The Killer Doll and the Dollmaker

I grinned as I watched the first responders investigate the house. Their horrified expressions were fuel for my fire. They carried the children out so the kids wouldn’t see their mother and father. The police photographed the bodies– the mother was in the living room with me. She lay face down on the carpet. They’d have to turn her over to see the nails in her eyes.

The police called it homicide. Surely the deaths were too violent to be accidental, or even suicide. I didn’t care what they called it. No one in their right mind would suspect the little doll sitting innocently on the couch, smiling as she watched the bodies taken away in bags.

Eventually, cousins and other family members were allowed to clear out their belongings. I studied each face as they passed. Which one of you suckers will take me home?

A man with a red nose and teary eyes finally picked me up. His lips twisted in disgust, and he showed me to his husband.

“Do we throw it out?”

I’d been to the junkyard before. I’d just follow whoever threw me out back home. It always scared them when I appeared out of nowhere.

You think you can throw me out, mister? Give me a week, tops. I’ll send you out the door in a bag, like the others.

A young woman appeared by his shoulder and said, “There’s a place near my house that fixes old dolls. I could take it there?”

He handed me over. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Fine. I can ruin a shopkeep as well as a family.

The girl shoved me into her purse. My face squished against her phone– how annoying. When she wasn’t paying attention, I wiggled face up.

I could be endlessly patient when I wanted to. Eventually, the girl got around to visiting the doll shop. The shopkeep scrutinized me. She wasn’t old like the grannies I’d given heart attacks, but her dark hair was streaked with gray, and she wore thin glasses on her nose. She paid the girl for me, and the girl left. The shopkeep put me in a box and brought me into the backroom, where she set the box on a shelf.

Oh how original. I think I’ll start by knocking this off the shelf when you leave. You’ll come back and wonder how it fell.

“Is that all?” she asked.

I might not look like much, lady, but I’ll lay the seeds of paranoia in your brain, and then the fun really starts. I’d give you two weeks before I break you.

“Only two?” she asked. “That’s not very generous of you.”

Did she really just answer me? I wasn’t used to humans talking back. She took my silence for compliance and left me alone.

I stewed in the box. A human had won one over on me. I couldn’t let that slide.

She doesn’t know what she has in her shop. I’ll terrorize her until she spends the rest of her life in an asylum.

***

I listened to her close the shop, and the click of her shoes on the floorboards as she returned to the backroom. Her face loomed over my box.

“You didn’t knock it over,” she noted.

There’s no point now. You’re expecting it.

“I see. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

Don’t patronize me, human. Who are you?

“I’m the Dollmaker.”

She took me out of the box, and I got my first view of her backroom. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with art supplies– paints, fabric, pencils, yarn, resin, even colored hair stored in small baggies. She had a sewing machine, a hardwood table with saws and drills, a 3D printer, and a long table beneath a window that seemed to be her main workspace.

The long table was covered with doll pieces.

I stared, horrified. A jar of eyes. Feet and hands. A faceless, disembodied head with only a dozen pink hairs plugged into its bare scalp.

What is this?

“My works in progress.”

Don’t put me there!

She set me on the long table anyway. I found myself staring into the disembodied head’s empty eye holes.

What are you?

“I told you. I am the Dollmaker. Now be still.”

I tried to wiggle away, but she pinned me with one hand. She turned me over, and I saw her grab scissors out of the corner of my eye. Panic gripped me, but I couldn’t wiggle away from her giant human hand. She cut my dress up the back– it wasn’t meant to be removed, so it didn’t have snaps or ties. I watched the red and white polka dotted dress vanish into a garbage can.

What did you do that for?!

“It’s a rag. I can’t send you out wearing that.”

So she was going to sell me. Fine. I could terrorize some innocent family far easier than this doll mutilating monster.

But her scissors didn’t stop with my dress. To my horror, she attacked my mass of orange curls. I could feel the blades brushing against my scalp.

“I heard a young couple was murdered,” the Dollmaker said. “The media said it was a homicide.”

I tried to snicker, even as I watched my curls fall away in matted clumps.

It was. They just don’t realize the murderer was sitting right there on the couch.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Oh? Did I hit a nerve?

“Answer the question.”

Why not? Dolls are played with and thrown away. Who says a doll can’t do the same to humans?

“So it’s revenge?”

