“Why would you want to have that?” James asks.
I shrug. “Maybe we could talk to famous dead people. Like Albert Einstein or Rosa Parks.”
“I don’t think ghosts like that are attracted to magic portals,” James says. “It’s usually the bad ones that want to cross over.”
We all look to the doll. No one says anything, but the same thought is on all our minds, I’m sure: What if the doll is powered by such an evil ghost?
“You know,” Alicia says, “we could just do what it wants.”
“Which is?” I ask. Is my best friend suddenly able to read dolls’ minds?
She looks me in the eye, completely serious.
“I think that we should bury it.”
We move quickly to bury the doll.
For a moment, I consider taking the locket from its neck—something about the locket snares my attention, as if it holds something very important. But I don’t want to keep anything related to the doll.
I want it gone. All of it.
We walk a little ways into the woods to bury it. James digs into the soft earth with the spatula Alicia found while I clutch the doll gingerly, like I’m holding something plagued.
“What do you think it all means?” Alicia asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “And I don’t want to find out.”
“Well, whatever it is,” Alicia says, “hopefully doing what it says to do is enough to make this whole thing stop.”
I nod. If all I have to do is bury the doll to forget about this whole strange situation, I’ll do it.
When James is done, I drop the doll unceremoniously into the hole.
“I feel like we should say something,” Alicia says quietly.
“Yeah,” I mutter. I stare down at the doll. It stares back up at me; its painted eyes narrow and frown deeper … or maybe I’m just imagining that from the shadows. Despite the high afternoon heat, chills race across my skin at the look.
“Get out of my life,” I say down to the doll. Then I raise my head and look out to the woods. I don’t see anyone through the trees, but I raise my voice anyway. Just in case Peter or someone else is out there, watching and laughing. “And stay out of my life. I’m not afraid of you and this isn’t funny, so just stop!”
I realize way too late that even though I’m saying I’m not afraid, I sound afraid.
I nod to James, who grimly begins shoveling dirt atop the doll. I watch dirt clump over its evil sneer.
I swear it closes its eyes when the first shovelful hits.
Then the doll is out of sight. Hopefully for good.
When the hole is filled, I stomp the dirt down, and then pile a big rock on top of it. Just in case.
“Okay,” I say. I try to make my voice sound happy, but it’s hard. Every time I blink, I swear I see the doll staring in the dark behind my eyes. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
My friends agree. I wipe my dirty hands on my jeans as we head back through the woods to our fort.
I look back to the doll’s grave.
Stay away, I whisper in my head.
I really hope the doll will listen.
I try to forget about the doll for the rest of the afternoon.
We head back into the woods to climb trees and look for UFOs in the clouds. After an unsuccessful search, we wander through the trails in hopes of finding the lair of a mythical zombicorn. We don’t find that either.
But we do find the mansion.
I don’t even think we’re walking in that direction … but I must be wrong. One moment we’re tracking down an elusive beast, and the next we’re standing at the edge of the expansive grounds. The mansion smiles at me with its broken teeth. Suddenly, the zombicorn is the last thing on my mind.
“What do you say, comrades?” I ask, turning to my friends. “Perhaps it’s time we explore the long-lost tombs of the Romanovs?”
“I don’t know …” James says. He looks up at the sky. We still have plenty of daylight, but I know he’s looking for an excuse. He’s scared.
“Oh, come on,” I say. I grab him by the arm and start dragging him forward. I don’t know why I want to get inside so badly. I just do.
“I just hope there aren’t any more dolls,” I hear Alicia mutter behind us.
I hope she’s right.
* * *
We wander through the mansion for what feels like hours, searching for the bones of lost kings and queens, or at least clues about where the missing princess may be. By the time we’ve successfully navigated a few secret passageways, the doll and the burial feel like they didn’t really happen. Here, in the dusty, cool catacombs, anything even remotely related to Copper Hollow feels like an illusion.
Until we come crashing back to reality.
We’re navigating a passageway I’m sure we’ve never visited before. The air is heavy and hot around us, and with every step, it seems to grow more oppressive. Both James and Alicia lag behind me. They don’t complain, but I know they’re growing tired.
I also know they’re getting scared.
We’ve never been this deep in the mansion before. I’m positive we are nearing the entrance to a treasure chamber, which means guards, which means either a battle or being very, very sneaky.
I pause outside a door and press my finger to my lips. Stone statues of people with broken limbs tower up on each side. But they don’t come alive. Yet. Both Alicia and James freeze, staring up at the statues in wavering fear.
Then I push open the door and walk straight into my nightmare.
It’s the ballroom.
Immediately, the games stop along with my heart.
“No way,” I whisper.
It’s exactly like the nightmare. I step inside, awestruck, staring up at the balcony—or what’s left of it. Everything in here is charred black and broken by age, sunlight streaming in through the rafters, dripping light over the ruined dance floor. Branches and piles of soot and leaves cover every inch of the place, making it hard to imagine this was once so grand. But I know it was. I can feel it, deep in my gut.
I’ve been here before.
How could I have dreamed about a place in such detail if I’d never visited it? How could a room covered in ash have transformed into something beautiful in my dreams? I keep spinning around, as though I’m dancing to music I can just barely hear. Something about this place is magical.
Something about it makes me never want to leave.
“We should go,” James says from behind me.
I turn with a gasp. I’d honestly forgotten he and Alicia were with me.
“What?” I ask. I’m breathless. How fast was I spinning? “But we just got here.”
“I know, but …” James trails off. Neither he nor Alicia comes into the room.
“There’s so much to explore,” I say. “I mean, we’ve never even seen this place before, and we’ve been here hundreds of times and—”
“We need to go,” James interrupts.
I look at him. Really look. His eyes have taken on a sort of glaze. Like he’s not actually seeing the room I’m standing in. In fact, both he and Alicia look like they’re seeing a ghost.
“James, what’s wrong with—”
“Good night, Kimberly,” Alicia says, her voice distant, not quite her own. For some reason, it reminds me of the way Mayor Couch spoke when looking at the history book, or the way the librarian’s eyes glazed over when I asked him about Copper Hollow’s past. It sounds like she’s reciting lines in a play. “We will see you in the morning.”
And just like that, the two of them turn and walk away.
I watch them go for a moment, listen to their footsteps echoing down the hall.
“What was that all about?” I ask no one.
A roost of pigeons careens up into the rafters in answer, making me jump and yelp as their feathers fly down around me like snow. When they’ve vanished into the pink sky above, I look back down to the ballroom. My dream drifts through my mind like ribbons of orche
stral music.
I remember walking down that broken stairwell. Dancing numbly through the crowd. I remember the dancers closing in on me. Refusing to let me escape.
And suddenly, my nostrils fill with a scent that I don’t think was in my dream.
The smell of burning.
The crackle of fresh fire.
Even though the ballroom is empty, even though there’s no sign of a spark or blaze, the scent grows stronger. Heavier. My chest constricts as though someone is pressing up against me and I can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
I don’t wait any longer.
I turn and run from the ballroom. And I swear it’s not just my imagination, not just the wind in my ears or the pigeons returning.
I swear I hear a little girl laughing in the room I’ve left behind.
I run all the way home.
By the time I reach my front yard, I’m panting and covered in sweat. I’ve also made up my mind: Even though I’m usually entranced by it, I’m not going back into the mansion ever again. I can’t get the sound of the girl’s laughter out of my ears. I know it was only in my mind. I know I had to have been imagining it. But that doesn’t make me any less afraid.
Thankfully, when I get inside my trailer, there isn’t a doll waiting for me. Just sticky, congested heat because we left the windows closed.
Not so thankfully, there aren’t any leftovers waiting for me either.
I groan when I look in the fridge. A bottle of ketchup. A few cans of soda. A bag of moldy spinach … not much to choose from. Looks like it’s spaghetti again.
I want to shower, but as I make dinner I realize that it’s going to be a while before the trailer cools off. Even after I open all the windows, the hot day doesn’t want to leave anytime soon. There’s no breeze, and the boiling water on the stove isn’t helping matters any.
So, a few minutes later when dinner’s ready, I sit outside at our tiny table with a battery lantern and a bowl of pasta and my library book.
It’s a little cooler out here, but not much. Crickets and toads chirp in the woods. Clouds slowly skirt across the sky. Moths flicker around my lamp.
I suppose for some people, being alone in the woods like this would be creepy. I’ve read so many horror books that start out this way. But I can’t imagine the sounds of nature ever feeling scary.
That laughter in the mansion, however …
“Don’t think about it,” I whisper to myself. “You’re never going back there, and that’s final.”
I take a bite of pasta and open my book.
A COMPREHENSIVE HISTORY OF COPPER HOLLOW, reads the title page.
I flip past the table of contents, to the chapter titled FOUNDING.
It’s blank.
“What in the world?”
I skim through the pages. Every single one is the same. Some have chapter headings, like IMPORTANT FIGURES and DATES OF NOTE … but that’s it.
Everything else is blank.
Is this some sort of joke?
I reach the back of the book in mere seconds. Why in the world does the library have a blank book on our history?
When I close the cover, I glance down at my bowl. Empty.
Wait, how did I eat all of that so quickly? I barely sat down …
Memory blurs. My head swims.
“What are you talking about, Kimberly?” I ask myself. “You’ve been here for at least an hour.”
I think back on what I read—facts and figures about my hometown. I can’t remember much about them, but I remember reading them. Just as I remember eating all my dinner. What was I worrying about? That the book was blank?
That’s just silly, I tell myself. Books aren’t blank. This one was boring, but it surely wasn’t empty. I just can’t remember what I read because it was so dull.
I shake my head. Every time I try to think about what I just read, my memory goes all foggy.
I guess that’s what happens when I read an entire history book in one night. Weird.
For a moment, I consider reading it again. Then the idea passes. There are much better books in the library.
