The Doll Maker

Her tightly pulled pigtails twirled around as she sprinted up and down the aisle. Her mother tried to gain control but failed. Nostrils flared and jaw clenched, she hurled toward her, grabbing hold of her arm.

Her screams bellowed as her legs kicked. A thousand eyes followed them out the front door. After a brief lecture, they returned. More docile than before, she stood by her mother’s side, clutching onto her skirt.

Whispers collided with the maddening stress she clung to. Her eyes darted around the store, noting the four women hovering in the corner. Their fingers stretched in her direction, chiding her poor parenting skills.

She grabbed her daughter’s hand and ran to the front door. It opened before she could reach the knob. Her eyes traveled up his torso as he entered the shop.

His eyes fell on the little girl. Her big brown eyes peered up at him as she peeked around the back of her mother’s leg. His eyes soon locked onto her mother. Her ripped floral dress and disheveled brown hair forced his eyebrows to arch.

Embarrassed, she stepped back from the door and scurried past him out of the store.

“Ma’am!”

She stopped, clinching her fist as she turned around.

“Your daughter dropped her doll.”

“That’s not hers.”

“Sure, it is.” He knelt down in front of her and handed it to her. “You like it?”

She nodded as her hand grasped onto its soft body.

“My name is Sam. Sam Shadows.”

“Miss Webster.”

“And you are?”

She raised her head up as her eyes darted toward her mother. “Mira.”

“Well, Mira. It’s nice to meet you. You as well, Miss Webster. I make dolls. Over there.” He extended his index finger and pointed to his shop. “Feel free to stop by anytime.” His voice trailed off as he crossed the street.

Their walk home was unadventurous. Deafening car tires screeched against the concrete. Passers-by shared the latest gossip. They ran up the steps and into their apartment. Miss Webster collapsed against the door as she fiddled with the lock.

Mira ran over to the couch and sunk into the cushion as her eyes inspected the rag doll. It had pink, powdery cheeks and long, auburn hair. A white and red folk dress draped down her body, accented with puffy, long sleeves.

Two brown eyes stared back at her as she held it close to her face. She pulled it away and leaned it against the pillow next to her. Mira’s body tightened as the doll’s eyes shifted to the right, staring at her.

Mira slid off the couch. The doll’s eyes followed her. She stepped back, crashing into the coffee table. The doll’s head tilted to the right.

Miss Webster walked over to the couch and stared at Mira. “What’s wrong?”

She extended her finger toward the doll. “She moves.”

Miss Webster picked up the doll and shook it. “It’s plastic and fabric.”

“I saw it.”

“We talked about that imagination of yours.”

Mira lowered her head as her mother tossed the doll on the couch and walked away. Her eyes drifted to the cushion as the doll pushed herself up on the couch and turned her head in Mira’s direction.

The day flew by. Miss Webster stood in front of the window, watching the shops close up for the evening. A pattern of red, blue, and orange painted the sky as the sun set. She drew up the curtains, checked the locks on the doors and windows, and made her way into Mira’s room.

She sat in the middle of the bed, staring at the doll. Her eyebrows arched downward as her nostrils flared.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

She lifted her eyes toward her mother and pushed out a lie. “Bedtime.”

“Well, I have great news for you. It’s that time.” Miss Webster tucked her in and kissed her forehead. She lifted the doll off the mattress and placed it on the nightstand before exiting the room.

Mira’s eyes closed. They flew open as the bed vibrated. She stared at the nightstand. The doll was gone. Their eyes met as she turned her head. Standing at the corner of the bed, she lifted one foot and moved toward Mira.

Paralyzed, Mira’s eyes widened. Her labored breath crashed against a gust of wind, forcing its way through an opened window.

The doll took another step. Mira grasped onto the blanket and pulled it closer to her chin. The doll’s stiff movements loosened as she ran toward Mira and jumped on top of her.

Mira’s screams echoed throughout the apartment as her mother ran down the hall. She threw her body against the door, stumbled into the room, grabbed hold of the doll, and tossed it on the floor.

She lifted Mira from the bed and ran out of the apartment, down the stairs and across the street. Reaching the shop, she pushed open the door. The chime crashed against the classical music blasting from the back room.

“You’re a little earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“There’s something wrong with that doll you gave us.” Miss Webster placed Mira on the floor. “It attacked my daughter.”

He smirked and walked toward the door. “It just wanted to play.” He clicked the lock and pulled down the blinds. “You should’ve stayed at home.” He walked toward Miss Webster as she backed up. “It was much safer there.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the doll maker.”

© 2023 Rena Aliston. All rights reserved.