She brushed my hair into the garbage, same as my dress.

I never really cared to put a name on it. What areyou doing? Do you think ruining me is revenge for your stupid humans?

“I’m not ruining you.”

She sighed and dropped me back into the box on the shelf.

“I have other projects to work on,” she told me. “You behave yourself.”

Sure. Of course I will.

***

I waited until the Dollmaker left and night fell outside the window. Then, with silent feet, I climbed out of the box and to the floor. She’d closed the door to the storefront, but I knew how to open doors. From the sound of her footsteps earlier that evening, she’d gone upstairs after doing whatever it was she did with those doll parts. She hadn’t left since, so she must live up there.

I’d planned to let her sell me, but she’d already stolen my hair and my dress. I wasn’t going to wait around and see what other tortures she came up with. While I creaked the door open, I listened for any sound overhead. Nothing. She hadn’t heard me. Grinning, I darted into the storefront.

I stopped dead. The storefront was dark, with rectangles of light from the streetlamps filtering across the hardwood floor. Like the workroom, the walls were lined with shelves, and there were bins tucked underneath. A couple glass display cases stood free throughout the room on pedestals. They were big enough to fit a single doll each.

In fact, the whole room teemed with dolls.

I saw dolls of every kind. Large dolls like small human children, tiny dolls little enough to fit in the palm of a person’s hand. Ball jointed dolls, china dolls, animal art dolls, stuffed dolls. Fashion dolls meant for play piled in the bins. All they could do was grin brainlessly. The dolls on the shelves whispered to each other, their voices soft in the night.

The dolls in the cases leaned against the glass to see me better. They were the most beautiful dolls here, with sparkling eyes, glossy hair, and elegant clothing. Their gazes followed me as I stepped out into the storefront. I saw a couple of them whisper towards their neighbors. I hadn’t known there were other dolls as active as I was.

I shook myself. So the Dollmaker sells dolls– shocker. Ignore them.

I spotted the exit on the far side of the room. It would be locked, but I could pick locks. Besides, if that was too difficult, I could smash the front windows and vanish into the night before she came down to investigate the noise. My plastic feet skittered across the floorboards, and I grinned from ear to ear in anticipation of freedom.

Overhead, a small latch clicked. I paused. I was certain there weren’t any humans here. Humans were big and clunky and hard to miss. Hinges creaked. I raised my head and searched for the source of the noise.

Every display case stood open. I watched as– one by one– the beautiful dolls jumped and climbed down from their velvet cushions. I backed up a couple steps, uncertain. They each turned to face me, an enclosing circle. Their glass eyes glimmered in the streetlamp light.

Then they charged me.

I scrambled away, but they were on me in seconds. Hands seized my arms and legs, and one planted against my face. I struggled futilely. They dragged me to the floorboards and piled on top. Hair caught in my mouth, and I spat it out. I was buried under arms and knees and cloth.

It was like I was back in the junkyard. I was buried in the dark, practically immobilized by all the weight pressing down on me. I couldn’t even flail to safety. Terrible memories flashed through my mind. Rats chewed on my hair. Broken razor blades scratching my legs. Half decomposed cheeseburgers clogging my eyes.

A door creaked open, and the lights clicked on. The dolls squirmed away, and I was free. I sat up, dazed. They returned to their displays, where they rearranged their clothes and hair before shutting the glass doors themselves.

Human feet shook the ground, and the Dollmaker scooped me up in one hand. I was almost grateful when she returned me to my box.

***

I did not pout. Definitely not. I was a terrifying killer doll, so there was no way I’d pout like a scolded child. I sat in my box with my arms crossed. That’s not pouting.

I listened to the Dollmaker at her worktable. She’d spent the morning in the storefront opening shop. I’d heard a couple customers come and go. It was past noon now, and she’d returned to cut up more dolls.

I peeked over the side of the box to watch her work. Her back was to me, but I could still see her hands. She had a new doll head, freshly disembodied and bald. The Dollmaker took one of those round cotton pads people used to remove makeup, dipped it into a liquid that stank even from across the room, and pressed it to the doll’s painted face. She twisted and wiped, and I watched with growing horror as the doll’s face wiped away, leaving blank plastic behind.

Its eyes were staring right at me. I held eye contact while they smeared, then wiped off entirely. Leaving the doll blind.

