Return to Doll Island

by Ocean

  Rosie gasped.

  Devin reached for Rosie’s arm.

  “Did you know you were descended from a Mambo?”

  “No,” Rosie said. “I had no idea.”

  “Who is your mother?” Mambo Cielo asked.

  “She’s just my mother. I mean, she was a mom, like every other mom in my middle-class, Miami neighborhood. I don’t think she was a Mambo. At least, she never mentioned it.”

  “Where is she from?” Mambo Cielo asked.

  “Cuba. She was from Cuba.” Rosie flipped the paper over she was holding and studied the back.

  “You have the gift child,” Mambo Cielo said. “This will help you. It’ll make it easier for the Mambo to reverse the curse. That is, if she chooses to.”

  “If she chooses to? Why wouldn’t she help us?” Devin asked.

  Mambo Cielo shrugged a solitary shoulder.

  “The choice is hers. I can’t say what she chooses or why.”

  Rosie kept reading. “Spell to read someone’s thoughts. Spell to make someone fall in love with you….” She stopped and looked up at Devin.

  In the place where Rosie’s heart would have been, was a quick flutter followed by a warm flash. She rolled the paper and placed it on her lap with the others.

  “Okay, this is all very interesting, but if you don’t have the power to perform spells or curses, how are we going to go back in time to speak with the original Mambo? I mean, just saying we did decide that we wanted to?” she asked.

  “One of the few spells that I do have,” Mambo Cielo pointed to the pages on Rosie’s lap, “is the spell for time travel.”

  Rosie flipped through the papers.

  “Here it is,” she said. “Spell to travel through time.” She stared intensely at the paper. Beneath the title of the spell were words that were foreign to her.

  “I don’t recognize these words. I can’t read them.”

  “Yes.” Mambo Cielo held her hand out, and Rosie placed the pages into her palm. “The actual spells must be chanted in the original tongue as they were created.” Carefully, she rolled each piece of paper and tenderly replaced them back into the vase. She turned and faced Devin and Rosie.

  “If you ever want to get back into your bodies, you need to talk to the Mambo that cast the curse and plead your case to her. I’ve only cast spells, not curses. I’ve heard that curses can be undone, but since I’ve never cast one, I’ve never had to reverse it. I can’t say for sure.”

  “So, there’s no guarantee she’ll help us.” Rosie said it to herself more than she asked the question.

  The Mambo shook her head. “No guarantee. The only advice I can give you is if she won’t help you, try to get your hands on the book that these pages were ripped from. It’s your only hope.”

  Rosie continued talking to herself.

  “Go back in time. Three hundred years. And talk to a Shaman. The original Mambo who had the power to place the curse. Beg her to reverse it.”

  The idea of allowing herself to be sent to another century terrified her. Meeting a Shaman, a real Shaman, horrified her. For some reason, meeting this Mambo hadn’t been as scary. But what if the other Mambo, the first real Mambo, decided to curse them and their situation got even worse? What could be worse than having your soul stuck inside a two-foot doll, she wasn’t sure, but she was sure that something worse could happen.

  Panic tightened her chest.

  “Devin. I can’t.”

  Devin clasped Rosie’s hands in her own and squeezed them.

  “Rosie, we have to. It’s our only hope. We must get her to reverse the curse on us and get back into our own bodies. We can’t stop trying until we do.”

  “You go. I can’t.”

  “I won’t go without you.”

  “There must be another way.” Rosie looked toward Mambo Cielo, hoping for an answer.

  Mambo Cielo settled back in her chair and continued stroking the rat. Her head swiveled side-to-side.

  “There is no other way.” Her words were heavy.

  Before Rosie could respond, a swirling wind inside the hut caught her attention. It started on the floor in the center of the room. As each moment passed, it swirled faster and rose higher until reaching the ceiling. The ground trembled and items that were not secured flew about in chaos. Feathers, herbs, and leaves, loose pages drifted past them. The bench Rosie and Devin sat on shuddered. The rat lifted its head, sniffed the air, and jumped off the Mambo’s lap. It scurried away, disappearing through a dark crack where the wall met the floor. Mambo Cielo stood and faced the whirlwind.

