I flipped through the binder. “The story’s about a ‘normal’ family living in America, except that they’re not normal at all. And that’s where it gets really creepy.”
She pointed to a frame in the book. “That’s the doll! What’s she doing?”
“She’s burrowing inside the little girl of the family.”
“Oh.” She sat back.
I showed her another storyboard.
“That’s a swastika!” she exclaimed.
I nodded.
“Why would they put a swastika in the movie?”
“Back in the 1930s,” I explained, “things were rough for America and Europe. The Depression was on. Things looked pretty bleak. And the Nazi party was picking up steam at the time. Tapping into the anger and frustration of many people around the world. Lots of people don’t know this, but we had a huge Nazi party in America during the 1930s.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t as big a deal as you might think. The Nazis hadn’t murdered millions of people yet. And the president of The Company, he thought he could tap into that market, and even convert some people. To the Nazi party.”
“Why the hell would anyone do that?”
“Because he was a Nazi too.”
“Oh.”
I continued. “As the story goes—as far as I can tell—this normal family was living in an average place. But they weren’t normal. They’d . . . burrow into people. Take over their brains. Make them do things. They were bent on world domination. Said they were the one true kind of human. The master race. Or the next stage in evolution, maybe. I’m not entirely sure. That’s just what I’ve been able to gather.”
“This family. How big is it?”
“I only have a few of the original storyboards, but I see three people: the dad, the mom, and—” I gestured to the doll.
“So this thing is taking me over? Is that what’s happening?”
I deflated a bit. “I think so. It seems to be doing to you what that other one’s doing to my dad.”
She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. She appeared more determined. “Will you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Cut this goddamn thing out of me.”
Chapter Ten
“I can’t do this.” The electric saw quivered in my hand. Melinda was face-up on the work table. We’d pulled the top half of the doll as far away from her body as we could, which wasn’t much.
“Of course you can. Just cut the head off.”
Pause. I shook my head.
“Come on! I trust you.”
I wasn’t sure. I had a bad feeling. But Melinda kept refusing to go to the hospital. Besides the first point she’d made earlier, what if the first thing the doctors did before cutting it out was put her to sleep?
No, she’d said, we’re doing this ourselves.
She was right. We couldn’t have her put to sleep.
I looked at the saw in my hand. I’d never used one before. Could I do this?
What choice did I have?
I nodded at her. Okay.
If you’d walked in on us right then, you’d have been convinced that either a deranged surgeon or a serial killer was about to do something very nasty to a poor, defenseless little girl . . .
And half a wooden body.
God, this was weird.
I plugged the saw in, flicked the “On” switch. The blade whirred to life. It was loud.
Melinda squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, grimacing.
I bent my legs, got into a wide stance. I had to be sure I didn’t accidentally drop the thing. Two hands now, kiddo.
Lowered the blade. Melinda squeezed her eyes shut harder.
Lower.
I touched the surface of the doll’s neck, just below the chin.
I’ve never heard a scream like that before.
I yanked the saw away, turned it off, and let it drop. Tears were streaming down Melinda’s face. The sobbing. I felt so bad.
The saw had only cut about half an inch deep into the wood. It was black down there below the smooth surface and the paint. Tendrils of smoke floated up from the wound.
She clutched the doll with her right hand, as if the skin I’d cut were her own.
“Water!” she sobbed.
I ran inside, grabbed a glass, filled it, and rushed back. Poured it on the wound. It sizzled, made her scream louder. She reached a shaking hand up to the doll’s head.
Eventually, she was able to get up off the table.
Eventually.
Later, I sat in the bathroom, wrapping the wound with gauze.
“That’s what it feels like,” she said, popping three extra-strength Advil. “Like it’s my skin and bone. It hurts like you just buried a saw into my neck.”
We stared at each other as if we’d just hiked through twenty-seven miles of desert at high noon. She smiled. I took her hand.
“What now?” I asked.
“Will you help me stay awake? We have to figure this out.”
I said of course, but I had no clue what to do next.
And night was falling.
Chapter Eleven
We decided to stay at my house. Maybe there was some clue we were missing that would help us solve this thing. The trick would be hiding her from Dad. Didn’t need him getting involved.
Driving to my house took longer than expected. Los Angeles traffic is singularly torturous between the hours of 5 p.m. and 8 p.m. And also between 8 p.m. and midnight. And sometimes between midnight and 5 p.m.
I drove with the air conditioning blasting, windows down, trying to keep Melinda alert. She cracked open another energy drink, downed half of it. We must have looked like deranged triplets, the three of us in a row across the front seats.
At least I’d made a friend.
Or two.
::shivers, drools::
“I just thought of something,” Melinda said, handing me the rest of her drink.
“What?”
“The storyboards say there were three members of the family, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That means there’s still one more doll somewhere.”
How had we not thought about that?
Ah, God.
Please, no more.
