his hand and the door slams shut. Next he makes a set of knives fly from the kitchen and spin in midair in front of the man.

  When did Henry learn to do that?

  The man backs away from the stairs, covering his head with his arms. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be bloody happening….”

  Beaver-woman clutches mouse-woman, her eyes open so wide they are almost all-white. “I’ve heard of members of the historical society coming across hauntings in some of the old houses, but I’ve never come across it myself. Until now….” She whispers.

  Henry turns his attention to her. “That’s right, sweetheart, the house is haunted.”

  I can tell that she heard him. Henry must have also learnt how to make his voice audible to live people.

  She places a hand across her chest to calm her heart. “You’re… you’re Henry Fiveash. And Audette Simpson. The two who were murdered here in 1920.”

  “The very same,” says Henry. “And you can see that we’re not your garden-variety harmless ghosts. We usually kill anyone who dares enter here.”

  Mouse-woman drops her head and makes a sign of the cross across her chest.

  Audette puts her hands on her hips. “If you tell anyone about this house, we’ll cut you to pieces. And don’t think we can’t find you. There isn’t anywhere in this world you can hide.”

  Beaver-woman trembles. “I… I’ve already had to put in a report. And once things are out there online....”

  “Online? What are you talking about? Just wipe it,” says Henry. “Wipe it clean.”

  She swallows and nods.

  Henry walks up to the man. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Henry. Henry Fiveash, your great-grandson,” the man utters darkly.

  Henry throws back his head and laughs. “Oh dear God, you’re a direct descendant of mine?”

  Audette peers at the man. “What? He can’t be. Henry and I had no children.” Realization steals across her face and she looks at Henry with knives in her eyes. “You had a child with one of your damned hussies, didn’t you?”

  Henry shrugs sheepishly. “Not that I knew about.”

  “What’s your family line?” Henry asks him.

  “My father was Munroe Fiveash,” the man says shakily, “whose mother was Alicia Fiveash, whose mother was Masie Brown—a showgirl from the Fiveash circus. Masie’s baby was of course yours too. My mother moved out here from the US when I was a baby. Settled in Queensland. Was a bit shaky to prove my heritage and my claim to this estate, given the history. But one look at me was enough proof to convince a judge whose blood runs through my veins.”

  Audette screams at her fiancée. Papers on a nearby desk rustle.

  Henry ignores her.

  “This is not your house,” Henry tells the man. “You can’t lay claim simply because we’re related.”

  “I’m out the door. I�
�ll leave. I’ll leave now. Just let me out.”

  “Nah, I think we’ll make you stay and we’ll toy with you a little first. It’s been years since we had any fun.” He turns to the women. “But you two can get out.”

  The women nod and they scurry away before Henry can change his mind.

  “But if a single person finds their way out here,” Henry calls after them. “I’ll know who to come looking for.”

  The women flee past the window outside. Henry slams the door shut again.

  The man’s posture is rigid. “What do you want?”

  “We want you to stay,” Henry tells him. “Live here.”

  “Live here?” Audette eyes Henry in confusion.

  “What?” The man’s face drains.

  “Yeah.” Henry shrugs his eyebrows. “We could make use of you.”

  “Please, just let me go. I’ll forget I ever saw this house.”

  “I know exactly why you’re here,” says Henry. “You thought the old guy must have hoarded treasure here somewhere. And you thought you’d try to find it.”

  He shook his head. “No, I swear—“

  “Cut the wide-eyed innocent routine. You didn’t want to come live in some crumbling old house. You’re here to find your fortune. And well, I’ll tell you that there’s fortune here to be found. If you play your cards right, eventually I might let you have it. Lord knows it’s no good to me anymore. But if I see a single piece of furniture or ornament from this house gone and sold, I’ll bury you alive. Some pieces here can be traced to Tobias Fiveash, and I don’t want that happening.”

  A light steals into the man’s eyes when Henry mentions the possibility of a fortune. “But why would you want me here? What could I possibly do for you?”

  “Errands and things. You’ll be our gopher, so to speak.”

  “Looks like I don’t have a choice.” He sits on his battered suitcases, his expression still wild-eyed and dazed.

  “Henry,” I whisper, “Ask him if he knows what happened to grandfather.”

  Henry exhales noisily. “My young cousin here would like to know what happened to Tobias Fiveash.”

  “There’s more of you?”

  “Just one. Jessamine. You’ll have to excuse her for not being able to show herself. She’s just woken from a ninety-odd year sleep and she’s a bit out of sorts.”

  The man looks around nervously. “No one’s sure what went on with Tobias,” he answers. “Apparently no body was found, but the reports say he died in 1920.”

  Pain grinds through me. Grandfather was never coming back.

  I don’t want to know more. I allow myself to drift, unhinged to the world.

  I find myself in the broad daylight. But I don’t want daylight. I continue on, on to the only place where I can be alone. I sink deep into the underground, passing through rock and dirt and time itself.

  Here in the darkness, I can believe that it is still 1920. I sit in the dollhouse in grandfather’s rocking chair. It makes a gentle, almost imperceptible rock underneath me. I did that. I will become solid and real here in the underground. I will make time reverse and stop. And grandfather will make his way back to me.

  Somehow.

  36. HEART OF METAL AND GEARS

  I pace the corridors of the dollhouse for days and days. I grow stronger, make myself believe I can feel the floor beneath my feet, make myself believe I can touch the surfaces of the walls. I don’t want to watch the passing of time. I learn how to make the hands of the clock spin and point to any hour.

  And I dance. I dance the waltzes Miss Kitty taught me. I dance for every day of my young life that has been ripped so cruelly from me. Miss Kitty never waltzed with a man but she knew how to dance perfectly.

