Return to Doll Island

by Ocean

  10

  Not more Dolls

  Candles burned in each corner of the room, casting eerie shadows that flickered and danced. Mixtures of burgundy and black swirls decorated the walls. A red lava lamp with slow moving bubbles sat perched on a corner table along with a variety of colorful stones and gems. Mosaics of mirror and pottery adorned above where the wall met the ceiling.

  “It looks like something from a ‘60’s set,” Devin said.

  “Shush.” Rosie elbowed her.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” The voice came from another part of the shop.

  Rosie and Devin hustled and hid behind a large potted tree.

  A woman pushed a thick maroon velour curtain aside and entered the room. She glanced around and on seeing nothing disturbed, returned to from where she’d come. Rosie peeked through the crack in the curtain into the back room and saw a bed, television, small dining table and chairs.

  The planter they’d hid behind was made of miniature plastic fake bricks, layered in angles that protruded. When the room was again quiet and still, Rosie whispered, “Why are we hiding? Don’t we want to talk with her?”

  “I just want to get a feel for her first,” Devin said. “To have an idea what we’re up against.” She glanced up the planter then started climbing up the side of it.

  “What are you doing?” Rosie whispered. She still wasn’t used to the squeaky, childlike voice that came out of her mouth every time she spoke.

  “Climbing up to get a better view. Come on.” Devin motioned for Rosie to follow. Rosie quickly scampered up the side of the planter. When she reached the top and stood on the dirt next to the base of the tree, she surveyed the room.

  On the walls were drawings and sketches of moons, stars and animals. A simple round table was prominently positioned in the middle of the room with a chair on each side. In the center of the table was a glass ball and a deck of large, warn, tarot cards. A row of books neatly lined one shelf. On the shelf above the books, sitting neatly, quietly and motionlessly, were several dolls.

  11

  Magic, magic, who has the magic?

  “Devin. Look!” Rosie pointed toward the dolls.

  “Oh, no,” Devin said. “Do you think they’re cursed?”

  “I don’t know,” Rosie said. “Probably not or they’d be alive now, don’t you think?”

  Devin nodded.

  The dolls were about the same size as they were. They had a variety of skin tones from peachy white to dark brown. Their clothes looked old, dated. But they seemed to be in good condition. They were dressed in a variety of outfits, some old-fashioned while others more modern. One male doll wore a tuxedo. Another barbie type doll donned a fancy evening gown. A little boy wore a t-shirt and a pair of overalls, while another wore a Red Sox baseball uniform.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting out of these nun outfits,” Devin said as she tossed a leg over the planter in preparation to climb down. “Dibs on the overalls.”

  “You must do it. You have no choice.” A male voice boomed from the other room.

  “Uh-oh." Devin pulled her leg back, and they resumed their place, hiding behind the tree.

  A man pushed the curtain away and stormed into the room with the woman who’d previously checked on them, close on his heels.

  “I do have a choice. I decide what happens when it comes to magic. Not you!” The woman’s face was red and when she spoke, her hands flailed in the air. “What you are asking me to do, that is not what magic is for.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” The man slapped a palm against the table. “Magic is for whatever purpose you choose.”

  “It’s to be used for good. Not evil.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? This is not evil!”

  She stepped closer to him, brought her face nearer to his and spoke each word with firm authority while a finger waggled at his face.

  “It feels evil to me.”

  “Okay, sit down.” He sat and motioned with an open hand toward the chair across the table from him. “Sit,” he repeated, his voice had softened.

  She sat.

  “Baby,” the man’s voice was gentle. “You have a gift. You have to use it.”

  “I do use it. I use it for good. Not for evil.”

  “It’s not evil. You’d be helping us.”

  She shook her head and lowered her face into her hands.

  “I can’t. You don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you can. You mean you won’t. I don’t understand why you won’t do this one little thing for me, for us?”

  She stood, paced and massaged her hands.

  “Okay, listen. I can’t help you because I’m not a real Mambo. I’m a fake.”

  “What do you mean, you’re a fake? You’ve been helping people for years.”

  “Don’t you get it? I only pretend to read people’s fortunes. I don’t really see their futures or read anything in their palms. It’s all fake. I pretend to be a fortune teller, pretend to have magic. Just like my mother and her mother. It’s passed down from generation to generation, how to trick people. It’s a skill. Just like you have a skill how to work with wood. My skill is tricking people to believe I can help them.”

  A pained look crossed the man’s face.

  “Why have you never told me this before now?”

  She turned away from him.

  “Because, it was never important before. Now, you need me to do something that I can’t do, and you need to understand why.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts.” Her hand shot up, palm facing the man.

  His shoulders dropped, and he released a long sigh.

  “Well, then I’m sorry to say, if that is your decision, then I’m a dead man.”

  “It’s not a decision. It’s reality.”

  “They will kill me. There is no way for me to save myself. They’ll find me, and they’ll kill me.”

  “They’ll have to kill me first,” she said.

  The man still sat at the table. His thick, dirty hands continuously rolled over the top of each other.

  “Are you sure you don’t have a little magic in you? Maybe not a curse, but you could cast a spell? I believe you have the power. I don’t blame you for not wanting to use your gift for evil, but you don’t have a choice. Evil has found you. You either do what they say, or you’ll have to use it against them. Either way, you’re going to have to use it.”

  “You’re not hearing me,” she said. “It’s not a choice.”

  She walked to the shelf and took one of the dolls down. She smoothed its hair and cradled it in her arms as if it were a baby.

  “Why can’t life be easy, the way it was when I was a little girl. Things were so simple then.”

  The man stood and wrapped an arm around the woman.

  “You’re not a little girl anymore, my Pepita.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry to have to put you into this position, but I see no other way.”

  “You and your damn gambling. It’s you I should curse, if I could. Who is it they wish to be cursed?”

  “My brother.”

  “Your brother! What has he done now?” Her hands fell to her sides and along with them, the doll dangled by her thigh.

  “Something bad. Very bad. They want him gone. They want him to suffer.”

  “What could he possibly have done that would make them want to curse him so his soul lives inside a doll for eternity?”

  “He is having an affair with the boss’s wife.”

  The woman gasped.

  “An affair with the boss’s wife? How stupid of him. Of all the women on the island, why would he have an affair with one that will get him killed?”

  “I don’t know, but they want him cursed.”

  She placed the doll on the table.

  “Even if I could, that’s no reason for me to perform the curse on him. To punish someone in this lifetime is one thing, but to punish them for eternity is something else. You
would do that to your own brother?”

  “I don’t think you understand. They gave me a choice. Either you put the curse on him, or they will kill me. Now do you understand?”

  She stared at him.

  He reached up and touched her hair.

  “If you can’t put the curse on him, maybe you’ll visit the Mambo and ask her to do it for you, for us. As a favor.”

  She looked away.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I need to be at the job before sunrise and ready to work. We can finish talking about this later. I’m sorry to put you in this position. I hope you choose to help me. I want to live. I want us to have children, raise a family. You know, like we dreamed.”

  He leaned forward and gave her a tender kiss.

  Rosie felt as if she were watching a soap opera.

  “I love you. We’ll get through this somehow,” he turned and headed toward the door.

  “I love you too. Be safe at work today,” she said. Her words were soft.

  When he was gone, she sat and buried her face into the palms of her hands.

  Devin gave Rosie a gentle push, pointed toward the woman and motioned for Rosie to follow her. She then stepped out from behind the plant.

  “Excuse me,” Devin said.

  12

  In search of Mambo

  The woman lifted her head and looked in their direction. Her eyes snapped wide. She popped up, spun around the other side of the chair, and held onto it tightly, keeping it between herself and Devin and Rosie. Her lips moved at a rapid pace and she mumbled something in Spanish then crossed herself.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Devin said.

  The woman’s already wide eyes enlarged more.

  “Holy Mother Mary. Lord have mercy.”

  “We won’t hurt you.” Devin’s attempt to calm the terrified woman wasn’t working. She wasted no time scampering down the side of the pot. Rosie followed.

  “Dear almighty God, my Lord and Savior,” The woman nervously chanted, “find forgiveness in your heart for any wrongdoings I, or my husband, may have done, and I promise we will change our wicked ways. Protect me from evil, cast it from my home…”

  Anxiety twisted in the pit of Rosie’s stomach.

  Her first thought was, “How can I have a nervous stomach when I don’t even have a stomach?” Quickly followed by, “What is Devin doing?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Devin waddled in the woman’s direction. “But as you can see.” She motioned to herself and Rosie. “We’re in quite a predicament. I think you might be able to help.”

  “Diabless.” The woman muttered and took another step back and away. “Diabless!” She reached for a cross that hung on the wall and held it out in front of her. Her hands visibly shook. Her eyes frantically searched the ceiling then all four corners of the room, as if she expected something to swoop down on her at any moment.

  “I don’t know what Diabless is, but–”

  “The Devil!” the woman blurted. “The Devil is here.”

  “Oh, no. No. You got it all wrong. We’re not the devil. I promise you. We’re innocent victims. I can explain.”

  The woman pressed a palm against one of her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with the forearm of the hand that clutched the cross.

  “No explaining. Get out. Get out!” She pointed toward the door with the cross.

  Devin glanced at Rosie, back at the woman, then lowered and slowed her speech.

  “Okay, listen. Just hear me out. After I explain what happened, if you want us to leave, then we’ll leave. Is that fair?”

  Other than shaking her head, the woman didn’t move or respond. Her eyes remained closed, and she continued mumbling a prayer.

  Devin continued.

  “Just a few days ago, we were normal women, just like you. We were on vacation in Key West. We took a boat ride to Doll Island—”

  The woman’s muttering stopped. Her eyelids flipped open. The hand that held the cross lowered a few inches.

  “You? Went to Doll Island?” she said.

  “Yes.” Devin nodded.

  “Why?”