Fortunately Dad wasn’t home, so getting Melinda inside was relatively painless, though she did accidentally crack her new wooden head on the doorframe coming in, which she said felt just like slamming her own head. I would have thought this whole situation utterly ridiculous, but it’s hard to take these things lightly when you’re directly involved.
I cleaned out space in my closet. We figured it would be best if she had a place to hide when Dad came home, until he went to bed. What would he think if he saw a wooden head springing from my friend’s shoulder?
Would he be shocked? Or delighted?
My thoughts swarmed. Do I try to save Dad, or Melinda? How do I even save Melinda? I have no plan. I’m hungry. Really hungry. There’s no time for food. Yes, there is. Keep cleaning. Shut up, brain.
And so on.
Finally, I finished cleaning. We ate. The clock read 8:06 p.m. Dad wasn’t getting home these days until past ten or eleven.
“Something about taking them out of their spots triggered them to life,” she said when we were all set up. “It’s when all this started, right? Do the storyboards mention that?”
“It doesn’t. We do know, though, that they’re trying to get into our bodies while we sleep. And it has something to do with these old movies.”
“What do you think it wants with me?” she asked. “What happens when it takes you over completely?”
Pause. That, I didn’t want to think about.
Just then—
Boom.
“Lydia, you home?”
I heard the clank-slide of keys tossed onto the kitchen table.
“Hey.” I bounced down the stairs, trying to appear chipper. I turned the corner tow
ard the kitchen and skidded to a stop. “Dad?”
Deep, pockmarked rivers ran through his cheeks, accentuating the natural curves in his face. Dark brown rings hung under his eyes. His hair was sparser than before, his face even flatter.
He looked exactly the way I’d picture him if he’d been possessed by a wooden doll. A perfect composite of the two of them.
I quickly tried to hide my horror, to play it off. Oh, nothing’s wrong, Dad. It’s not like I suspect you’re merging with an old creepy doll made by a Nazi.
That thought made me realize something else:
If it had taken over Dad’s body, what was it doing to his mind?
He frowned. I felt like he was reading my thoughts. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
I smiled a little too wide. “How’s the movie going, Dad?”
“Fine.” He loosened his tie and plunked a paper bag down on the table. “Things are moving along nicely.” He pulled a bottle of Scotch from the bag and poured a glass.
“I have a question for you.” He sat down, crossing his legs. “The doll you found. Did you find any others?”
I shook my head.
“Hmm. Too bad.”
“Are there more or something?”
“Three more. Four total.”
“Four?” I tried to seem curious, but not overly so. We’d thought there were only three. What was this fourth one?
“Mmm.” He took a long drink. “A father, a mother, two children. Both daughters.”
“Maybe you’ll find them,” I offered.
“I’ve looked. Come here, I want to show you something.”
He rose from his chair. “See that?” He opened the cabinet above the fridge, the one we’d found the other doll behind. Pushing the false wall in, he exposed the tunnel. “Just like the one in your room. Only, there’s nothing in there.” He let the wall fall; it banged loudly, making me jump. “Know anything about that?”
My father had never laid a finger on me. He’d been like the perfect dad. But seeing him towering over me like that, his face haggard, in some kind of permanent scowl, his skin all taut and ragged, I began to shake. I tried to hide it, really I did, and I almost got away with it, except—
He gripped my shoulders. I looked at his hands and nearly started crying. They had turned almost black. Skin was flaking off in large chunks. His fingernails were long and yellow.
I pretended not to notice.
He stared down on me with big yellow eyes. Veins crisscrossed in the white parts. They weren’t his eyes. They looked painted on. “Did you take the doll from that tunnel?” he asked.
“No.” I barely croaked it out. God, take me anywhere but here. I needed to pee. I needed to run. I’d never felt those two things so badly before in my life.
He frowned again but turned away. His claw-hands fell from my shoulders. He looked so tired, like he was having trouble keeping his arms up. “It’s important that I find the rest of them. Very important.”
I looked past him, to the dinner table. Several boxes of files.
“Old archives,” he said, then plopped down again. I turned away and began to tiptoe back upstairs, when—
“You’re going to be very famous soon, Lydia. Did you know that? Very famous.”
I stopped. “Huh?”
“You heard me. Famous beyond your wildest dreams. Bigger than those Instagram stars you love, bigger than the YouTubers, all of them.”
“What do you mean? Those people have millions of followers. I don’t even have a YouTube account—”
“Doesn’t matter. You will. If you want. Like your mom.”
“Mom? What does she—”
He waved a hand, dismissing my question. “You know I’ve always wanted the best for you, yeah? Here’s my chance. My movie. You’ll see.”
“How is your movie going to make me and Mom famous?”
He smirked. “Because you’re going to be in it, too. We all are. One big family that America will love.”
Erm . . .
He continued. “Those billboards you see everywhere, the giant posters lining the corner of Hillhurst and Sunset. Can you picture your faces on them? Wouldn’t that be unbelievable? For millions of young girls—and boys, ooh la la—to be obsessed with you? You’d never have to work, never have to go to college if you don’t want to—and if you did, you could go anywhere you wanted.
“One of the best parts about being famous—I’ve been told—is that you never have to worry about money again. You have to take care of your money, of course, but if you had longevity in the business you could basically do whatever you wanted, knowing that there’s always another job right around the corner.
“Then the question is, how do you become so popular that you become relevant and stay that way? You need a message, something that resonates with the people. An idea—yes, that’s it! An idea that can stand the test of time. An idea that maybe the people don’t even quite know they need to hear. And when they hear it, they can’t resist it. It lodges in their mind and grows and grows, until they can’t dig it out and don’t even want to. In fact, they don’t even realize it’s there.
“It’s got to hit on a solid, emotional level. It has to be a truth that you can’t deny to your innermost self. Something people know they want but cannot touch, wouldn’t even think to touch. Until you give it to them. Until you give them permission to touch it.
“There’s only one thing people want, Lydia. People say they want to be happy, or have a purpose, or a career, or a family. I believe them, to an extent. But trust me, what they want is something deeper.”
He leaned in. “People want power, Lydia. They want power over their surroundings, their bodies, other people. Don’t believe me? Look at any celebrity. They want others to see them, to want to be them. That’s power.”
He took a long drink. “Look at the world today. We live in factions. It’s all about the tribe, not the truth. People you admire, that’s who create facts. Doesn’t matter if you rape or kill, so long as you’re on the right team. What do you think war is all about? What has it ever been about? It’s about dominating the other—the same way a person maintains power over another, bending them to their will—so that when you commit violence against them, it’s sanctioned. Very ordinary, very acceptable.
“Listen, honey, I know I’m rambling. You’re young and may not understand all these things, but look at your own experience. Think about school. None of the groups let you in, do they? Not in New York, not in Atlanta, not here. You know why? Because they’re off getting liked and you’re not. You’re not one of the tribe. Not yet.
“We can change that now.” He knew he had my attention. “But only with the dolls. None of this works without all four of the dolls, do you understand?”
I stood there a long time.
Dad finished his drink, then grabbed his bottle and a few papers and stood.
“If you find another,” he said, patting me on the shoulder as he left the kitchen, “let me know.”
I felt a lump in my throat. I couldn’t respond. I nodded.
Satisfied, he went to his office.
Chapter Twelve
A few minutes later, I laid my head against my bedroom door. I needed a breather.
Whatever Dad believed, well, he was damn serious about it.
Where did that talk about celebrities come from?
And what was the doll doing to his brain?
I entered my room, shut the door, and went to the closet. “Melinda,” I said, moving aside the boxes I’d stacked in front of her, “we have to find the other dolls before—”
No!
I hurled everything aside and shook my sleeping friend awake, scream-whispering, “Melinda! Wake up, wake up!”
“Huh?” She rolled her head, opened her eyes groggily. “How long have I been out?”
I tore the blanket off her shoulder and gasped.
The doll had dug deeper. Only the top half of its head was sticking out now, from its nose on up. It star
ed, as if challenging me.
Almost too late.
I’ll get her when she sleeps, I could feel it say.
Los Angeles never gets truly dark. Not even in the suburbs, twenty, thirty miles east. And definitely not in my neighborhood. It must be the smog. It kind of hangs over the city, trapping light and moisture. If you stayed in the city your entire life, you’d probably see, like, three stars. It turns the environment into a kind of bubble. It traps you.
I’ve heard the same thing said about the city itself.
I waited by my window, watching the scrappy trees sway in the wind. I was waiting for true night—at least, as much as the city would allow.
Melinda sat in the closet. Music played softly from my laptop, which I’d set by the door. Not so loud that I couldn’t hear Dad coming up the stairs but not so soft that he could hear me talking quietly to Melinda.
“I can’t hold out much longer.” Melinda was struggling to keep her eyes open.
“Here.” I fed her two more caffeine pills. Extra strength.
I popped two more, too, though I wasn’t sure I needed them. The terror I felt was enough to keep me awake.
“There’s gotta be something we missed,” I said. I was sitting on my purple inflatable chair. I realized I was running my hands through my hair, pulling at the roots while I thought. Ow. Ease up a bit, sweetness, no sense in going bald over this. “A hiding spot, somewhere. And we have to find it before Dad does.”
“No, we don’t.” Melinda was pacing around my room, trying to keep her back straight, arms stretched out, keeping blood flowing. The ridiculous half-head bobbed with her shoulders. “If we find it and take it out of whatever hole it crawled into, it’s going to come alive and get us. Us meaning you, girl.” She shook her head. “It’s already got me.”
She swayed a little. Woozy. I had to fight the urge to ask if she thought it was taking over her mind. So far, though, she seemed normal. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it.
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