The trailer has finally cooled down a bit when I get inside and wash my bowl—Mom hates it when I leave dirty dishes in the sink. A yawn escapes my lips. Wow. I must have been reading longer than I thought. A quick glance at the clock says Mom should be finishing her shift in an hour or so. Time to shower and go to bed. The last thing I need is for her to give me a lecture for being up too late. Even if it is summer vacation.
I head to the tiny bathroom and close the folding door. Showers have to be fast, as we don’t have much hot water to spare and Mom likes showering when she gets home. I hop under the spray, then turn it off and lather up. I’m just about to turn on the faucet to rinse off when I hear it.
A squeak.
The sound of our front door being opened.
Despite the heat in the shower, chills run down my spine.
“Mom?” I call out. Maybe she’s home early?
No answer.
The trailer doesn’t move, which makes me feel a little better. If someone were coming in, I’d feel the trailer shake.
Must just be the wind …
I turn on the water. Close my eyes and rinse off the shampoo and soap and—
SLAM!
The front door shuts so hard the entire trailer wobbles. I scream and fumble to turn off the water.
“Mom?” I call out louder this time, frantic.
No answer.
No one answers.
I grab my towel and wrap it around myself and look for the only weapon I can find: an electric toothbrush.
Brandishing it like a sword, I slowly, carefully open the door and peek out.
Nothing.
The trailer is empty. It rocks back and forth slowly from the aftershock. Was I just imagining things? No. There’s no way; I felt that.
I push open the door the rest of the way. I don’t let go of the toothbrush.
“Whoever you are,” I say, not at all as bravely as I wish, “I know you’re out there.”
No answer.
I wait.
Silence.
No one at our table.
No one in our bed.
The trailer is empty. No movement. Even the crickets outside have gone quiet.
I heave a sigh of relief and lower the toothbrush. I turn back to the bathroom, to actually brush my teeth.
But first I scream for the second time that night.
The doll is back, covered in dirt and standing in the sink.
She is not happy.
I don’t bother with another burial.
I snatch up the doll and run outside to toss it in the trash can. I slam on the lid and add a few bricks on top. Normally, we use the bricks to keep raccoons out of the trash. Now I’m using them to keep the trash in.
“Stay. Away. From me.” My words come out in gasps. The blood is pounding so loud in my ears that it takes a moment for me to realize the crickets have started chirping again.
For some reason, that makes me feel a little safer.
I don’t risk it, though. As another shiver rushes over me, I run back inside.
I make sure to lock the door behind me.
I’m pretty sure it was locked before.
My thoughts race as I huddle in bed, knees to my chest and covers to my nose, even though it’s still way too hot. There’s no way the doll could have ended up in my sink if someone was carrying it in. I would have seen that, right? If someone had dropped it into the bathroom from the tiny window, I would have seen it when I was getting out of the shower. Or—if they had used the slamming door as a diversion—I would have heard the doll thud into the sink in the silence after.
But that’s the only answer my rational mind can think of, and even that barely makes sense.
My irrational mind has another idea.
That the doll crept in and slammed the door behind her.
That she ran between my legs when I was distracted and open
ed the bathroom door.
That she climbed up the sink.
That she had wanted to scare me.
I tell myself that’s impossible. Dolls don’t move, let alone try to scare someone.
But maybe this one does.
It takes a long time for me to fall asleep.
Mom comes home. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t ask why the door was locked or why the trash cans are covered in bricks. Maybe she didn’t notice. Just as she doesn’t notice that I’m awake and trembling.
Soon, she’s in bed beside me.
I tell myself I’m safe now.
I tell myself I’m safe, but as sleep draws near, I swear it’s heralded by the terrifying sound of muffled giggling.
Orchestral music soars around me.
The music soars, but I am stuck.
I am stuck in the middle of the dance floor, spinning madly, trying to escape.
No space in the crowd. They close in, tighter, tighter. I can’t breathe. My dress is too tight.
I can’t breathe, and when I look up through the swathes of billowing chiffon and satin, when I stare at the dancers’ painted faces, I realize they aren’t dancers at all.
They are dolls.
They are all fully dolls.
Their limbs are porcelain and their fingers jointed, every movement jerky and sharp. Their large glassy eyes stare off into nothing and their mouths are slashed on their faces in red paint. Some are held up by strings that stretch all the way up to the flickering ceiling. Wait, why is the ceiling flickering? Where is the fire?
The doll dancers close in. Press against me. I need to get out of here. Away from their shoving limbs and terrifying stares. I open my mouth to scream.
That’s when I taste the smoke.
As flames curl through the tall windows like encroaching hands, the dancing dolls begin to laugh.
“What do you mean, it came back?”
James sounds unconvinced.
Then again, if he were telling me what I’m telling him, would I believe it?
It’s barely nine o’clock. The moment I woke up and saw the trailer was empty, I left. I wasn’t going to wait around for the doll to show up. So, grabbing a piece of toast for breakfast, I hustled out of the trailer and jogged to my friends’ houses, trying my best not to look at the trash can covered in bricks as I passed. First Alicia, then James. I couldn’t be alone that morning. Wouldn’t. They seemed shocked to see me so early.
Bury Me Page 3
