The Doll

by J.C. Martin

  *****

  “Stop staring at me,” she hissed at the smiling doll. Looking away, she shoved the doll deeper into her bag, hiding its teasing eyes. Maria had done an impressive job of putting it back together. Sure, the maid paled at the sight and smell, but after crossing herself, she set to work, scooping up the grisly contents and stuffing them back into the doll’s carcass. She re-attached the head with some superglue, and after an entire can of Glade, the rotting corpse smell was all but masked by the heady perfume of the air freshener.

  “That’s a lovely doll,” the middle-aged woman beside her cooed. She held up a battered blonde doll that had seen better days. “Are you going to make an offering, too?”

  Joyce forced a smile and nodded politely before turning away. She had wanted to burn the damned thing. Throw it into a bonfire. Or just douse it with gasoline and set it alight right where it lay, in the middle of Taylor’s bedroom. But Maria had warned against it, said the remains of the child must be returned to its rightful place. The spirits had been angered enough. Any further defiling of the doll could incur a more permanent curse.

  A gentle bump signalled the docking of their boat. Fresh dread blossomed in the pit of Joyce’s stomach at the familiar sight of the dangling dolls. Oblivious to the blood that had begun thundering through her head, their roly-poly Mexican guide announced with theatrical aplomb:

  “Welcome to la Isla de la Munecas.”