  “We, um, went to have a picnic.”

  The woman shook her head. She raised the cross back up.

  “I don’t believe you. This is a trick. The work of evil, of Satan. Good Lord, almighty Savior, in your almighty wisdom, have mercy on this poor sinner....”

  Devin kept talking.

  “So, the boat wouldn’t start, well, actually, the spark plugs were pulled out by a doll. So anyway, we were stranded there at night when the dolls came alive. And they chased us. We had no idea why they were chasing us, but we ran. And then these two nun dolls…” Devin indicated to herself and Rosie. “Said they could help us. We believed them. But they lied to us.”

  “I don’t need to hear this story. It’s an evil place. An evil story.” The woman covered her ears with both palms.

  “Please,” Rosie said. “You must help us. We were tricked by Ria and Naomi.”

  Slowly, the woman lowered both hands.

  “Ria and Naomi?”

  Devin and Rosie nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, we’re sure.”

  “They’re still alive?”

  Devin nodded. “Yes.”

  “They were the original women who the first Mambo cursed into dolls almost three-hundred years ago.”

  “We know. They told us.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They stole our bodies. That’s why we’re like this.” Devin placed one hand on her own chest and the other on Rosie’s shoulder.

  “We have to get our bodies back. Will you please help us?” Rosie said.

  The woman stroked the cross.

  “I can’t help you. But I know who can.”

  “Who?”

  “Mambo Cielo.”

  “Mambo Cielo? You mean the one that performed the original curse centuries ago? She can’t still be alive. Is she?”

  “Not that Mambo. She was the original Mambo. We call her, ‘the Mambo’. You need to speak with Mambo Cielo, her descendent. Ask her if she can help you.”

  “Is that her last name? Cielo?”

  “No. Cielo means, ‘sky’. After the first Mambo, every other Mambo chose something from nature to associate themselves with. That’s how we tell them apart. The Mambo we have now chose, ‘cielo’. I need to speak with her myself today. I’ll take you to her.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  13

  Are you my Mambo?

  The woman carefully placed Rosie and Devin in a bamboo basket attached to the handlebars of a bicycle, then closed the lid. Rosie peeked through the spaces between the woven wicker and watched as the woman climbed onto the seat and pushed off. Soon, the dusty, gravel road passed beneath them.

  The ride was bumpy. Devin and Rosie clung to the inside of the basket to keep from bouncing but occasionally the front wheel would dip then rise with such force that they’d be sent flying.

  “Ouch,” Devin said after they’d hit a bad bump and her head had smashed against the top of the basket. “Don’t they believe in filling potholes here?”

  “I don’t think it’s a priority,” Rosie said as she worked to re-secure her grip onto the side of the basket.

  “Darn,” Devin said. “We forgot to change clothes with those other dolls. I really wanted those overalls.”

  Rosie kept peering through the thin cracks in the basket and watched as the scenery changed from urban to rural. They had left the open fields and were now in the woods, surrounded by trees. The speed of the bicycle slowed significantly as the woman maneuvered through deep ruts etched in the narrow path. Her breathing was labored.

  “It smells like we’re in a swamp.” Devin’s tiny doll nose crinkled and if Rosie had seen it happen in a movie, she’d laugh. But this wasn’t a movie and laughing was the last thing on her mind.

  The bike came to an abrupt halt.

  Rosie pushed
the top of the basket up and stood.

  They were in a dark, shadowy forest, dense with old growth trees that towered over them. Thick, massive trees whose bark was lined with slick, dark green moss. Slivers of moonlight slipped between the massive network of overhead branches, creating long shadows that swayed, though there was no wind. A variety of noises filled the air. Some were familiar to Rosie like the low hum of crickets and the mournful moans of frogs, but some sounds were strange and foreign. Screeches and howls pierced the darkness like fingernails down a blackboard. Sounds that caused a sensation of hair rising on the back of her neck, though she doubted she had any there. There was no movement, and other than the sounds, no evidence of life. From a distance, an unseen owl released a low, long, sorrowful hoot.

  Before them, buried into the side of a hill, was the front of a cottage. It was almost completely covered by overgrown vegetation. Various shades of green from an abundance of moss and snaking vines covered the large stones that made up the walls. A huge banyan tree, with numerous twisted limbs, engulfed the entrance to the bungalow, a large, wooden door. There were no windows that Rosie could see.

  The woman lifted Devin and Rosie from the basket and placed them on the ground.

  “We’re here,” she said.

  Devin pointed toward the door.

  “That’s the Mambo’s house?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Si. Mambo Cielo.”

  “Do we need an appointment or anything?”

  The woman shook her head as she rested the bike against the enormous tree that guarded the entrance to the cottage.

  “She knows we’re coming.”

  A damp coolness clung to the air and mingled with the bitter scent of rot and mold, giving Rosie the chills. Mushrooms grew plentiful along the narrow path they’d rode in on. Rosie approached the banyan tree and stared up in amazement. She couldn’t begin to guess its height, but it had to be twenty feet across.