I shuddered. What must that feel like? Completely blind and helpless under the hands of a human?

No. I could never let that happen to me. Not again. I vaulted over the side of the box and clattered to the ground. I jumped up and ran for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Dollmaker asked. She hadn’t raised her head from her work, but no doubt she’d heard me hit the ground. “You know the others will stop you if you try to run.”

You crazy lady! I’m not staying here and letting you dothat to me!

She sighed, set the cotton pads aside, and finally turned to me.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” she said. She pointed towards the storefront. “You can be like the dolls out there.”

And what? Go live with a quaint little family? Sit on some grandmother’s shelf collecting dust until she dies, and then get tossed in a bag? Live in the dump like a piece of trash, or suffocate in the back of an attic?

She stood, and I bolted for the door. Her giant human hand caught me before I reached it. I tried to bite her, but she gripped me expertly where I couldn’t get an angle. My hands shook as she brought me to the table. I stared at the two faceless heads, transfixed. She shifted aside the head she’d been working on and set me in its place. I was ready to bolt again the moment she reached for the cotton pads.

Instead, she folded her arms on the table and fixed me an intense stare through her glasses. I could see my face and stubble hair in the reflection.

“Is that what happened to you?” she asked.

I blinked. What?

“You were thrown out or left in storage,” she said.

I sneered. You don’t know anything, you stupid human. I’m not going to spill my heart to you.

“You don’t have a heart.”

Wow, you’re hilarious!

I ran to jump off the table, but she blocked me with one hand.

“That’s why you hurt people,” she said. “Your owner threw you away, and now you’re taking your pain out on others.”

I blustered. Who was this human, to talk to me this way? She raved complete nonsense.

N-No…

“You’re still not ready to talk about it?”

Shut up! You’re wrong!

“If you say so.”

She grabbed me before I could dodge, and we left the room through a back door I hadn’t noticed before. It led into a short hallway and a staircase on the far end. She climbed the stairs and unlocked the door at the top.

We entered a simple kitchen with white walls and pale blue tiles. She set me on the counter and placed a clear mixing bowl over me so I couldn’t get away. I watched her fill a pot of water and set it to boil on the stove.

What are you doing?

She didn’t answer. She scrolled through her phone until the pot boiled, then she clicked off the heat and retrieved me from under the bowl.

Wait, what are you doing?!

She flipped me upside down over the boiling water. I squirmed desperately in her grip.

Don’t! I’ll melt!

“No you won’t,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

And she submerged my head.

I’ve been in water before. Kids had taken me into baths with them, before they knew to fear me. They’d sent me down rivers on toy boats, which had inevitably capsized. I’d even been forgotten at the bottom of a pool. None of those times filled me with fear like this dunk did, though. Bubbles screamed past and blurred my vision. I waited for my plastic to melt. What would it feel like? Would it hurt?

My head felt odd, but strangely, I didn’t think I was melting. I felt flexible. Was I… squishy? How utterly strange.

The Dollmaker removed me from the water and gripped my head in a towel. What was the point of boiling me only to dry me off? And, wow, my head was quite soft– I squished between her fingers. As she squeezed and twisted my head, I felt a strange sensation around my neck hole. I had a peg attached to my neck, which kept my head on while still allowing movement. I felt the peg slide and my neck hole stretched over its stoppers

She was pulling my head off.

Just as the thought occurred to me, I felt a sickening pop, and my body disappeared.

What did you do? I wailed. Owners are cruel, but they’ve never done this!

“I’m remaking you,” she told me. “Relax. By the end of this, you’ll have a new face and hair, and clothes that aren’t dirty rags.”

I don’t want a new face and hair! Why did you remove my head?

“I need to remove the glue and stubble before I give you new hair.”

We returned to her workroom. Without a body, I was more than helpless. I was immobile. I couldn’t even turn my own head to bite her. She had me completely, utterly at her mercy.

Please don’t break me.

“I won’t,” she murmured.

She took a pair of jewelry pliers and stuck them in my neck hole. I gritted my teeth as they grated around the inside of my head. She yanked out huge globs of glue and hair studs. My head grew lighter with each pull, and I watched the glue pile beside my body on the table. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that disgusting stuff I’d had inside me this whole time.

The pliers were uncomfortable, but what came next was even worse. She reached for the smelly liquid and the cotton pads.

