Among the Dolls

by William Sleator

  She discarded the aunt at once. She was so distant and cold that Vicky was afraid to say anything to her. She would never have the nerve to ask her for help. The father, who had entered the dining room, was of no use. He was so utterly meek and helpless that he probably wouldn’t dare to help her, even if she offered him everything she could think of. And Dandaroo, who was still up in his room, would be the same.

  Although … .

  Her eyes slid back to the father’s face. The cotton in his head seemed to be settling down, so that the top of his head was narrow and empty and his chin was wide, sagging down onto his chest. He was staring vacantly at the wall, while on either side of him Ganglia and the mother, both giggling, were stabbing savagely at the turkey with their knives and forks, crumbling off bits of plaster. The father … what if she promised him that when she got out she would make him the ruler of the family; that everyone else would follow his orders, that they would treat him like a king and bow and scrape at his every whim? He might not be able to resist that. And he didn’t seem as cruel as the others; he might even want to help her, if he knew that he would be safe afterward. He was definitely a possibility.

  It was different with the mother. She was already in control. And Ganglia she couldn’t trust. She had almost seemed to respond in the bedroom, but Vicky was sure that she would take great joy in exposing her little scheme to all the others. No; it was the father or no one.

  But as Vicky watched him, her hopes sank. His sagging cheeks twitched nervously. Perhaps he might like to have control over them all, but he would be too timid to take any risk. Before asking him, she must try to get out on her own.

  Tonight, she decided, when they were all in bed, she would go through the secret door by herself.

  Chapter Six

  At night, the dollhouse was very dark.

  Vicky should have expected it, knowing that the house had no lights. But she had not been prepared for the hush that fell over everything, for the huge, oddly-shaped shadows that crept across her rug like jagged mountain peaks, silently gliding into the house, crawling up the stairs, and filling all the rooms. Around her the dolls’ faces slowly vanished into the darkness, until she could not see them at all, but only hear the faint rustle of a skirt, or the creak of a wooden joint.

  But even in the darkness, she could feel the alertness of their eyes upon her. They sat without speaking, strangely transfixed, as though waiting for something to happen. And from the way they were watching, Vicky guessed that it was something that was going to happen to her.

  At last she could not stand it any longer, and stood up suddenly from the table. The dolls stood up too.

  “Going somewhere, Vicky?” came the mother’s voice, sounding even more menacing and sarcastic in the darkness. “I think we would like to come with you.”

  “I just … I want to go to bed. I’m tired,” Vicky said, thinking of the secret door, and hoping she would be able to get away from them.

  “Tired?” said the mother. “You poor little thing. And where were you planning to sleep, may I ask?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “She doesn’t know,” said the mother, and Vicky heard the squeak of her neck as she nodded invisibly. (Her head was the only part of her that moved very easily, Vicky remembered; no wonder she nodded all the time.)

  Ganglia stifled an excited giggle, and then the aunt spoke. “If you had thought to make things more comfortable for us, then perhaps there would be somewhere for you to sleep now.”

  Vicky thought of the hard beds and then remembered, feeling a chill, that she had never provided any place at all for the aunt to sleep. She would just leave her sitting stiffly by herself in the dining room, or, and she shuddered at the thought, in some undignified place like under the kitchen table. Certainly, the aunt would never forgive her for that.

  They seemed to be waiting for her to make some reply. “Well,” she began haltingly, “I just always thought that, you know, that it didn’t really matter to you, that you couldn’t tell the difference, since you were only dolls and—”

  There was a sharp gasp all around her, and she stopped, putting her hand quickly over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she went on, “I didn’t mean to—”

  “‘Only dolls,’” repeated the aunt, with icy significance. “Well, my child, you shall soon see what ‘only’ dolls can do.”

  “Won’t she though!” cried Ganglia, and Vicky heard her stumble against the table, as though bent over with laughter.

  “But what?” Vicky wailed, too terrified now to control herself. “What are you going to do? You keep talking about it, and hinting at it, but you never do anything! What is it?”

  “We have already done it, my dear,” said the aunt.

  “Diadama!” cried the mother. “Be still! What are you thinking of?”

  “Yeah,” said Ganglia. “What we’re going to do to her is for us to know and for her to find out.”

  “Yes …,” murmured the mother, creaking.

  “And I think it is time for her to go to bed,” said the aunt, sounding a bit flustered after her mistake. “She is forgetting herself.”

  Surprisingly enough, it was the living room they took her to, where the little velvet sofa was probably the softest place in the house. “And remember,” said the mother as they left, “we don’t sleep. We will be watching and waiting. Don’t try anything rash.”

  “You must not leave this room,” said the aunt. “And you will need the sleep for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah!” Ganglia squealed harshly, slammed the door, and they were gone.

  But naturally Vicky couldn’t sleep, and had no plans even to try. She huddled on the sofa, which, though padded, was scratchy and cold. She cried for awhile, feeling homesick for her own house, for the upright piano in the kitchen, for her father’s cozy basement study, for her own room, all around her, but unattainable; and especially for the electric lights that kept the house bright at night. The thought of creeping by herself up the dark dollhouse stairs, with the dolls probably watching on every side, was almost too terrifying to imagine. Yet she could think of nothing else to do.

  Then she remembered what they had said about falling into patterns. They didn’t sleep, but perhaps they would be in their rooms, and the aunt hopefully under the kitchen table. It would have been better if the little door had not been right beside the bedrooms, but there was nothing she could do about that. And even if they caught her, she might at least discover something that would help her later. Steeling herself, Vicky sat up and took off her shoes.

  Getting the door opened took quite a long time. She was afraid that it might squeak, or that one of them would be waiting in the hall, so she moved it very carefully, inch by inch. When it was opened just enough, she slipped quietly through.

  She could barely see the stairs in the darkness, and behind her she felt the huge, empty silence of her bedroom. If she made one slip, they would be sure to hear. Feeling very small, she started cautiously up, remembering that the steps were steep, and keeping to the edge, where they would be less likely to creak. It was the bravest thing she had ever done in her life.

  She stopped several times to listen, but all she could hear was the beating of her heart. She began moving more quickly as she neared the top of the steps. Perhaps she would get through the door after all!

  There was only a short landing to cross at the top, but it was the most dangerous part, for the dolls were very close now. She heard the mother’s dress rustle from the room beyond, and almost turned back. But the rustle did not come again; she had probably just been turning over in bed.

  Tiptoeing now, Vicky moved across the landing, toward the door. In the darkness it was difficult to see, but as she neared it she made out a little knob, and could tell that the door was slightly ajar. It was real then, as she had hoped. She stopped beside it, holding her breath, and reached for the knob.

  Something cold and fuzzy, like a snake with fur, wrapped itself around her wrist.


  Vicky started to shriek, but she was so terrified, and the sensation was so horrible, that no sound came from her throat. She spun around, her skin crawling. Standing beside her, gripping her with his arm, was the father.

  She caught her breath, and then, remembering her plan, put her finger to her lips. “Shhh!” she whispered. “Don’t tell them, please don’t. If you help me get out, I promise you, I promise I will do anything you want. They won’t boss you around any more; they won’t make you cry. I’ll let you do it to them; I’ll make you the king!” She peered into the darkness, trying to see his face. His arm was still tightly wrapped around her. “Anything!” she went on frantically. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll do it. You’ll be the ruler; they’ll wait on you; they’ll worship you; please, I’ll—”

  And then she heard a giggle behind her, and an indignant snort, and knew that she had failed.

  “So that’s what you’d do, is it?” came the mother’s voice. “That sounds just marvelous for all the rest of us, I must say. After hearing that, do you think we’d even consider letting you get away?”

  “She sounded so stupid, whispering like that,” Ganglia snickered.

  “But,” said Vicky, beginning to cry, “but I didn’t mean it. I promise I won’t—”

  “We’ve had enough of your promises!” snapped the mother.

  “This is our reward for giving her a comfortable place to sleep,” said the aunt.

  “Yes,” said the mother. “You see I was right, Quimbee, to make you wait there for her.”

  The father cleared his throat. “Of course, of course, I never would have considered her offer.”

  “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have,” Ganglia sneered. “It’s a good thing you knew we were watching you.”

  “And she’s certainly not getting a comfortable bed after that,” said the mother. “She’ll spend the night up here, next to us, in the playroom, on the floor. Dandaroo, you stay with her and don’t let her make a move. I’m going back to bed. These odious patterns we’re stuck with! But they’ll go away after we’ve had her here for a month or two.”

  Vicky hardly noticed being pushed into the playroom, hardly noticed their last angry remarks or their retreating footsteps. She sank to the floor, weeping bitterly, for now there was no hope at all. Both of her plans had failed miserably.

  “Hey,” said a small, reedy voice and something touched her shoulder. “Hey, stop crying, please.”

  She sat up, her shoulders still jerking.

  “Please,” Dandaroo went on, very quietly. She glanced behind him and saw that he had shut the door. “Please, stop crying. I’ll try to help you. I’ll try to get you through the attic door.”

  “You will?” she gasped.

  “I hate them!” he said fiercely. “I hate the way they always push me around. If you’ll promise to—”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “If only you’ll get me out, I’ll do anything you want, anything!”

  “Shhh! If the others hear we won’t have a chance.”

  “But will you really get me out? Really?” Then she stopped suddenly. “Oh, but how can you?” she moaned, thinking of how helpless and weak he was. “What could you do?”

  Dandaroo sighed and looked toward the door, then sat down heavily beside her. “I’ll help you get up to the attic. That’s the best I can do. After that, it will all be up to you.”

  “But why the attic?” she asked, leaning toward him. “I didn’t even know there was an attic before. Why will it make any difference if I go up there?”

  “Because,” Dandaroo said, and then he paused and looked away for a moment, as if he were suddenly afraid to answer her.

  “Why?” Vicky insisted.

  “Because … because that’s where the dollhouse is,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “The dollhouse?” For a moment Vicky was too confused to know what to say. “You mean there’s another dollhouse inside this one?”

