by Ocean
Return to Doll Island
Book II ~ Sequel to The Curse of Doll Island
Ocean
Illustrated by
Mike Labrie
Ocean’s Edge Publishing
Contents
Prologue
1. You’re a doll
2. What the heck just happened?
3. Home not so sweet home
4. Nice doggie
5. Bad doggie
6. Out with the trash
7. Now What?
8. The road to Havana
9. Which way to the Mambo?
10. Not more Dolls
11. Magic, magic, who has the magic?
12. In search of Mambo
13. Are you my Mambo?
14. Will the real Mambo please
15. It’s Mambo time
16. Meet Mr. Nimbo
17. Where are we and who are you?
18. Who said things can’t get any worse?
19. There’s always a story
20. The day I met Satan
21. Curses, foiled again
22. We got the book, now what?
23. I’m not scared, you’re scared
24. I think I can…Maybe?
25. Nice kitty
26. Misery likes company
27. Good deed for the day
28. Let’s get connected
29. Back to the boat
30. Key West here we come
31. We made the big time
32. Face? What face?
33. Let’s make this happen
34. Full speed ahead!
35. Returning to the scene of the…
36. Learning a new language
37. Peeping nuns
38. I see your threat and raise you
39. Let’s get to the bottom of this
40. There’s always a story
41. Next plan?
42. Let’s do this
43. No time to clown around
44. Take that, and that…
45. Race against the sun
46. Wanted: a couple good bodies
47. Eureka!
48. The silver lining of a tragedy
49. We’re really diggin’ you
50. Can’t wait to meet you
51. The big test
52. Feeling like my old self again
53. Now it’s your turn
54. One slight complication
55. Just when you thought…
56. When the Devil calls
57. Nothing to do but…
58. A waiting game
59. One more thing
60. And another thing
61. The perfect p.s
Epilogue
Epilogue Cont.
Final p.s.
To the reader
About the Author
Prologue
1732 Cuba
“Those souls are mine. You had no right taking them. I demand you turn them over to me immediately.”
Guede Nimbo slammed his fist on the massive mahogany table. The thick slab of wood shook but didn’t crack. The strike, however, left a smoking burn mark that resembled a child’s footprint without toes.
The Mambo remained cool and collected. Keeping both her composure and voice calm, she spoke while continuing to pet a gray rat that lay sleeping, undisturbed on her lap.
“Those souls were never yours. They’d not passed yet and were still fair game. Besides, I use my powers for whatever means I desire. What you want is not a consideration. You’re in no position to demand anything from me, so scurry back to whatever crevice you crawled out from.”
He pointed a long black fingernail toward her. His voice grumbled like boulders tumbling down a landslide.
“You’ll regret this. I don’t care how many centuries it takes. I will get those souls. Someday, they’ll make a mistake and come off that island. When they do, I’ll capture them and send them where they belong.”
“I banished them to that island for eternity. You’re wasting your rancid breath. Go pine over someone else’s souls. Besides, why are you so obsessed with those two?”
“Because their souls have black streaks, which means they’re mine!” As the words roared, the ground shook.
“Pftt.” A puff of air spit between a space that separated the Mambo’s two front teeth. “All human souls have black streaks. Those two are no different. Don’t be so greedy.”
“We have a deal. I get every soul that has streaks of evil running through it. Not some of them. Not most. All of them.”
“Whatever deal you struck with my mother is your business, not mine. I feel no obligation to live by any contract she entered with you. If you didn’t want her to have the power of performing the curse of the damned, you should never have made a deal with her. She passed on her knowledge. I’ll do with it what I want and feel no pity or obligation to you.”
“I trusted Diabless would use the curse for good reason and only when necessary. Not that she’d pass it on to a daughter like you who uses it for her own personal whimsy.”
“Not my concern,” the Mambo said before yawning.
Guede Nimbo’s long, spidery fingers shot toward the Mambo but the moment they were about to crush her neck, sparks flew, and flames consumed his hands. He screamed, leapt back, spun, and crashed into a shelf filled with jars. The largest of the jars teetered, clattered to the ground and smashed into pieces. A thick maroon liquid spread, much of it quickly absorbed into the dry wooden slabs of floor it sprawled across.
The Mambo laughed. “You know you can’t touch me, silly of you to even try. Now be off with you and stop tarnishing my abode.” Her hand flipped toward him as if she’d just shooed a fly off a loaf of bread.
“Mark my words, I will get them, and when I do, they’ll pay dearly for your foolishness.”
Guede Nimbo closed his eyes, tilted his head back and chanted. His body morphed into a spinning wind, slowly at first, he spun until a miniature tornado engulfed the middle of the room, creating a whirlwind within the tiny hut. Anything not in a vessel contained with a tight lid or heavy enough to withstand the blustery wind, whisked about. Leaves and herbs that previously had lay neatly spread across the table, now floated through the air. The faster he spun, the more his physical form dissolved from a defined shape into tiny molecules until eventually he disappeared completely. When the gusts died down only smoke remained.
The Mambo smiled and scratched the ears of the rat that had not moved other than to open an eye.
1
You’re a doll
2019 Key West
The young Captain’s assistant made his way through the crowd toward the back of the boat. His straw hat perched on top of shoulder length tussled hair, intentionally tilted at a crooked angle. He was barefoot, his feet broad and tan. The boat rocked relentlessly in the waves, yet he walked with a confident ease toward the stern as someone does who has spent much time on the water. Baggy surfer shorts hung to his knees. He scampered down the ladder as easily as a baby chimp descends a banana tree.
The Captain paced above on the upper deck of the ship. His gaze tracked the young man. Passengers also stood idly by, waiting for the issue to be resolved so their cruise back to Key West could continue. A short distance away from the boat, an island burned brightly, engulfed in flames. There was much excited chatter among the passengers about the small mass of land that was consumed by fire, the two women onboard that had spent the night on the alleged haunted island, and the two dolls that floated on a piece of log behind the boat.
The assistant tossed his Captain a thumbs up signal and a hidden motor roared to life as a massive black engine lifted from the water. The young man surveyed the situation. A thick piece of rope entangled the bla
des of the propeller. At the other end of the rope, floated the remnants of a log. Clinging to the log, were two small dolls. The Captain had directed him to free the propeller and retrieve the dolls.
The assistant’s face distorted, he released a low whistle and reached for the knife that hung from his belt. Quickly and efficiently he tugged and sliced at the rope, disentangling it from the blades. Carelessly, he allowed the cut pieces to drop into the dark water below. They floated away. When the propeller was free from the entanglement, he pulled the log in. As soon as the piece of wood was close enough, he squatted on the ramp, reached down, grabbed each of the dolls, and lifted them one at a time off the log. Water dripped from their clothing.
He studied the toys. Each doll wore the traditional outfit of a nun. He found it fascinating that all the little details remained attached to them after they’d been blasted off the island and had been floating on the water. Miniature black shoes were still on their feet, a black and white veil covered their heads, rosary beads wrapped around their waists and even a necklace with a large crucifix still hung from their necks. He figured they hadn’t been in the water long enough to have suffered any damage. They were only damp. The dolls were sturdy, well built, and rather large for dolls at about two feet tall.
The blast of the ship's horn jolted the young man’s attention back to the task at hand. He shot the Captain another thumbs up signal, and the motor again whirred. The large black engine lowered, returning to its place in the water. When it rumbled to life and steadily idled, a round of applause mixed with cheers rose from the passengers. Clutching the dolls under one arm, he used the other hand to hoist himself off the ramp and back into the boat.
The young child who had originally spotted the dolls, jumped up and down, clapping her hands in eager anticipation of receiving the toys. The young man’s face reflected equal joy as he bent down in preparation to hand the dolls to the little girl. Meanwhile, the Captain of the boat, pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered to watch the rescue of the dolls.
“Excuse me. Clear the way. Move!” The combination of his words and large hands quickly cleared a path through the assembled tourists.
He stepped between the young man and the child, cutting short their joyous moment. His bulky palm wrapped tightly around his assistant’s bicep. The boy winced as the Captain led him away from the crowd.
“What are you doing?” The Captain spoke through clenched teeth. He kept his voice low, but the tone was forceful, as was the grip that remained on the thin arm.
An expression of shocked confusion replaced the look of pleasure that had previously graced the assistant’s face.
“I’m giving the dolls to the little girl,” he replied as he attempted to wrestle his arm from the vice-grip hold.
The Captain released the boy’s arm and snatched the dolls.
“You will not. These are mine.”
The young man instinctively reached with his good hand to comfort his injured limb.
“You told me to get the dolls. I figured you’d give them to the kid. I didn’t know you wanted them.”
The Captain brought his face closer to the boy’s, who drew his own head back.
“Those are the only two remaining dolls from Doll Island. They’ll be worth a fortune to me as a tourist attraction.”
The tour guide approached the two men. Sweat stains seeped below his armpits onto the oversized, colorful, flowered shirt that hung loosely from his thin shoulders.
“Excuse me, Captain. But I believe those dolls belong to me.”
“To you?” The Captain cradled the dolls in his left arm, close to his chest. His right hand curled into a fist.
The dolls were jammed tightly together in the crook of the Captain’s elbow. They remained immobile, facing upward toward the sky.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The rope was entangled in my propeller. Clearly, they’re the property of the boat.”
“I hired you for this tour. If it weren’t for my tour company coming to the island today, you’d not be here right now. Rightfully, I’m the owner of those two dolls. Give them to me.”
He reached for the dolls. The Captain stiff armed him by placing a large, weathered hand on the center of his chest.
“Unless you want me to knock you back to Key West, I suggest you stop right there.”
The assistant tugged on the visor of his hat and backpedaled, his eyes fixed wide like those of the dolls.
“Mommy. I want the dolls!” The little girl whined and stamped her foot.
2
What the heck just happened?
When Rosie came to her senses, it was as if she woke from a dream. All she saw was blue sky, no clouds, no sun, just sky.
Blue sky? Am I dead? Am I in heaven?
She couldn’t move, talk, blink, couldn’t feel her body.
I must be dead. I must be a spiritual being with no body.
But wait. She could hear. Commotion. Men’s voices. Angry, arguing words. A soft rumble of a multitude of voices surrounded her. The sense of being in a crowd of people. There was pressure across her chest. A steady rocking movement, as if she were on the water. On a boat.
A boat!
The last thing she remembered before blacking out was an explosion and Devin. Devin, trapped in the body of a nun doll, had pushed Rosie onto a log and had sent it adrift, away from the island, away from the fire.
Horror filled the recesses of her brain as the realization hit Rosie and memories of what had happened flashed back.
Those evil nuns tricked us! They sucked out our souls and swapped bodies with us. Sister Martha was actually Ria, and she traded bodies with me. Sister Dorothy was Naomi, and she exchanged with Devin. Ria and Naomi, the women who’d suffered the original curse by the Shaman Mambo, had somehow managed to survive for centuries. They’d transferred their souls into nun dolls. And now, they’ve stolen our bodies!
Panic flooded her as the comprehension of her situation sunk in. She’d been cursed. Her soul, the essence of who she was, remained trapped inside a plastic doll. The sun was up, which meant she’d not ‘come alive’ again until it set. She was as immobile as a toy. Heck, she was a toy.
She’d heard stories of people going through operations when the anesthesia had not been administered correctly. The patient appeared to be unconscious, but they were actually awake, conscious, and could hear, see and feel everything that was happening. Only their physical abilities were unresponsive. They couldn’t move.
That’s exactly how she felt at this moment.
Her thoughts snapped from the analyzation of her situation to Devin.
Devin! What happened to her? Did she burn on the island? Did she float away? Sink? Eaten by an alligator or shark?
Rosie stared straight ahead, unable to even blink. She could, however, make out the fact that there was a pair of glasses perched on her nose with a round rim circled in front of each eye.
Sister Martha’s glasses.
As the level of arguing that surrounded her grew in intensity, the pressure around her chest increased. Suddenly, she was shifted and jerked sideways. A fleeting scene whizzed before her. A crowd of people. She saw the flash of an angry face of a man she recognized. The tour guide operator that had been on the boat when she and Devin had met. Surrounding the boat were blue-green waves of a vast ocean. In the distance, was an island ablaze with fire.
Doll Island. Devin did it. She blew it up!
The man holding her shifted her again, and she found herself face to face with another doll. A doll dressed as a nun. Instantly, she recognized Sister Dorothy. Bodies squished together, front against front, the two dolls made eye contact.
She stared directly into the eyes of a nun figurine. Neither blinked. The irises she gazed into were a kaleidoscope of multi-colored blues and greens, speckled with golden dots.
No mistaking it. Those were Devin’s eyes!
The argument between the tour operator and the man holding her continued to escalate, and ev
ery time the man moved his arm to distance the dolls from the tour guide’s reach, Rosie twisted and turned. The guide lunged for the dolls, and when the man holding them stepped aside, Rosie tipped, and fell from his grasp. A large hand plucked her mid-flight, then pinched her between his bicep and chest. Now she hung upside down, her feet wedged into the Captain’s sweaty armpit, facing a crowd of tourists that had gathered and enthusiastically watched the confrontation. Many filmed the conflict with their phones and cameras.
From out of the crowd, appeared two figures that Rosie immediately recognized.
Her and Devin’s bodies!
She watched with amazement as the two women, each wrapped in a large beach towel and hair still wet from having swum from the burning island, approach the man holding her. It was as if a movie unfolded of herself moving in her direction.
“Excuse me, Captain.” Devin’s body spoke, but it was Naomi’s voice. “I believe the dolls belong to us. Rightfully, we deserve them.”