by Marina Cohen
They were in the car in a flash. Hadley leaped into the back seat beside Isaac, who stretched out his leg. He leaned his head on her shoulder, sobbing. She placed her arm around him and squeezed his hand while Ed tried to comfort him. They drove off, leaving Gabe standing on the lawn looking distraught.
They made it to the doctor’s office in record time. Thankfully he said it was only a sprain, though a pretty bad one. Isaac was going to need to wear a plastic cast until the swelling went down.
When they arrived home, two of the dolls were sitting on the last step. Hadley scooped them in her arms. In all the commotion, she couldn’t recall having set them there. The third doll was still sprawled facedown on the floor where it had fallen. She picked it up and smoothed its hair. It was Isaac’s doll.
“Where did you get those?” asked her mother.
“Granny made them for me.”
Her mother took the Isaac doll and examined it. “They’re lovely. Such detail. Must have taken her a lot of time. You should write her a thank-you note.”
“Mine’s the coolest,” said Isaac, grabbing it. Ed carried him up the stairs toward his bedroom. “I’m going to name him Little Isaac. Can I keep him in my room?”
“No,” said Hadley. She snatched the doll from Isaac’s hands. She’d promised Granny she would take good care of the dolls. Isaac’s had already taken a tumble. She didn’t want anything else happening to it.
Hadley’s mother frowned. “I want to talk to you,” she said. “Privately. Wait for me in your room.”
Hadley lay on her bed in her half-puce room, propped on her elbows, staring at the dolls. She took the eye from her pocket and held it beside each of the faces. It might have belonged to any one of them—only these dolls weren’t missing eyes.
The door creaked open and Hadley sat up. Her mother entered, shut the door, walked calmly toward the bed, and sat down on the edge. Before Hadley had a chance to say a word, her mother blasted her.
“What were you thinking? How could you let Isaac go into the woods without telling me? He’s only six years old. Those trails are like a maze. He could have gotten lost and ended up clear over by Glass Run Road. Or at the creek. Or worse at the river and—oh, I don’t even want to think about it!”
Her words stung. She was right, of course, but couldn’t her mother see how terrible Hadley already felt? Shouldn’t she be trying to make Hadley feel better, not worse? She wanted to apologize, but before she could, a second round of accusations exploded.
“You should have kept an eye on him. Honestly, sometimes you can be so irresponsible.”
Hadley’s jaw quivered. Her cheeks grew hot. Her mother had never spoken to her like this in the past. She wasn’t even giving Hadley a chance to explain how Isaac had run off before she could stop him. She clutched the eye tightly, pressing it so hard against her palm she was sure it would make a permanent dent.
“You should have taken care of him. He’s your little brother.”
Tears pooled in Hadley’s eyes. Her mother’s words stabbed the air between them. “He’s not my brother.”
Her mother stood and walked toward the door. “I’m tired of your selfish, sulky behavior,” she said. “Until you’re ready to apologize and start acting like one of the family, you might as well stay here.” She left the room and closed the door behind her.
Hadley felt as though she’d been slapped across the face. Her mother hadn’t even given her time to explain. She hadn’t even tried to hear Hadley’s side of the story.
Her anger spiraled out of control. Hadley glared at the dolls that looked like Ed and Isaac. “I wish you’d never come into my life,” she hissed.
A gust of icy air blew into the room. She left the bed to shut the window. As she tugged at the sticky wooden frame she felt the blood crackle through the veins in her right hand. She made a tight fist and then released it, stretching her fingers to their limits. The hand felt heavy and hollow—just like her left hand.
Hadley stayed in her room the rest of the evening. She got ready for bed alone. It took her forever to fall asleep. She tossed and turned, burrowing deep into her feathery duvet.
She awoke with a start when her bedroom door opened and then shut.
Still hazy with sleep, she stood and lunged for the door. Who could have snuck into her room? And why?
“Isaac,” she whispered suddenly. He must have come looking for his doll, Little Isaac. He was going to take it and hide it like he’d taken all the other dolls. But this time, she would foil his plan.
