Ante Mortem

by Jodi Lee, ed.

  Amanda picked the doll up and extended it to Sarah. “Beatrice.”

  Sarah recoiled as the doll’s eyes rolled in their wooden sockets and locked on her, the irises flaring an incandescent yellow. The mouth snapped open, vomiting chunks of grey, maggot-riddled meat. Sarah shoved away from the footboard, a garbled scream bursting from her lips.

  Amanda dropped the doll and stood up. “I told you she was mean,” she said, hoisting herself onto the bed. She crawled towards Sarah, her mouth twisting into a smug sneer. “Now do you believe me?”

  Sarah bolted upright in the bed, her bleary-eyed gaze flitting from one shadowed corner of the room to another, seeking any sign of Amanda and her deadly doll. The tick of the Barbie wall clock clicked loudly in her ears, keeping time with the ragged in and out of her breath. She rubbed her eyes and peered at the wicker chair.

  The rocker was empty.

  Sarah released her grip on the comforter and sighed. Just another nightmare, she thought, settling back against her pillow. Closing her eyes, she rolled onto her side and pulled the covers over her shoulder, trying to shake the nagging sense of alarm growing in the back of her mind.

  It felt like she’d missed something—something important.

  The rocker.

  Goose bumps prickled her arms. She had left the doll in the rocker when she went to bed, and now it was empty. Sarah’s eyes popped open, a gasp hitching in her throat.

  The doll stared back at her, its head resting on the pillow next to hers. Sarah yelped and scrambled to sit up, shoving the doll away with as much force as her terrified muscles could muster. The toy slid across the satiny covers and fell to the floor with a thud.

  Sarah kicked the covers off her legs and reached for the bedside lamp, her fingers fumbling for the switch. The light clicked on, bathing the room in a soothing glow. Sarah glanced around the room, taking comfort in the light’s revealing glare. Her gaze swung from the walls to the mattress, eyes narrowing as they settled on a handful of fluffy, white scraps.

  What is that?

  She plucked a piece from the mattress and held it up. It looked like the stuff Momma kept in her sewing box—the stuff she used to fill Mr. Roar when his padding got too squishy…

  A giggle stole the moisture from Sarah’s mouth. She froze, the scrap of fluff falling from her hand. The click of wood striking wood sounded from beside the bed and then stopped. Swallowing hard, Sarah crawled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side.

  The doll was nowhere to be seen.

  A tangle of brown yarn peeked out from under the dust ruffle. Sarah glanced up and down the length of the bed, looking for any sign of the doll. Seeing none, she reached out and snagged the knotted mass from the floor. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes as she held it up.

  Mr. Roar’s mane.

  Sarah dropped the tattered mane, clambered to the other side of the bed and looked over the edge, searching for the doll. Nothing there. She moved to the end of the bed and peeked around the footboard. The floor was bare.

  Where is she?

  Sarah shifted uncomfortably, the cold knot in the pit of her stomach twisting even tighter as her brain began to draw the obvious conclusion.

  She’s under the bed.

  Sarah’s imagination kicked into overdrive, envisioning a pair of wooden hands reaching from beneath the dust ruffle to clamp tightly around her ankle the moment her foot touched the floor. She shuddered, skin crawling at the thought of the doll’s touch.

  What am I gonna do?

  Sarah gulped and turned to look at the door. If she could get out of the room, she could curl up with Momma until morning. Momma would be more than a match for some old doll.

  She squinted at the door, trying to discern the distance between the bed and salvation. One good jump from the edge of the mattress would land her halfway. A few more steps and she would be out the door. Sarah stood up and stepped to the edge of the bed, hands shaking as she hiked the long nightshirt up to her knees. She looked at the door and took a deep breath. Just get out and go to Momma’s room, she thought. Ready? One... two...

  Sarah leapt from the bed and ran for the exit, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. The whisper of rustling fabric sighed through the room, spurring her on. She reached for the doorknob, gave it a twist and pulled.

  The door would not open.