  He nodded.

  “But why? What kind of dollhouse is it?”

  “It’s not like this house, with old-fashioned furniture and stuff inside. It’s more modern, and it has lights, and plumbing, and a bathroom, and everything. And it has a living room, and a kitchen with a piano in it—”

  Vicky started, then peered at him intently.

  “—and a dining room, and two bedrooms, and a study in the basement for the father.” He paused.

  “And it has three dolls,” he went on slowly. “A mother, a father, and—”

  “And a little girl?” said Vicky breathlessly.

  “Yes,” said Dandaroo, watching her face. “A little girl. Only the little girl isn’t there any more.”

  Chapter Seven

  In the distance there was a vast, invisible sigh as the curtains in Vicky’s bedroom moved in a midnight breeze. But she did not notice, still trying to make out Dandaroo’s dim features. Her mind was whirling with confusion; and a kind of dizzying excitement, touched with hope, was rising inside her.

  “The dollhouse in the attic,” she said, twisting her hands. “It’s my house, isn’t it?”

  Dandaroo nodded.

  “And the dolls in it. They’re my mother, and father, and … and me?”

  “Only you aren’t in it any more.” Again, he looked apprehensively toward the door.

  “But wait a minute.” She brought her voice down to a whisper again. “Tell me something first. Do you … do you and the other dolls play with that dollhouse, do you play with the dolls in it?”

  Dandaroo laughed; a short, mirthless grunt. “If you can call it that. They do things to them, yes indeed. Every time we get a minute to ourselves, up we go to the attic. Up we go, to tip the mother down the stairs, to make her yell at the father and punish the little girl. Ganglia and the mother, they enjoy it the most, of course.”

  Without seeing, Vicky stared off into her bedroom. “So that’s why … why everything’s been so strange recently. The dolls are doing it.”

  “Yes. Because you were doing it to them.”

  Vicky turned on him. “That isn’t fair! It’s not the same. I thought you were just dolls, that it didn’t matter, that you couldn’t feel anything. But you knew we were real.”

  “That didn’t make any difference. They just wanted to get back at you.”

  Vicky was puzzling it out. Perhaps she felt a little guilty, but another thought was uppermost in her mind: If she could ever get out of here, she could get that little dollhouse away from them, and then the terrible things would stop happening in her family. If she could get out.

  “The little girl doll. What did you mean when you said she wasn’t there any more?”

  “Ganglia took her out of the dollhouse. That’s why you’re here.”

  “But why did she? And where is the doll? Tell me everything; you’ve got to!”

  “Shhh! Keep your voice down. They’ll kill us if they find out. They could be listening, you know.”

  “All right, all right. Just tell me.”

  Dandaroo sighed. “It was the mother’s idea. She started wondering what would happen if we took you out. It might mean that you would get lost away from home, or something else unpleasant, or even that you would be caught in here. It was at lunch today. And when you made her send Ganglia up to her room, that was the perfect opportunity to find out. So when you weren’t looking, Ganglia sneaked up to the attic, and took the little girl doll out of the house.” He paused.

  “Go on! Go on!”

  “Well, three of us were sitting at the table, and your great big face was right beside the room, breathing on us; and then suddenly it was gone. And Ganglia came tearing down the stairs, screaming that she’d taken out the doll. Taken it out, and then lost it.”

  “Lost it?” said Vicky, a cold wave of horror running through her. “She lost it?”

  “She said she’d taken out the doll, and then it suddenly was gone. She must have dropped it. But she look
ed everywhere for it, she said, everywhere, and couldn’t find it. So of course the mother was furious. She thought Ganglia had ruined everything, and sent her right back up to her room. And then, we noticed that the music box was on, and the aunt went to see what was happening. And there you were.”

  “Lost it?” Vicky repeated bleakly. “Didn’t anyone else try to find it?”

  “Oh yes. That’s why they sent the father and me up to the attic. We looked everywhere, but we couldn’t find it.”

  “And I … I suppose,” said Vicky, trying to hold back the tears that, once again, were threatening to overcome her, “I suppose if you could find the doll, and put it back in the dollhouse, then I’d be back in my own house again?”

  “Yes,” said Dandaroo solemnly. “That’s the only way.”

  “How could she lose it? How could she lose it?” Vicky moaned, clenching her fists.

  “I don’t know how. It’s just like her, though. But one thing is, it’s got to be up in the attic, somewhere. Your only chance is to go up there, and find it, and put it back in the house. And I’ll help you get up there.”

  She was studying his face again, suspiciously. “But why? Why are you on my side?”

  He looked down at the floor. “You know I’m not like the others. I haven’t been here as long. And I hate them! They’re always picking on me. If you got out, you could make them stop.” Suddenly she felt her hand in his blunt, desperate grip. “But if I help you get out, you’ve got to remember me, please, remember to make me safe, the minute you get out, or else …” He let her hand drop. “Or else, you know the kind of things they would do. And the other reason I’m helping you is … you never played with me much, I guess. You never made me do anything mean. So I’m not cruel like they are. I don’t want to see them make you their slave.”