With her duvet wrapped around her shoulders, Hadley flew into the hallway. Isaac couldn’t walk quickly with the cast on. His door was wide open. She dashed toward it and poked her head inside.
“Isaac!” she whispered.
There was no answer.
“Stop pretending you’re asleep. I know it was you!”
She searched his room, but the darkness was playing tricks on her. She fumbled for the light switch and a zillion dots swarmed her eyes. Slowly, they adjusted to the bright light, but once they did, her vision narrowed to a fine point. Her knees buckled and her head hit the floor with a tremendous thwack.
Sixteen
I awake in the middle of the night. I have had strange dreams and I am certain I hear noises. Sharp nails clawing on wood. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. It grates at my ears.
Papa will not allow me to keep a kerosene lamp, as he worries it may tip and cause a fire. Instead, on my nightstand I have a brass saucer with a stub of a candle. I slip out of bed and strike a match. My ceiling and walls explode into wicked shadows.
The sound grows louder. Scritch. Scratch.
There are many wild animals in the woods behind our house. I worry a raccoon or a skunk—or worse yet, a black bear—has gotten into the house. I decide I must wake Papa.
My nightshirt flutters around my feet as I tiptoe into the hall. The candle flame ripples outward, pressing into the thick darkness. I take a step toward Mama and Papa’s room, but I stop quite suddenly. A thought awakens in my mind. I turn toward the stairs and slowly descend.
My bare feet are cold as I glide along the wooden floors toward the parlor. I stand for a moment at the threshold, staring at the grand fireplace mantel. Embers of last evening’s fire still glow hot. They cast a reddish glow onto my dollhouse.
Scritch. Scratch.
I take a few tentative steps until I reach the side of the dollhouse. My gaze follows the trail of now-missing crumbs that once led from the fireplace to the molasses spill. I expect to find some poor little shrew or helpless vole caught in the sticky syrup, but as my eyes settle on the spot, the breath catches in my throat.
My hands tremble, and it is all I can do to keep the candle from slipping from my grasp. For a moment, I wonder if perhaps I am dreaming, if perhaps I am wandering in my sleep, if this is some sort of fata morgana—a mirage, a figment of my dream-drenched imagination. I blink hard, but it does not disappear.
On the floor, covered in sweet black syrup, is a human-like form no larger than one of my dolls. It twists and turns, clawing violently at the floor with the fear and fierceness of an injured animal. It is a mass of tangled hair and seems unable to free itself from the sticky molasses. Though the very idea of this peculiar creature terrifies me, it seems at once both small and helpless, and I am quite suddenly sorry for what I have done.
I set the candle in front of the house and fly toward the kitchen, where Frau Heinzelmann keeps her bucket filled with soapy water. I return as quickly as possible and pour the contents on top of the creature’s head, soaking it from tip to toe. The syrup dilutes, and dark liquid spreads into a larger but less sticky stain.
The creature frees itself, and I get a better sense of its figure. It has thin alabaster limbs with razor-like claws. Long white hair flows down from its head, concealing its body. Its face is angular, with cheekbones so sharp and jutting they could slice bread. It glares at me with enormous dark eyes—so black I almost think they are two giant holes.
I take a step back. I am ill prepared for such a hideous sight. I had imagined a kobold to be a charming and chubby little pixie wearing peasant clothes and a red felt hat—nothing like this gruesome ghoul.
I take another step backward. I turn to flee, but it calls to me in a calm but commanding voice.
“What have you done? Why have you caught me? What is it you wish from me?”
More than ever, I know I should run fast to my bed and pull the covers over my head, but something holds me steady. Frau Heinzelmann’s words come back to me. If you catch one, it will do as you please …
I muster all my courage and turn slowly to face the creature. “I wish,” I begin tentatively. Then I take a deep breath and forge ahead. “I wish you to do my bidding.”
The creature’s eyes appear to grow larger and darker still, and I suddenly want to withdraw my words. Before I am able, the creature responds.
“What is it you desire?”