  A scrabbling sound sent a cold shot of adrenaline surging through Sarah’s veins. She glanced over her shoulder, throat constricting as a pair of yellow eyes glared at her from under the bed. Biting back a shriek, Sarah grabbed for the doorknob and pulled as hard as she could. “Please open,” she whimpered, hazarding another glance at the bed.

  The doll clambered from beneath the dust ruffle and scuttled across the room like some misshapen crab.

  The door popped open with a grating screech. Sarah flung the door aside, stumbled into the hallway and skidded to a stop. She whirled around, jaw dropping at the sight of the ravenous toy tottering towards her, and lunged for the door, pulling it shut. With a soft sob, she backed away, her shoulders bumping into the wall behind her.

  Can it open doors? Sarah did not think so, but then she hadn’t thought dolls could eat stuffed animals, either. She tilted her head, listening for footsteps, expecting to hear the rattle of the doorknob any second.

  Minutes passed with no sound of pursuit. Sarah stepped away from the wall and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A sharp snap followed by a grinding crunch reverberated through the wood panel.

  Sarah dropped to her knees and peered through the keyhole, a disgusted frown forming on her face. The doll sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, a length of flesh-colored plastic clamped between its teeth. A shudder rippled down her back.

  The doll was eating her Malibu Barbie.

  Sarah scrambled to her feet and bolted for the safety of her mother’s room.

  A tinny-sounding wail pulled Sarah from a restless sleep. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings, disoriented by the sight of the pale green comforter and bamboo blinds. Across the room a door stood open, revealing a beige countertop littered with an assortment of shampoo bottles and shower gels. The splash of running water burbled from the room.

  Oh, I’m in Momma’s room.

  The water shut off and Momma exited the bathroom, drying her hands on the hem of her tee shirt. She switched the baby monitor off and sat down at the edge of the bed. “Mornin’, Sarah,” she said, leaning over to pull on her shoes.

  Sarah ground a knuckle against her eye and yawned. “Mornin’, Momma.”

  Momma finished tying her shoes and stood up. “Wasn’t sure if I was sharing a bed with my daughter or a mule; you kicked me pretty hard a couple of times, there.”

  Sarah yawned again and frowned, trying to recall how she came to be in her parents’ bedroom to begin with. She remembered the Amanda dream and some of the scarier parts of the other nightmares she had suffered, but there was something else. Something to do with...

  The doll.

  The doll had devoured Mr. Roar and her favorite Barbie. It wanted to eat her. Sarah glanced up at her mother, debating whether to tell her about the doll’s carnivorous intentions. She wanted to tell her, but…

  An angry wail cut through the walls. Momma sighed and regarded Sarah with a weary frown. “Your sister’s teething again,” she said, wincing at a particularly ear-splitting shriek. “Between her crying and your kicking, I barely got any sleep at all.”

  Sarah bit her lip and looked at the comforter. She knew how Momma felt. “Sorry, Momma.”

  “S’okay,” Momma said through a yawn. She reached out and brushed a tangled lock of hair from Sarah’s face. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. Just tired is all. I don’t mean to be so cranky.”

  Momma patted Sarah’s cheek and turned towards the door. “You want some breakfast?”

  Sarah slumped against the pillows. “I guess so. Can I have waffles?”

  “Sure. Go get dressed and brush your
hair. Waffles should be ready by the time you get done.”

  “Okay.”

  Sarah slipped the covers off and got out of bed. Still dazed, she shuffled out of her mother’s room and headed for the stairs, the tatters of last night’s events flittering through her mind. Maybe I just dreamed all that stuff, she mused, wrapping her fingers around the handrail. She supposed it was possible. Momma always said she had a ‘vivid imagination’. Sarah was not sure what ‘vivid’ meant, but figured it had something to do with the way things always seemed so real to her, even when they weren’t.

  She reached the landing and turned to the left, staring at the door to her room.

  But what if I wasn’t dreaming? Sarah did not want to risk going in there until she knew for certain. She sidled up to the door, knelt down and peered through the keyhole.