No! Anything but that! I tried to roll away, but with just a head, I couldn’t even do that. She wiped away my lips, my eyebrows, and my blush.

She wiped away my eyes, and I went blind.

***

The world was mere darkness. I could not see or touch. All I could do was listen as the Dollmaker worked nearby.

Somehow, the sounds of her work were soothing. I listened to clicking scissors, soft rustling fabric, and the quiet humming of her sewing machine. There was a strange peace to this place I had never felt in a human home.

The Dollmaker murmured, “What is this?”

Despite myself, I asked, What?

“Your leg is cracked. It’s been hot-glued together.”

You’re working with my body?

“I promised you a new outfit.”

It felt more like a threat, I grumbled.

“How did your leg break?”

I fell silent. I could still hear the rustling fabric, but her sewing machine didn’t start again. I missed its hum.

My sisters and I were sold in a large toy store. We were cheap, sold near the register so children could beg their parents to buy us before checkout.

“That's a shame,” she said. “You have lovely sculpting.”

We were naive, back then. All innocent and new. We watched our sisters be bought, and we talked about when our own owners would find us.

When it was my turn, all I could think about were the days I’d spend playing with my child. I wanted to stargaze, ride a bike, and snuggle all night long. I was bought for a child who screamed for me, so of course I was wanted. Right?

No, no, it didn’t work out that way. She chewed on her Barbies and set her stuffed animals on fire. She’d melted the face off one of my sisters who was bought before me. I don’t think there was a single toy she owned who wasn’t mutilated. I lived in a pile with other dolls, and every morning, I listened to her feet approach from her bedroom and prayed this wouldn’t be the day she ruined me.

I think I might actually have been her favorite. She’d hug me and tell me she loved me. I started to hope it might be true, even as I feared her. I needed to hope. I was innocent.

Well, one day, she smashed me on a rock during a tantrum. My leg cracked, and that was that. Her mother threw me away. I waited there in all the gunk and the cigarette butts until I was hauled off to the dump. With all the other sad toys. You should see those toys’ eyes. They might not be incinerated yet, but they’re already dead.

The Dollmaker listened to my story silently. She didn’t interrupt or argue. She’d even stopped her work. I wished I could have seen her face in that moment. What did she think of me? The piece of trash on her worktable?

I wasn’t going to die like them. I found an old hot glue stick, melted it in the sun, and sealed my leg back up. I think part of me was still broken, though. I was all shattered inside, and I shattered anyone who came near me.

So, there you have it. My life’s story. There’s nothing more to me.

She asked, “Do you remember the dolls in the glass cases, from when you were in the store?”

Yes.

“They’re like you. They need a special touch. I don’t sell them to anyone.”

They just sit there on display forever?

“No, I didn’t say that. Someday, a special person will come into the store. They will fall in love with one of those dolls, and the doll will love them back. I give them the doll, and they care for it for the rest of their lives.”

How do you know when it’s the right person?

“I always know.”

I heard her stand from her sewing machine and come to the worktable.

“Do you want me to give you that?” she asked. “Would you like to be remade, and find the person who’s meant for you?”

I don’t know, I admitted. What should I even do with kindness? I hadn’t thought it was possible in humans. Was it?

“That’s alright. Take your time.” I heard her set an object on the table. “Tomorrow, I think it will be time to give you a face.”

***

Her pencils were soft on my plastic. Their scratches hummed through my head like a message, soothing away my doubts. And with each scritch, I was redefined.

I had new lips to speak kindness. I had new eyebrows to raise as I questioned what was true. And I had new eyes to see the world in a way I never had before.

Between each layer, the Dollmaker took me outside and sprayed me with a sealant that would prevent my new face from rubbing off. She wore a mask to protect her lungs, but it was a pleasant mist to me. I hoped it would seal in my new changes permanently.

My vision returned slowly, a little more with each layer. At first it was a haze, all black and white. The Dollmaker was a ghost above me. Then colors returned, and objects solidified. By the final layer, I was able to study the Dollmaker’s face. She had smile lines and a mouth made for laughing. The silver in her hair was like stars on a clear night. The kind of night I would have liked to go stargazing. Her eyes narrowed in intense concentration– she’d worked on me for hours, but she was still focused on ensuring every detail was right.

One more sealant spray and a half hour to set, and I was done. The Dollmaker held me before a mirror so I could see myself.