Frau Heinzelmann was right! It is magic and can grant my wishes! Thoughts travel through my mind at a tremendous speed, and before I truly know what I am doing, words are tumbling out of my mouth.
“I would very much like my papa to be home and not to spend all his hours in the glasshouse!”
The creature smiles, and beyond its thin lips I see it has sharp little teeth.
“And I would like Mama to be up and out of bed. I would also like to return to Boston … and I would like a companion—yes—someone to talk to and play with and stay with me always … and…”
“You ask a great deal,” interrupts the little creature suddenly. Its eyes are so large I fear I could fall inside them and be lost forever. “However, if you promise to give me something in return—if you swear it—then you shall have all you desire.”
Hurray! I shall have my wishes! And though a warning thuds softly inside me, I lick my dry lips and make a cross over my heart.
“I promise,” I vow solemnly.
No sooner have the words left my lips than the creature vanishes. The candle flame extinguishes, leaving me sitting alone in cold darkness.
Seventeen
Sunlight melted into Hadley’s room, forming puddles of gold on the ground.
She was sprawled across her bed, knotted up in her duvet. She unraveled herself, yawned, and stretched. Her body was as stiff as an old piece of licorice.
She’d had the strangest dream. It was gone now, snuffed out by the morning light, the last scraps fading fast into the soupy darkness of her mind. All that lingered was a slightly uneasy feeling. She sat up and ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
The door creaked open.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” whispered her mother. “Rise and shine.” She stood in the doorway, swathed in a hazy glow. Her voice was fuzzy-slipper soft.
Hadley rubbed her eyes to get a clearer look, but her mother had already left the room.
“Breakfast is ready,” she called cheerfully over her shoulder. “I’ve made your favorite.”
Hadley’s heart ballooned. Her mother must have felt awful about the previous night’s argument. She must have thought things over and, instead of a plate of warm cookies, she’d made Hadley’s favorite breakfast—caramel-peach French toast with whipped cream. Hadley could already taste the warm peaches. Even made with rice bread, fake eggs, and whipped topping, it would still be a treat.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her legs were wobbly, like she was walking on them for the first time. She made it halfway down the stairs when her thoughts were snatched by the delicious scent of cinnamon and brown sugar. She was dragged down the rest of the steps and into the kitchen.
Her mother stood near the stove. She carried a dish of sugary awesomeness toward the table. She wore her best pants, a white blouse, and a necklace with little dangling pearls.
“You’re the best,” said Hadley, plunking herself into a seat. The table was set with two plates, and there was a can of whipped cream already waiting. “I’m really sorry about last night.”
“Last night?” said her mother vaguely. She placed three pieces of French toast onto Hadley’s plate. She dug up extra peaches and caramel sauce from the casserole dish and piled them on top.
“You know,” said Hadley, with downcast eyes. She really did feel awful about their argument.
Her mother shook the can of whipped cream vigorously and sprayed an enormous tower of white fluff onto Hadley’s already full plate. “No. I don’t.”
Hadley picked up the can and examined it. Real whipped cream. “I didn’t mean to behave so badly,” she said. “It’s just—”
“You never behave badly,” interrupted her mother.
Hadley chuckled, certain her mother was being sarcastic. But then she saw the blank look on her face.
Her mother reached over and stroked Hadley’s hair. “You’re the best child a parent could ever hope for. You mean everything to me.”
Ever since Ed and Isaac had come into the picture, Hadley had felt cast aside—like an outgrown pair of shoes. She had longed to hear her mother tell her how much she loved her. How much she meant to her. But as Hadley sat there listening to these very words, they seemed somehow strange. Unnatural.
“Is this peanut-free, wheat-free, and egg-free?” she asked, placing a forkful into her mouth. “Because it sure doesn’t seem like it. And what’s the deal with the real whipped cream? It’s not dairy-free.”
“You’re such a character,” said her mother. She grinned, as though Hadley had just said something funny. “Oh, and I thought we’d do each other’s nails after breakfast. Would you like that?”
“Sure!” said Hadley. She could hardly believe it. First, her favorite breakfast. And now a girls’ spa day. She decided her mother must really have been feeling terrible about their argument as well.
“With tiny jewels. Just like you like it.”
Hadley smiled and nodded. She ate a few more bites of the tasty breakfast. Then suddenly her mother began stomping her feet. It startled Hadley and she jumped.
“Go on,” said her mother. “Guess!”
“What?”
“The song. Guess the song.”
The game. Her mother was playing their game. Only this time Hadley had to guess. They hadn’t played in so long, Hadley had nearly forgotten how much fun it was. She tried hard to figure out the tune. She guessed several times unsuccessfully. The song had an awkward rhythm, one she was almost certain she’d never heard before.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, gulping her last few bites. “What is it?”
“It’s the ‘I Love Hadley’ song. I just made it up this very instant!” Her mother grabbed the can of whipped cream, shook it hard, and poured another huge cloud of creamy white onto Hadley’s plate, still stomping her feet loudly.
Hadley stared at the oozing mound and frowned. “I think I’ve had enough.”
Her mother stopped stomping. “Okay. We’ll save the rest of the can for tomorrow. I’m going to make your favorite again.”
Again? thought Hadley. Her mother never made sugary breakfasts more than once a month. And what with all Isaac’s allergies, it was more like never.
“Where’s Isaac?” she asked. The smell of the breakfast should have brought him running.
“Isaac?”
“Isaac. My stepbrother. Ed’s son. The kid who lives with us. That Isaac.” She chuckled.
Her mother wasn’t laughing. Or even smiling. She just stared at Hadley with a glazed expression. A deep chill settled into Hadley’s bones, and her mouth went dry.
“Where’s Isaac?” she said, more urgently.
“Stop teasing, Hadley,” said her mother. “You know we live alone. Just the two of us. Exactly the way you like it.”
Hadley’s last bite of food threatened to rise back up her throat. “W-what did you say? What’s going on? Where are Ed and Isaac?”
“I don’t know any Ed. Or Isaac for that matter,” said her mother. “Am I supposed to?”
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Hadley gripped her mother’s hand. She searched her eyes long and hard, hoping to find a shred of something—anything—that might tell Hadley she was playing a cruel trick. Her eyes remained steady, vacant. Her smile, unwavering.
Reality was like a thin piece of paper folding in around Hadley. She kept hoping her mother would shout “Gotcha!” Or maybe Ed and Isaac would pop out from somewhere and yell “Surprise!”
Her gaze darted nervously from her mother to the puddle of melting whipped cream, around the kitchen, and into the hallway. She must be dreaming. There was no other explanation. She remembered waking in the middle of the night. She recalled her door opening and closing and then …
Hadley leaped to her feet. She charged out of the kitchen and raced up the steps, practically diving headfirst across the landing and into Isaac’s room. She crashed into its emptiness.
Isaac was gone. Nothing of him remained. Hadley’s heart exploded in her chest. She stepped backward, shaking her head, and then darted out into the hall and to her mother’s room.
She searched everywhere for any sign of Ed, but there was nothing. No sign of him whatsoever. Not one single shred that indicated he had ever been there. Desperate, she yanked at the drawers one after another, but all his sweatshirts and jeans and sports jerseys were gone. Every stitch of his clothing. Everything. Gone.
Hadley took a deep breath. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. She raced into her bedroom.
The dollhouse glowed in the morning light. Hadley’s mother’s doll stood in the kitchen. Granny de Mone’s doll lay peaceful and still in the room above the garage. But the Ed and Isaac dolls had vanished.
Hadley barely made it to her bed before her knees gave out. She lay for the longest time, thinking, rubbing her numb hands. It was as though someone had wrinkled the fabric of reality, changing the pattern of its threads. She closed her eyes. Perhaps if she dozed off, she’d wake from the nightmare and things would be back to normal.
Her mother came to check on her. She asked if Hadley wanted anything more to eat. Or if she wanted to go shopping for brand-new clothes. Her mother said Hadley could buy whatever she wanted. Then she located a brush and began brushing Hadley’s hair.