  The doll sat in the rocking chair, looking much as it had when Sarah went to bed. Its golden curls gleamed in the early morning sunshine, not a lock out of place to indicate it had even moved, much less eaten her toys. Sarah sighed and stood up.

  See? You just dreamed it, she thought, reaching for the doorknob and giving it a twist. The door creaked open. Sarah pushed it wide and stepped into the room. The dresser stood by the opposite wall, next to the window over the rocking chair. She glanced at the doll out of the corner of her eye, and then marched across the room.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she neared the rocker. Don’t look at it, she thought, just get your clothes. You can get dressed in the bathroom. Eyes on the floor, Sarah continued past the chair and opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. She pulled out a pink tee shirt and a pair of shorts, and turned to leave.

  A silvery glint caught her eye as she hurried past the rocker. Sarah paused and looked directly at the doll for the first time since she entered the room. The shimmer seemed to be coming from somewhere near the doll’s right side, peeking out from between the satiny folds of the dress. Sarah took a step back and tilted her head.

  There appeared to be something in the doll’s grasp.

  Chills snaked across Sarah’s shoulders. With a quivering hand, she reached down and quickly flipped back a fold of pink material. The shorts and tee shirt fell from her grasp, forgotten, her eyes widening as she gazed at the object clasped in the doll’s fist.

  Amanda’s hairbrush.

  The doll’s mouth clacked open. Sarah jumped, her wild-eyed gaze swinging from the brush to the cracked, wooden face. Bits of cotton batting and flesh-colored plastic spilled over the doll’s lower lip and rolled down the front of the satin dress.

  Sarah backed away from the rocker, the tightening of her throat reducing her shriek to an inaudible gasp. Not waiting to see if the doll would move again, she turned on her heels and ran out the door.

  “Momma!”

  Sarah barreled into the kitchen and threw her arms around her mother’s waist, nearly knocking the woman over. The plate of waffles fell from Momma’s hand, crashing to the floor and startling the toddler in the highchair. The baby jumped and began to whimper.

  “Sarah! What the hell is wrong with you, child? I—”

  Sarah began to babble, the words tumbling from her lips in an incoherent stream of sobs and sniffles. Trembling, she told Momma everything: about the Amanda dream and the doll’s glowing eyes; about Mr. Roar and the silver hairbrush. All of it.

  Momma pried Sarah’s arms from around her waist and held her by the shoulders. “Calm down,” she snapped, giving her a little shake. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Sarah sniffled and explained it again, trying to keep the hiccups and hitches out of her voice with little success. Momma’s brow arched higher and higher as Sarah went on, the look on her face shifting from concern, to incredulity, to one of annoyance. With an upraised hand, Momma cut her off. “Okay, Sarah, that’s enough,” she said, her tone as grim as her expression. She gestured at the teary-eyed baby and the stacks of boxes strewn about the room. “I have a lot of work to do today. I don’t have time to play games right now.”

  “It’s not a game!”

  Momma sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Look, hon,” she said, massaging her forehead with the tips of her fingers, “I know things have been crazy with Daddy’s new job and the move and all, but you can’t act out like this. I—”

  Sarah shook her head, her blonde hair whipping about her face. “I’m not making it up,” she shouted, stomping her foot. She hitched the sleeve of her nightshirt up, revealing the purple bruise on her shoulder. “See? That’s where she bit me!”

  Momma peered at the bruise and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It looks like a normal bruise, hon. You were digging around the attic all day yesterday. You probably just bumped into something and—”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Sarah—”

  “Go upstairs and look if you don’t believe me!” Sarah yelled, slamming a clenched fist against her thigh.

  Momma gaped at her, as if shocked by the vehemence of her outburst. Sarah wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks and fixed her mother with a pleading look. “Please, just go look.”

  Laurie shrieked and slammed her fists against the tray. Momma turned and pulled the baby from the highchair, shushing the child with a series of half-hearted coos. She turned back to Sarah and scowled. “Alright,” she said, settling the baby on her hip. “Show me the doll.”

  Sarah sighed with relief and led the way up the stairs. Momma would see she was not lying once she saw Mr. Roar’s tattered mane and the chewed bits of Barbie doll. She bounded up the last few steps and opened the door to her room.