  Rosie gripped the side of the bench and held on.

  “What’s happening?” she said. “Is this an earthquake?”

  “No,” Mambo Cielo reached for the staff that lay perched against the fireplace.

  “He’s coming. You must go.”

  “Who’s coming?” Devin asked as she climbed down the side of the bench.

  “Guede Nimbo.”

  “Who’s Guede Nimbo?” Rosie asked as she followed Devin and scampered to the floor.

  Mambo Cielo stood, tall and straight. Confidently, she gripped the staff that was as tall as she was, planting the tip of it firmly into the ground in front of her, clutching it with both hands. Her grip on the stick was so tight that her knuckles turned white. The thin muscles and blue veins that ran up her arms bulged.

  “He is the God of Death. He guards the eternal gates where a soul must first pass on their way to the underworld. When he appears, he has come to take a soul back below with him.”

  The wind had picked up speed. Glass beakers tipped and shattered. Bowls flew off shelves and crashed on the ground. The vase that held the ancient papers flew past Rosie’s head and smashed beside her. She flinched and while reaching for Devin to steady herself, they made eye contact.

  The noise of the wind was so great, Rosie couldn’t hear Devin’s words, but she easily read her lips as Devin mouthed the words, “Oh shit.”

  16

  Meet Mr. Nimbo

  Before Devin and Rosie took their first steps to run, the wind transformed into a thick whirling mass that blocked the door. A gust of wind blew them back against the wall. Faster and faster the swirl gathered momentum. What had started as a shadow quickly became denser until it took on the shape of a man.

  Then, as suddenly as the wind had begun, it died down. And there he stood, in front of the door.

  He was as dark as a shadow, a dense shadow, with a large dark, wide-brimmed hat and an oversized black cape. His face, hidden, deep inside the hood of the cape, gave the impression of being faceless. But, oddly enough, he smoked a cigar. A smoldering red tip wafting smoke stuck out from the center of the hood.

  Rosie could not control her body. It trembled as she stood frozen, immersed in horror. Devin moved closer to Rosie and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, drew her in tight.

  Mambo Cielo stepped in front of Devin and Rosie, putting herself between them and the dark figure.

  “What do you want?” Defiance reverberated in her voice.

  A shadowed hand reached up and removed the cigar, lowering it before he spoke.

  “You know what I’ve come for. Don’t waste my time playing games.”

  The tip of the cigar pointed toward Devin and Rosie.

  “I’ve come for them.”

  Devin whispered, “Oh, shit,” under her breath.

  “They’re not yours,” Mambo Cielo replied.

  “You owe me. Step out of the way,” he ordered.

  “I’ll do no such thing. I owe you nothing.”

  “This debt from your ancestors, has gone on long enough. It’s time to pay up.”

  “Any debt of my ancestors is not my debt. These two souls are not ready to come your way. You must wait.”

  “I’ve waited almost three hundred years.”

  “These are not Ria and Naomi. You’ve made a mistake.”

  The massive shape leaned to peer around the Shaman, and although Rosie could no
t see his eyes, she felt his gaze study them. She shivered and Devin tightened her grip.

  “Makes no difference. Their time is up. They’re coming with me.” He replaced the cigar into the darkness that was his face.

  Mambo Cielo raised her arms, the staff along with them. She held the entwined sticks horizontally in front of her. Her eyes closed, her head fell backward, and she chanted. It started low and slow but by the time she’d finished, Rosie felt as if the words were like needles piercing her soul.

  “Ah degroda. Ah domango. Suda senturwanie. Suba. Suba. Nah-wunto-go. Seventeen-thirty-two. THE MAMBO. AWA! AWA!”

  As if she’d been tossed into the center of a hurricane, the ground flew from beneath Rosie’s feet. She found herself falling, or at least she felt as if she were falling. Or dropping or tumbling, she had no idea. Things whirled around her so quickly, she couldn’t tell what was up or down. Instinctively, her hands reached out but there was nothing to grab onto. She tumbled through space. Devin was gone. Mambo Cielo was gone. Everything. Gone. Her stomach felt the way it had the one and only time she’d been on a spinning ride at the circus when she was young, as if her insides were turning inside out. She felt she was about to either be sick or faint. Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she held her breath and prayed.

  And then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. She was no longer spinning, and everything was silent.

  Slowly, Rosie opened her eyes.

  17

  Where are we and who are you?

  The first thing Rosie saw when she opened her eyes, was Devin. Devin, still in a doll body dressed as a nun, but it was Devin. She lay face down on a dirt floor as if someone had carelessly dropped her there.

  Rosie looked down at her own self. She too was still in a nun’s doll body and also lay sprawled across a sandy floor.

  Before getting up, she studied their surroundings.

  They appeared to be in the same hut they’d been in moments ago when they’d been talking with Mambo Cielo and the Guede Nimbo. The shape of the room was the same. It was the same stone fireplace. The windows, ceiling, door had not changed. The caldron still simmered in the corner.

  But it was obvious, everything was not the same.

  Similar glass jars lined the walls, but there were many more of them. And although Rosie couldn’t tell exactly what was inside, they were filled with items that were various shades of pink, red, and washed out white. The distinct color of flesh, blood, and organs was unmistakable, whether of human or animal, she couldn’t tell.

  This can’t be good.

  The same ornately carved chair that Mambo Cielo had been sitting on remained perched in front of the fireplace. It was empty.

  Devin and Rosie stood and brushed the dirt off themselves.

  “Devin, what just happened?” Rosie asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad we don’t have to deal with that Guido guy. He was kind of creepy.” She strolled to one of the walls, climbed up onto a chair, stood on her tiptoes and began reading the labels on the jars.

  “Lizard tongues. Rat’s claws. Porcupine liver. Hummingbird lungs. Eyes of toads. Wait? What? Excrement of boa constrictor? Vomit of crow? Whoa. This is cool and disgustingly creepy at the same time.”

  The room was smoky. Small plates hovered over a row of several candle flames. Whatever was being cooked created a pungent smoke, reminding Rosie of incense.

  “Devin, this is Mambo’s Cielo’s cottage but everything’s different. Where’d they go?”

  Rosie cracked open the door and peered out. Beside the hut was the same banyan tree they’d noticed when they’d first entered through the thick door. The tree was significantly smaller and there were fewer vines engulfing its branches, but it was the same tree. Deeply engraved in the bark, was the symbol to ward off the Devil. The road they’d ridden the bicycle in on was just a thin path that wound its way through overgrown thick vines and trees past the front door.

  Softly, Rosie closed the door.

  “I’m not sure,” Devin said as she climbed down from the chair. “But I think we’re…”

  Her voice trailed off and Rosie turned to see what had caught Devin’s attention. From a side door, had entered a woman.

  As if time stood still, neither Devin, Rosie, or the woman spoke or moved. Instead, they studied each other.

  The woman was massive. From Rosie’s vantage point, she looked to be ten feet tall, though Rosie guessed she was most-likely closer to six feet. Her shoulders were wide and muscular.

  Her hair was long. She wore it braided into several thin weaves that draped over the front of her shoulders and rested halfway down her chest. It was salt and pepper, black and gray with more gray than black. Various shells, bones, and feathers interwove throughout the interlaced strands. Encircling her head was a leather band decorated with a series of symbols emblazoned on it. The images were unfamiliar to Rosie, and they reminded her of Egyptian hieroglyphics.

  The woman’s clothing, at first glance, appeared to be old and tattered but on further inspection, Rosie determined that it was a series of animal skins layered one over the other that covered her. Her feet were wrapped tightly in layered strips of leather.

  Around her neck hung several necklaces made of small, bleached white shapes that resembled bones and teeth. Tattoos covered her bare arms and one side of her neck. Tattoos of odd designs and symbols, similar to those on the headband, the likes of which Rosie had never seen before.

  When the woman finally spoke, her voice was deep, raspy, like someone who has smoked for decades. She spoke slow, controlled, and with authority.

  “You have five seconds to tell me what you are and why you are here before I turn you both into snakes.”

  18

  Who said things can’t get any worse?

  Rosie pushed Devin, and she stumbled forward.

  “Oh, no, no,” Devin said. She hustled toward the woman with Rosie following close behind. “No need to turn us into snakes. Are you the Mambo?”

  “Yes. I am the Mambo. Four seconds,” she said.

  “We’re not here to harm you,” Devin spoke quickly. “We came because we need your help.”

  “Help? Everyone needs my help. What help do you need?” The words were spit out more than spoken. “Answer me quickly, or you’ll slither out of here on your bellies.”

  “We, um, well, you see, we ah–” Devin mumbled.

  “We were on a cursed island that was overrun by haunted dolls. Two of them sucked our souls out and swapped bodies with us,” Rosie blurted as she stared up at the figure that towered over them.

  “Right,” Devin added. “And we need your help to get back into our own bodies.”

  “We were told you’re the only one that can do it.” This wasn’t going well and as much as Rosie didn’t like being a short, little doll, it was better than being a snake. Her thoughts scrambled as she tried to come up with something that would make the Mambo want to help them.

  “Your troubles are of no concern to me,” the woman said. “Your time is up.”

  She lifted her chin toward the heavens, raised her arms over her head, allowed her eyes to roll behind her eyelids and chanted.

  “Soo namasty arubo–”

  “We were sent by Ria and Naomi!” Rosie cried out.

  The woman stopped chanting, opened her eyes and glared down at them. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Ria and Naomi sent you?”

  “Well, they didn’t exactly send us,” Rosie said. “But they were the ones who took our bodies.”

  “I see.” The woman lowered her arms. “Come. Sit. Tell me what has happened to you.”

  Rosie breathed a silent prayer as she and Devin climbed onto the same wooden carved bench they’d sat on earlier with Mambo Cielo.

  Devin explained.

  “We were just two normal women. One day, we decided to have a little picnic, so we took a boat out to an island.”

  “The cursed island?” the Mambo asked.

  “Y
es,” Devin said. “It was rumored to be haunted by dolls that had been cursed. We didn’t believe it, but when our boat wouldn’t start–”

  Rosie interrupted. “A doll stole the spark plugs.”

  “Yeah, a doll stole our spark plugs,” Devin repeated.

  “What’s a spark plug?” the woman asked.

  “You know, it’s the thing that makes a spark to start an engine,” Devin said.

  “What’s an engine?”

  Rosie flashed a glance at Devin then asked, “What year is it?”

  “Seventeen thirty-two.”

  “No shit!” Devin turned to Rosie. “We’re in the eighteenth century!”

  “Why do you ask what year it is?” the woman asked.

  “We’re from the twenty-first century,” Rosie said.

  Again, the Mambo narrowed her eyes and scrutinized them. “Who sent you here?”

  “Mambo Cielo. She’s the Mambo in Cuba in our time,” Devin explained.

  “Interesting.” The Mambo stroked her chin. “Continue with your story.”

  “So, these dolls started chasing us. We ran, of course. We had no idea why they were chasing us–”

  “But it was scary,” Rosie added.

  “Yeah, it was really scary. And we met these two nuns.” Devin pointed at herself and Rosie.

  “We trusted them. They told us they’d made a vow to God to help people like us escape from the island and that they’d help us.”

  “They lied,” Rosie said.

  “Yeah, they lied. They tricked us and the minute we let our guard down, they kissed us, sucked out our souls and stole our bodies. Now they’re living our lives. In our bodies.”

  “And these nuns,” the woman said, “you’re sure they were Ria and Naomi?”

  Devin and Rosie both nodded.

  “And did they tell you how they got to be that way?”

  “Well, they didn’t exactly explain that to us, no,” Devin said. “They told us a story that they were two women who’d come to the island fifty years ago for a picnic, like we did. They said they were attacked by the nuns, so that’s how they got into the nuns’ bodies. We didn’t know they were Ria and Naomi until, well, until it was too late.”