  The day arrives that I curtsey to the wooden clown and he bows back. It shocks me and the clown topples to the floor.

  I spend every day learning how to hold each of the dolls upright. I try holding all of them upright at once. The effort exhausts me and I drop to the ground and sleep. It takes what could be days or weeks to be able to hold them all for any length of time. And then I learn to separate my mind and make the dolls walk—up and down the corridors at first, like sentinels. But then I learn how to make each one walk a different path.

  The dolls are like perfect children in a perfect dollhouse. They go where I command them to go and they dance when I command them to dance. Controlling the dolls helps to fill in all the empty, desolate spaces in my mind. My mind is a network of corridors and rooms. I keep the dolls to a routine, because order is good.

  But controlling them is taxing and I must sleep frequently to regain my energies.

  When it seems that months have surely passed, I find the courage to collect grandfather’s locket. I tear a hole in the hessian bag that contains my body and rip the locket from the chain. The sight of dark bones wrenches a strangled cry from me, as though a sword has been plunged down my throat—my body has been eaten away by time, reduced to a skeleton.

  Henry arrives in the underground with a crowd of people. I recognize them. They were there at the party he had at the house. Except now they are ghosts. I turn away. I have no interest in them. He takes the people deep into the tunnels.

  He begins bringing them often, disturbing my peace and the world I have built with the dolls of the dollhouse.

  Today he is alone. He drops himself down on the daybed, looking like he is flesh and blood. He has even learned how to clothe himself in clean attire—clothes that are not spattered in blood.

  “Jessamine…” He brushes some lint from his shirt. “I’ve missed you. Audette is in a foul mood most days and the other Henry gets on my nerves. He thinks he’s some kind of lord of the manor now and he goes about quoting Shakespeare—badly I might add.”

  “None of those things are my cares,” I tell him.

  “But aren’t you bored as hell down here all alone?”

  “I have my friends.” I gesture to the dolls standing to attention against a wall.

  “Very clever. You must have practiced long and hard to be able to do that.” He leans his head back. “I have a suggestion for you.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Wouldn’t you like some real company?”

  “That’s not a suggestion. That’s a question.”

  “Touché. Look, Jess, what would you think of bringing a real friend down here for you? A girl.”

  I startle. “What? A live girl?”

  “Yes.” He studies my face.

  “No, of course not. What girl would want to spend any time down here? The thought is insidious.”

  “I think you mean ludicrous,” Henry corrects me. “Anyway, the idea isn’t ludicrous. There’s lots of young girls out there looking for a safe haven. It’s a nasty world for many kids.”

  My world had indeed been nasty and without a safe haven. I gaze intently at him. “But any girl would run away at the sight of this place.”

  “Not if they were… encouraged to stay. If it’s for their own good, to keep them safe from danger, it would be a blessing for them to be kept here. It would be tough for them at first. But they would learn to be grateful. People are drawn to their fate. No one would come here who didn’t want to.”

  “I didn’t choose to be here.”

  “Didn’t you?” His eyes are bright. “You had a choice that night, a century ago. You had the choice of alerting me that you were hidden there in your grandfather’s car. But you didn’t. You stayed there, put yourself in the grasp of old Baldcott and then went running headlong into the depths of the underground. Perhaps you wanted to die, Jessamine. Perhaps, deep down, you knew your grandfather was already dead and you wanted to save yourself the pain of finding that out.”

  “No….”

  Henry’s thoughts were surely twisted, wrong.

  “The universes are interconnected. We can’t begin to understand why things happen the way they do or why people make the choices they do. Look, I can get the other Henry onto this. He
can seek out a girl who is in trouble, who is danger and needs safety. Someone you can help and guide. There are lots of lost girls out there in the world, Jessamine. Girls who are unappreciated in their families, unloved, unwanted, homeless. I could bring you one of these.”

  In the circus, everyone was older and they told me what to do. I did always want a younger sibling, someone I could instruct and guide. Someone that I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to.

  I point to the shadow that slithers over the ceiling. “How can you even talk about bringing someone here with that thing roaming about. Get rid of it.”

  Henry rubs his temple. “I can’t do that. I have a bargain in place that I cannot undo.”

  “With that thing? What is the bargain?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, we’ll start getting the dollhouse ready, just in case you change your mind. What do you say?”

  I shake my head, and go to have a sleep on grandfather’s rocking chair.

  The other Henry brings down supplies of food and stocks the kitchen. He even brings down boxes of that tea Audette used to give me, until there is far more tea than food. He brings down loads of heavy planks of wood and constructs beds in the cave—in the damp space beyond the crack in the wall. He builds ten of them. I ask why he would think of putting beds in there and why so many. He replies that there is nowhere else they can go and that if he is building two, he may as well build ten. I don’t grasp his logic but I don’t question it. The mattresses and bedding come next. At least now I have a place to rest each day.

  Henry comes down to inspect other-Henry’s work. When the two of them stand together, they look they brothers, and if a bystander was told one was a ghost and one was living, they would be unable to tell which was which.

  Henry tells me I must learn to control the carousel. I must keep it from turning—otherwise, any child he brings here will leave without receiving proper guidance. At first, it is difficult, although not nearly as difficult as making the dolls walk. I simply picture a spinning object and put a hold on it. After a time, I don’t even need to think about it.

  The last thing other-Henry brings are my dresses. After a hundred years, the clothing is moth-eaten and fragile. I can barely stand to see my clothing in that state, but that’s all there is. I remove the wedding dress I have worn ever since that night that Mr. Baldcott chased me down here and place it on a stand. Audette’s awful black dress sits on a stand beside the wedding dress.