The Doll

by Elizabeth Andrews

  ‘I hope this doesn’t carry on for too long,’ said Sybil, wiping the snow from her face. ‘It will hamper our investigation if we get snowed in.’

  Her sister grunted and strode on down the hill; it was unusually quiet for the time of the day, the snow having driven everybody home early. ‘We will start searching through the books first thing,’ she said. ‘Old Riggs was a powerful witch; she recorded a lot of her work so perhaps we will be lucky and find something to help.’ She halted quickly and swung around in alarm at the sound of running footsteps behind them.

  ‘Hey, it’s just me!’ a familiar voice called. ‘I couldn’t let you walk home alone.’ He halted in front of them breathing heavily. ‘I would have been worrying all night if I had.’

  ‘We would have been fine, Paul,’ said Sybil. ‘But it was a kind thought.’

  ‘Of course we would have been okay,’ said Queenie exasperated.

  ‘Well, I’m here now,’ he stated patiently. ‘So I will escort you home, please?’ he said innocently. ‘Just humour me.’ He offered an arm to each of the women. ‘Just in case, as it’s so slippery.’

  Queenie stared balefully at him for a minute before turning on her heel and marching off down the hill.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he sighed ruefully. ‘I seem to have annoyed her again.’

  Sybil slipped a hand through his arm. ‘Don’t worry. It’s always very easy to annoy my sister and anyway she likes you!’

  ‘She does?’ he said in amazement. ‘How does she treat people she doesn’t like?’

  She chuckled. ‘They either get turned into toads or they end up as quivering wrecks.’

  ‘Seriously though, Sybil,’ he said in a low voice, watching the solitary figure walking in front of them. ‘Why is it so difficult to deal with this creature?’

  ‘Now are you referring to my sister or the other evil witch?’

  The sound of his sudden laughter reached Queenie’s ears and she halted staring back at the two of them.

  ‘No, no,’ he said apologetically. ‘I meant the other witch.’

  ‘Witches harness certain spirits or powers, depending on which way you lean. With the dark or evil witches they use demons or evil spirits and there is no limit or guidelines if you like, to what they will do. In Queenie’s case she is a light witch and as such has placed limitations on herself,’ she chuckled ruefully ‘although sometimes she does forget that.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Actually, no I don’t.’

  Sybil grinned. ‘We need to find a way to gain power over her. In the old days collecting a few drops of blood would do but as this particular witch is already dead then that option is going to be difficult if not nigh on impossible.’

  ‘But there is another way?’ This question included Queenie as they had reached the alley between the houses where she was waiting impatiently for them.

  ‘What are you two gossiping about?’

  ‘Gaining the blood of the witch,’ said Sybil.

  ‘That won’t work; she is dead in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Then what other option do we have?’ he asked.

  ‘Her name,’ Queenie said shortly and strode off into the dark of the passage.

  The sound of their footsteps crunching through the thickening layer of snow was the only sound in the evening air apart from a single crow calling on the far side of the graveyard.

  Queenie stiffened, listened intently for a few seconds then relaxed. ‘Just a bird,’ she said dismissively and threw open the door. ‘It’s good to be home,’ she grunted. ‘I’m freezing.’ She wiped her feet on the mat and stepped inside. ‘Who’s making the tea?’

  ‘I will,’ offered Sybil and headed towards the back of the house.

  The box containing the doll was still on the draining board where they had placed it, surrounded by a circle of salt. She gave it a cursory glance before filling the kettle and setting it on the hob.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Paul, coming into the kitchen.

  ‘You look as though you need to sit down. You’re as white as a sheet.’

  He half smiled. ‘This has been quite an eye opener, Sybil.’ He sat at the table and placed his folded hands on the table. ‘After all the years I have spent studying the bible I was completely floored in that room. I guess I didn’t really believe things like that really existed!’ He watched his hands trembling in mild astonishment. ‘Look at this, I’m still shaking!’

  ‘I’m not surprised Paul, most people would have run screaming from the room. As Queenie said you did really well.’

  The kettle began to sing and Sybil nodded towards the cupboard. ‘Perhaps you could find some cups for me?’

  He rose and pulled open the doors. ‘What was this about a name?’

  ‘Names are very important,’ she said. ‘They are you and become a part of your essence especially as you grow older. There is even an old rhyme that goes, “I was given and I am taken, I was there at your first breath, but you did not ask for me, but I will follow you till your death.” I think that explains it quite neatly.’

  ‘So that’s what Queenie meant when I told her my daughters’ names,’ he exclaimed. ‘My Fathers joy, Pure and Life, I didn’t realise. Queenie said they were a good choice for a Vicar’s daughters!’

  ‘They are but few people pay attention to such things these days.’ She picked up the teapot and filled it with boiling water. ‘Are you staying for tea?’ she asked politely.

  ‘No, I should be getting back to the vicarage.’

  She nodded and continued slowly, ‘So going back to names, if we could find out her name then we would be able to exert some power over her even though she is still half way between worlds.’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Hopefully.’

  Queenie was asleep in front of the fire when Paul carried the tea tray into the front room, her wet feet were resting on the hearth amongst the ashes and her head was lolled back against the wing of the arm chair. A soft snore emanated every now and then from her half open mouth.

  ‘Should we wake her up?’ Paul whispered, gently lowering the tray onto the small table. A spoon rattled in one of the saucers and Queenie suddenly sat up with a snort.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she said defensively. ‘I was just resting my eyes.’

  ‘Of course you were dear,’ Sybil said. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Please,’ she said, trying to stifle a yawn. ‘Where’s the cake?’

  ‘Bother! I left it in the kitchen,’ she replied, starting to rise from the sofa.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Paul offered, happy to help Sybil who was looking exhausted. He hurried back to the kitchen. A floral cake tin which seemed out of place in Queenies’ kitchen sat on the worktop, certain that this was the correct one he picked it up. It felt reassuringly heavy and a delicious smell of chocolate came from inside. He found a couple of plates in the cupboard and was just about to leave the kitchen when he noticed for the first time the cereal box near the sink. Curious as to why it was surrounded by the salt he picked it up and peered inside.

  ‘What the...!’ he exclaimed as he caught sight of the top of the doll’s head, a few strands of hair still glued to the wood. His hand jerked with the shock of seeing the doll close up and losing his grip on the surprisingly heavy box he dropped it. The doll slid out head first into the sink. Paul stared down in disgust at the grotesque face as the feeling of dread came flooding back. He could again see his three daughters dancing around the awful thing, the strange chant echoing through his mind. He quickly fumbled for a notebook in his jacket, determined to record the words, certain that it would be beneficial to Queenie and Sybil. As soon as he had finished he quickly ran over the chant and nodded, convinced he had copied them exactly. Paul snapped the notebook closed and glanced up from contemplating the doll, feeling pleased with himself, when a cold wave of foreboding prickled up his spine.

  On the other side of the window, partially obscured by the plant pots, a pale twisted face wa
tched him. His smile of triumph froze as he met her gaze. Her malicious smirk broadened as his expression changed quickly to one of dread.

  He couldn’t move or make a sound as they stared at each other through the glass, as she held his gaze the smile slid from her face to replaced by a look of pure evil as she glared at the young man.

  Paul’s knees buckled and he fell backwards crashing into the kitchen table. Under his weight one of the worn legs snapped sending the plates and cake tin crashing to the floor. He scrambled backwards over the broken table whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the woman staring through the window and fumbling in his jacket pocket for the cross.

  She followed his every movement while a bony hand gently rapped at the window pane.

  The cross had fallen through a hole in the pocket lining but Paul’s hand eventually closed on the cold metal. With a sense of relief he grasped it tightly and struggled to his feet, advancing on trembling legs towards the window where her scowling face was just visible behind the Queenie’s plants.

  ‘Begone,’ he ordered, his voice shaking. ‘I order you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost to leave. I consecrate this house in the name of God and all evil is cast out so go and return with all your demons to hell!’ Paul moved closer to the window and placed the cross on the glass just in front of her face. She hesitated, her face twisting in pain as she stepped back from the sight of the cross. With one last look she slowly faded away into the darkness of the yard.

  ‘That was quick thinking!’

  He jumped, knocking two of the terracotta pots into the sink.

  ‘Damn it, Queenie!’ he yelped.

  She came and stood by his side then looked down at the dirt and shards of pottery.

  ‘You moved it!’ she said accusingly, catching sight of the doll.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I looked inside.’

  She picked up the doll and shoved it back inside the box, then placed it within the circle of salt.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ he asked, looking worried.

  Queenie sighed. ‘We should have warned you not to touch it. It has to stay within the circle.’

  ‘So it’s my fault she came because I moved it?’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘I think she’s loitering, just waiting for an opportunity to regain control of the doll.’ She sighed and turned around to survey the wreckage of the table.

  ‘I am so sorry, she startled me,’ he said apologetically. Darting forward he picked up one of the broken legs; looked at the splintered wood then the remains of the table. ‘I think it’s beyond repair.’

  Queenie shrugged, took the broken leg from his hand and threw it into the kindling bucket near the back door. ‘Never mind Paul, as long as the cake has survived I’m not worried about the table.’

  He picked up the sadly dented cake tin from the floor and gave it a shake. ‘It looks okay,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Well, that’s some good news at least. Bring it through to the front room and some plates unless you have broken all of those as well.’

  Paul winced, looking at the shattered pieces of china scattered across the floor. ’I’ll get some more.’ And hurried to the cupboard then looked around in alarm as Queenie moved towards the door. ‘Don’t go and leave me here alone!’

  ‘Relax Vicar,’ Queenie chuckled. ‘I’m not going to abandon you.’ She glanced towards the window. ‘But it seems your prayers have worked again.’ She frowned and rubbed her chin. ‘Which is interesting,’ she muttered to herself.

  ‘Why?’ he asked, following her down the hall.

  ‘Because she’s a witch, I’m a witch, so normally my spells would hold more sway over her than your prayers; after all not many witches that I know are church regulars.’

  ‘But it’s the power of God over evil,’ he pointed out indignantly.

  ‘Yes, yes, I know!’ she said irritably. ‘But even so...’

  Sybil looked up as they entered the room, the teapot poised in her hand, ‘What’s going on? What was that awful crash?’

  ‘Paul has been smashing up my kitchen,’ she replied calmly, taking a cup of tea from her sister.

  ‘That’s not fair!’ he said quickly. He sat down on the sofa, his legs still trembling. ‘That creature was at the window,’ he explained. ‘And I fell back against the table.’

  ‘Did it break?’ Sybil asked with interest.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good,’ she said looking pleased. ‘It’s time that awful old thing was replaced.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Queenie said haughtily. ‘But it’s my table and while you are busy making plans to fill my house with cheap tacky flat packs you have missed the point...that she was at my window!’ She paused and glared at her sister.

  Sybil took a sip of tea and shrugged. ‘Well, you knew those prayers wouldn’t hold her for long and where would she go but here? As you said she and the other two are somehow tied up in that doll.’

  ‘Can’t you just get rid of it?’ burst out Paul.

  ‘We were planning on burying it in the graveyard,’ said Queenie calmly.

  ‘What!’ he spluttered. ‘No! I absolutely forbid it!’

  ‘We assumed as it was sanctified ground that it would negate its evil powers,’ she replied. ‘But now I’m not sure that will be enough.’

  ‘I won’t allow it,’ he said hotly. ‘Having that thing lie next to the remains of my parishioners is unthinkable so you will just have to find another way.’

  Queenie looked him up and down then slowly smiled. ‘I have a good idea Paul,’ she said sweetly, ‘why don’t we bury it in your back garden?’

  His mouth opened and closed for a minute as he took in her suggestion. ‘No,’ he said finally.

  ‘Sure?’ she asked, with a raised eyebrow. ‘You are the Vicar of this parish after all and your prayers, as you keep pointing out, seem to be more efficacious than my spells, so how about it?’

  Paul gazed at the sisters with a mute appeal on his face. ‘There must be another way.’

  Sybil placed her cup down and smiled at the anxious young man. ‘There is, Paul,’ she said, taking pity on him. ‘We just have to find it, that’s all. So don’t worry, Queenie was only joking, we have no intention of burying it anywhere.’

  He looked from her kindly face to Queenie who was regarding him with amusement and suddenly relaxed.

  ‘You have a mean streak, Queenie Beresford!’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Now go home, get some sleep and we will see you in the morning.’

  The last log slowly crumbled to ash in the grate and the glowing embers began to fade. Queenie yawned, reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire but in the distance she could hear her sister chanting a sealing spell.

  ‘Don’t forget to place the correct sigil on the back door,’ she called out.

  ‘I know!’ Sybil said, momentarily breaking off from the spell. ‘I can do this without your help, you know!’

  ‘Yes dear,’ Queenie responded placidly. ‘Of course you can! Just remember to use the correct words, we don’t want any mistakes.’

  ‘It’s all done,’ stated Sybil, coming in to the front room. ‘Doors, windows, air vent, mouse holes etc, etc. She won’t be able to get in now.’ She rubbed a weary hand across her eyes and stifled a yawn. ‘Well...it’s been a long day,’ she sighed. ‘I’m ready for bed.’

  ‘It’s not that late,’ Queenie said, consulting the mantel clock. ‘I still have some sloe gin left over from last Christmas; I thought we could have a few glasses, just to help us sleep of course, and maybe a few hands of gin rummy.’ She looked hopefully at her sister. ‘Go on Sybil, don’t be such a stick in the mud, the night is still young.’

  ‘But I’m not! I am exhausted and so are you.’

  Queenie shrugged. ‘I could keep going all night.’

  ‘Maybe, when you were younger,’ responded Sybil pulling a wash bag and nightdress out of her shopping bag, ‘but not tonight. So,’ she said, straight
ening up, ‘where are the clean sheets as I don’t suppose for one minute that the spare bed is ready.’

  ‘The spare bed?’ asked Queenie, looking uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps it would be a good idea if we stayed together tonight, just in case.’ She looked hopefully at Sybil.

  ‘I have just sealed everything Queenie, a gnat couldn’t get through. Now, where are the sheets?’

  ‘Bottom drawer of the bureau.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said wearily and left the room heading for the stairs. ‘Queenie!’ she called sternly. ‘Come on, you are not going to sit up all night!’

  ‘Okay!’ Queenie muttered and reluctantly heaved herself out of her favourite armchair to follow her sister up the stairs. ‘About the spare room...’ she began as Sybil started to walk towards the small bedroom at the back of the house. ‘It’s a bit messy,’ she said diffidently.

  Sybil paused with her hand on the door knob and inwardly groaned. Pushing open the door she gazed into the tiny room which even by Queenie’s standards was chaos.

  ‘Good grief!’ she exclaimed. ‘Where is the bed?’

  ‘Over there somewhere,’ Queenie answered, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the small sash window.

  The entire room was full of boxes, stacked haphazardly on top of one another. They covered the bed, the dressing table and chest of drawers leaving just a narrow passage into the middle of the room.

  ‘Where on earth did all of this come from?’ asked Sybil in disbelief.

  ‘It’s not rubbish,’ Queenie said quickly. ‘I just seem to have inherited all of the books from the Devon covens.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged, ‘I guess nobody else wanted them.’

  Sybil’s shoulders sagged. ‘So I guess I will be sharing a bed with you ...’ she said witheringly.

  ‘It will be like old times,’ Queenie replied cheerfully.

  ‘Hmph!’ her sister snorted then looked at the books sliding out of the old cardboard boxes. ‘Do you have any idea where we should start with that lot in the morning?’

  ‘I know what you are thinking Sybil, but they are organised and I do know where everything is.’ She pointed to a pile of books teetering dangerously near the door. ‘Those are Old Riggs journals and what she didn’t know about dealing with errant witches nobody does.’