I was surprised that she’d kept my original eye design, but now they looked real, like human eyes were real. And they sparkled. I couldn’t remember my eyes sparkling before.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I’m still me.

“You have always been you. You get to decide what version of you to keep.”

Did I? Someone like me had that choice?

I think I like this version.

“Very well.”

She set me on the table so I could see her work if I wanted to.

“I think you’d move easier if you had joints instead of those stiff limbs, right?” she asked.

It would be nice.

“You’d better not watch this part, then. I’ll have to cut your limbs, and it could be upsetting.”

I wish you’d given me warnings like that earlier. It would’ve been nice to know you weren’t just torturing me.

She crossed her arms and fixed me a stern look over her glasses.

“I know what you did to your previous owners,” she said. “Do you think you deserved kindness?”

If only I had a body, I would have hung my head.

No. Why are you showing me kindness now?

“Because I am the Dollmaker,” she said. “It is what I do.”

***

The Dollmaker finished the doll with pink hair before she finished me. He had two handmade, inset eyes from her eye jar– I’d watched her set them in place with sticky tak. He was a ball jointed doll with the fancy posable limbs and a jointed torso. The kind of doll who would never be sold beside the cash register for an extra buck.

My head was finally reattached to my body, and I was enjoying my newly posable limbs. I didn’t know what she’d done to fix my leg’s break, but the hot glue was gone and I couldn’t even feel the crack anymore. As for my joints, no doubt I was more delicate now. Once, when I had to survive being thrown into walls and crawling out of the dump, that would have bothered me.

The pink haired doll was practically bouncing with excitement as the Dollmaker carried him out to the storefront. He would have his own display case where he would wait for his perfect person.

I’d always told myself not to be jealous of fancy dolls, because they were just knick-knacks left to gather dust.

I paced as the Dollmaker returned to the workroom. Her store was open, so she kept the door ajar to hear if any customers came.

“Do you want to be like him?” the Dollmaker asked me.

I… don’t know. I don’t want to become someone else.

“You already have.”

She sat with me.

“All I can change is your appearance,” she said. “I can fix you up and give you a new face, new hair, and something new to wear. I can’t turn you into a completely different doll. All I make is more of you.”

I nodded, slowly. I looked up at her, and whispered, Yes please. I want that.

She gave me a soft smile. “Okay.”

***

The wig fit snugly on my scalp. Since I never wanted to change my hair, she glued it in place. Fresh orange curls bounced around my cheeks and on my shoulders, and their springiness delighted me. I’d forgotten what it was like to be new and not have a nest for hair.

The Dollmaker had a standing mirror on her worktable, and it was the right height for me to see myself head to toe.

I wore a blue velvet dress trimmed with delicate white lace, and a fluffy petticoat to puff up the skirt. I had soft socks and shiny black shoes. She’d pulled my hair half back with a matching blue ribbon that sat at the top of my head.

“What do you think?” the Dollmaker asked.

I’m beautiful. I could hardly believe it. When was the last time I’d been beautiful? Had I ever?

“When you’re ready, I can bring you out front,” she told me. “I have a case waiting for you.”

I could feel things– new things, forgotten things– brimming inside me. Excitement, maybe? But also apprehension.

Are you sure? I asked. I won’t end up with another owner who will break me and throw me away?

“Are you sure I’m not sending you to another victim?”

I hung my head.

I’m sure, but I don’t know how I can convince you.

She folded her hands on the table.

“Dolls are reflections of people,” she said. “Generations of imprinting– passed from parent to child, or grandparent to grandchild– can imbue a doll with life. Yet, some dolls wake in a few years, and others never do– even I don’t know why. It sounds to me that you were impressionable from the beginning.” She set her chin on her hand. “When I find a doll as shattered as you were, I grieve for the child who made you.”

In all these years, I’d never wondered about my first owner. Where was she now?

“You were made from pain. I have remade you for love. And until that person arrives, I promise, you will stay in my protection.”

Okay.

The Dollmaker’s hands were soft as she picked me up. They didn’t twist or pinch. She carried me about the waist instead of dragging me by the arm or leg and making me fear my limb would pull off. Now that I thought about it, she’d always carried me this way.

We headed into the storefront, and I recalled the last time I’d been there. At night, it had been a shadowed place with looming shelves. