Miserable Marionette

1. A Doll That Cries

A Doll That Cries

Cool raindrops pelt my face as I clutch the small box in my arms, trying to make sure my sketchpad and the nice colored pencils Uncle Rodney got me for Christmas a few years ago stay dry. They’re almost nubs now, so I try to avoid sharpening them as much as I can.

“Auds, what do you think?” Dad calls from the white-wrapped front porch, a huge smile eating up his face.

I do my best not to frown at the big house in front of me; it’s fine.

I mean, it’s nice. I should be grateful, and I’m trying to be.

The cardboard creaks in my arms as I clench it tighter, fighting the strange tightening in my chest. The one that always comes when things change.

A messy bundle of dread and tiny pinpricks of pain, a misery for the way things were.

Even if it affects me very little either way.

Like when Mom started having the house cleaned on Tuesday instead of Thursday.

It didn’t matter; I knew it didn’t matter, but it felt like it might.

Dad says I’m too excitable, so I smile and give him a little nod, even though my stomach is swirling.

If I’m being entirely honest, I missed home weeks before we left.

I don’t care about Dad’s new job at the sheriff’s department or that Mom wanted a fresh start.

Away from the town gossip and the man Dad caught in our house this summer.

I can still see Dad's face, beet red, his veins bulging in his forehead as the man gathered up his clothes. The man’s private part flopping around while Mom screamed at Dad to calm down and for me to go back to bed.

Seems an awfully strange thing to happen, then never speak of again, but I’d never seen Dad that angry…

or angry about anything, come to think of it, so I kept my mouth shut.

Now we’re here in Swindon, Michigan. A billion-hour-long car ride from everyone I’ve ever known, my teachers, friends, and the soda machine I’d visit every Monday after school.

Another fifty trips from the blocky off-white U-Haul to my new home, and my arms and legs are aching.

The rain finally settling into an annoying mist that makes my hair stick to my face as I let myself fall heavily onto the porch swing.

My Krissy doll sits forgotten in my lap as a tall man shouts from across the street. “Hey neighbors!”

Dad claps his hands together loudly, signaling the end to whatever task he was working on before he greets the man, now followed by a slight woman in a dark dress, her hair pinned up in a severe bun.

Dark black, frizzy strands hovering around her head like the playful sprites Uncle Rodney used to draw pictures of.

He said they came from the woods. Nothing about the woman demurely huddling behind the tall man screams she sets foot in the woods.

Dad meets him halfway down the small drive, his wide smile eating up his tanned face as he turns to usher Mom and me along with him.

“Nice to meet ya. My name's Manard Fisher. This is my wife, Emma, and my daughter, Audry.” I smile up at the couple, their faces looking aged, if not a little tired. Mom says that’s how Uncle Rodney looked at the end too, tired and old. Despite him being younger than her.

“Some people are born miserable, Audrey, and they don’t want to be any other way.”

Uncle Rodney never looked particularly miserable to me.

“It’s a pleasure. I’d been meaning to catch you on your other trips up, but duty calls.

” The stranger claps my dad's hand in a loud shake, smiling brightly. “Jason Bell, this is my wife, Abigail. My son Gideon is around here somewhere. How old is your little one? They might be good friends.” He says the words to my dad but casts his warm smile at me. I can’t help but return it.

The prospect of a friend making the whole thing more bearable.

Maybe the loss will feel like less of one if I gain something in return.

“Jason…” His wife chuckles, but she doesn’t look happy like her husband. Her lips are cracked and raw, but it doesn’t take away from her prettiness. She looks like my Krissy doll with her rouged cheeks and dark hair, just sadder.

“She’s turning eight in a few months. They spring up like weeds…”

My eyes land on a flash of color in the sticky gray mist. The bands on a boy’s bright striped sweater as he stalks from behind the house across the street. I can’t stop my frown this time as my eyes land on the cracked sign hanging just outside.

Bell Funeral Home.

Great, our new house is haunted.

I flinch as Mr. Bell’s laughter bolsters.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, there aren’t any ghosts around here.

” My eyes snap from the newly creepy building, wondering how I ever thought it looked normal thirty minutes ago.

The windows are darker; the white paint eerie.

It’s probably filled with bodies as we speak.

My heart jerks to life in my chest as the sight of Uncle Rodney comes unbidden to my mind.

He’d been so cold… so fake-looking. Mom said he’d look normal; he didn’t.

I can’t shake it, no matter how hard I try to see him the other way; it’s just him tucked inside the silky lining of his casket.

“Hey Gideon, come meet the neighbors!”

The boy’s dark hair matches his mom’s, but it’s cut shorter on the sides, and he’s…

handsome. If not a little… spooky like the house.

When his deep blue eyes meet mine, I decide I don’t mind if he lives in a funeral home, my cheeks flushing as he stares.

It’s uncomfortable how long he seems to take everything in, impolite, but I can’t help but smile at him as he comes closer. Clutching Krissy tighter to my chest.

“Miss Audrey, this is Gideon. Gideon, meet Audrey.”

My smile widens, making my cheeks ache as I brush a frizzy wayward blonde hair behind my ear. “Hi.”

He only nods, those deep eyes falling on my Krissy doll. I saved up my allowance for months to get her two years ago. All my friends got theirs for Christmas, but that was before Dad got his new job.

We stand there in awkward silence, but by the end of it, I realize I’d stopped fretting so much about the new house.

When I finally pull my eyes away from Krissy’s spiral curls, Gideon is staring at me still.

Our parents are gone, heading toward the new house.

Dad booms about the renovations he started as he leads Mr. Bell inside.

Our moms talk quietly as they settle on the porch.

“She looks like you.”

My head snaps back to him, my brows furrowed. “Who?”

“Your doll.”

I glance down at Krissy. Not seeing it at all. Her hair is silky and dark; her eyes bright green. I shift on my feet, feeling every bit as excited as I am nervous. “How old are you?”

“Nine,” he answers, his eyes still boring into me. He doesn’t seem like any of the kids I’m used to. There’s something grown up about him that makes me feel small. Well, smaller.

“Do you want to swing?” I ask, shifting on my feet to shake off the nerves.

He glares over at the worn set off to the side of his house. “No.”

“Oh, okay.” Tears bud in my eyes, and for the life of me, I can’t fathom what reason I have to cry until he speaks up, running his hand over the back of his neck.

“That swing set is creaky. There’s a better one in the woods over there.”

My eyes widen as he points to the dark wood line behind his house.

Excitement eats away the fear that blooms in my chest at the sight of the eerie thicket as I nod, blinking away my tears.

My blonde hair slaps me in the face with the sudden turn I make toward the porch. “Mama, can I go swing with Gideon?”

“Sure, Auds. Don’t leave his sight,” she offers, barely looking up from the magazine she’s showing Gideon’s mom.

Don’t leave his sight.

I glance up at the older boy, flashing him another wide smile that he doesn’t seem to know what to do with.

“Gideon, I don’t—" his mom starts, but he’s already stalking back toward the road, and I’m hot on his heels, Krissy dangling at my side. For a moment, I fight the urge to look back to see if he’s going to get fussed for ignoring her, but it never comes.

I follow him for a long time, telling him about my drawings and Krissy.

My old friends and that I secretly don’t like the new house, even though Dad keeps trying to convince me to.

Throwing around words like historical and acreage, whatever that means.

Turns out Gideon is a great listener. And that would be wonderful except that the woods are darker than I thought, and quickly my smile fades as he leads me deeper into them, my heart picking up speed in my chest as dread builds again in my belly.

It’s a different place, a different state, but it all feels so familiar.

It doesn’t take him long to notice my fear, his ocean eyes turning on me. “Are you scared of me?”

I frown, tugging Krissy to my chest, my embarrassment suffocating. “No!”

“Then why are you stopping?”

I stare down at my knees, my heart hammering wildly now. “It’s darker in here,” I whisper. “Can’t we go to the other swings?”

“I don’t like the sound it makes.”

I take a deep breath, flashing him another smile because the last thing I want is to look like a baby, even if it comes off shaky.

Daylight peeks through the treetops as the woods open up, assuring me it isn't night yet.

The tire swing here looks even older than the other set, but I keep my mouth shut, bounding over to it with Krissy in hand.

The rope is rough on my palms, wet from the rain.

Once pale fibers darkened by long years spent in this very spot, frayed in tiny sections.

Everything here smells so earthy, like dirt and creek water.

The tire swing groans as I put my legs through the hole, the seat of my pants getting soaked.

Gideon stands at the edge of the clearing where I left him, watching me as I secure Krissy in my lap. “Push me, Gideon!”

His eyes widen, and I have yet to see him smile as he stalks over, his hands shoving me by the back as the rope creaks against the thick branch.

It’s not a gentle push; the movement is abrupt and jerky, but his palms are warm, even through the fabric of my jacket.

My giggles fill the forest, birds quieting as if to let me have my moment as he pushes me harder and harder.

Blonde, damp hair gathers in my face before flapping out behind me wildly.

My stomach dips like I’m going over a huge hill in the car.

I tilt my head back, staring up at the trees obscuring the cloudy sky as I fly around the clearing.

“Higher!” I laugh, clutching the rope tightly.

Gideon doesn’t speak or even laugh along with me, but higher I go.

The rope protesting in the same groans that Dad makes after he’s sat on the couch for too long.

All the tightness, the worry, is gone from my chest for the moment.

I don’t even mind the mist so much anymore until a deafening crack fills the woods.

The feeling of weightlessness makes my stomach plummet as my eyes widen on the snapped rope overhead.

I’m so high up, the ground doesn’t look like it should come as quickly as it does.

My vision blurs as my head hits the ground with rattling force.

The air in my lungs knocked somewhere far away, unreachable for a few horrifying moments.

A whimper quickly turns into a muted sob as my fingers dig into the wet soil, trying to push myself up off the ground.

“Gideon?” I sob, my head pounding as warmth trickles across my scalp.

Everything comes in doubles; the dim light of the clearing making my eyes strain as I roll to my side.

Pausing there for a few steadying breaths before I force myself to my butt, crying out for my mom.

I know we’re too far in the woods for her to hear me, but I don’t stop.

Each sob needling the fear in my chest as scarlet red droplets splatter onto Krissy.

I blink my eyes to clear them as I stare down at my doll.

Her cute frilly white dress, now mottled with blood, one of her arms missing.

I sob harder, ignoring the pain to lift my head and look for Gideon.

He was already tall but looks so much more so as he towers above me, his hand clasped around a huge rock.

“Go get my mom,” I sob, “My Krissy doll broke!”

He just stares down at me, his empty blue eyes wide behind his glasses as his chest heaves. The rock halfway lifted, suspended in the air like someone had frozen them both.

I hiccup, snot bubbling at my nose. “I want my mom! Krissy is all bloody! I want to go home!” I scream it, and I know I’m acting like a brat, but I don’t care. Everything hurts. I’m… I’m scared.

He takes a few moments after that to move, not even my yelling or sobbing seeming to reach him as I struggle to find Krissy’s missing arm.

He finally drops his stupid rock and kneels beside me.

His hands tilt my head back roughly, and I squint against the sudden brightness of the sky.

My eyes struggle to focus on him as he wipes his long fingers through the blood coming from my hairline.

Rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger before his ocean-blue eyes turn toward Krissy.

I try to stand, but it hurts too much. He knocks Krissy from my lap as he picks me up, stumbling a little before he starts walking. My words are mangled and panicked, begging him to go back for her.

“You’re bleeding everywhere. It’s warm,” he states, but he doesn’t sound worried.

“I need Krissy!” Fisting his bright sweater in my hands as I wail.

A ragged hiccup leaves me as his mom bursts into the clearing, her eyes wide with panic. “Gideon! Oh my god, what have you done!?”

My head jostles painfully, making me wince as she wrenches me from his arms and up into hers as she turns, all but running from the woods.

I bury my head in her neck. She smells nice, like sugar cookies, and I wonder if all moms smell nice.

Her movements hurt, but I don’t care so long as I get out of these horrible woods.

It takes a long time before I finally lift my head.

Wrenching my eyes open past their sudden exhaustion.

They seem to immediately settle over her shoulder, meeting Gideon’s as he stalks behind us, Krissy tucked underneath his arm.

The relief hits me square in the chest, knowing he went back for her; it’s all it takes for me to stop fighting the sleep desperate to take me under.