  “Over there,” Sarah said, pointing to the rocker.

  Momma brushed past her and strode across the room. She stopped in front of the rocking chair and looked down at the doll, a confused frown creasing her haggard face. She turned to Sarah and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

  Sarah hesitated. Even with Momma at her side, she didn’t want to go in there.

  “Now, Sarah.”

  Sarah gulped and took a tentative step into the room.

  Momma’s patience must have reached its limit for she stalked across the room, grabbed Sarah by the upper arm and marched her to the rocker. With a small shove, Momma released her and pointed to the doll. “What am I supposed to be looking at, exactly?”

  Sarah looked at the doll and blanched. Its mouth was closed, the plastic fragments and bits of fluff nowhere to be found. She flipped the pink material covering the doll’s hand.

  The hairbrush was gone.

  “Well?”

  Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. “I... it was just here,” she said, dropping to her hands and knees. She tilted her head and peered beneath the rocker, her hand sweeping the floor under the seat.

  Nothing there.

  Standing up, she plucked the toy from the chair and shook it, half-expecting the evidence to fall from the folds of the satin dress. Setting the doll back in the chair, Sarah looked up at her mother, her expression pleading for the woman to understand.

  Momma sighed and swung Laurie around to her other hip. “Sarah, you’ve got a wonderful imagination—and that’s a good thing to have—but you’re really taking it too far this time. Honestly, girl. A doll that eats toys?” Momma shook her head.

  “It’s not my imagination!”

  “Look, sweetheart, I’ve really got to get those boxes unpacked,” Momma said, turning to leave. She paused at the threshold and fixed Sarah with a stern look. “No more games.”

  Sarah did not trust herself to answer, so she said nothing. She looked at the floor, tears of frustration coursing down her face.

  “I’ll call you when lunch is ready, okay?”

  Sarah cast a sullen glance in her mother’s direction and nodded.

  Momma turned and exited the room, her footsteps growing fainter as she made her way down the staircase. Sarah sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m not making it up,” she grumbled, c
rossing her arms over her chest. She turned her head and glared at the doll.

  “I hate you,” Sarah spat, her eyes narrowing with revulsion. “I wish I’d never found that stupid box. I....”

  Her words drifted off as an idea began to form in her mind. The box still sat in the attic. She could put the doll back inside, lock it up tight and tuck it away behind the stack of newspapers, just like she’d found it. Surely the latches would hold the doll in place until Daddy got around to discarding all the stuff up there.

  She would just have to make sure the box made it to Daddy’s junk pile.

  Yeah.

  A grin found its way onto Sarah’s face. She looked at the doll and, for once, didn’t feel quite so afraid. She scooped up the pants and shirt she had dropped earlier and quickly changed into them. If she hurried, she could…

  “Sarah?”

  Momma’s voice startled her. She flinched and turned towards the door. “What?”

  “Come here.”

  Sarah groaned and trudged across the room. She peeked around the doorframe to find Momma standing in the hallway, a stack of boxes balanced in her hands.

  “What is it, Momma?”

  Momma set the boxes on the floor and turned to Sarah. “I need to put the blankets up,” she said, opening the door to the linen closet. “Laurie’s downstairs in her swing. Keep an eye on her ‘til I’m done, okay?”

  Sarah twiddled her fingers. Now that she had a plan, she was anxious to get started, but she couldn’t very well sneak into the attic with Momma standing within easy view of the staircase. “Okay,” she sighed.

  “Thanks, hon.”

  Sarah headed down the stairs and into the living room. The baby swing sat in the corner of the room, Rock-a-bye Baby chiming from the mobile mounted to the top of the frame. Laurie appeared to be dozing. Her eyes fluttered open as Sarah passed and then drifted closed again.

  “Aw, she don’t even need watchin’,” Sarah muttered. She moved a box of Momma’s romance books from the couch and flopped onto the cushions. Tucking a throw pillow behind her head, she leaned back and waited. The minutes crept by. Sarah’s eyes began to droop.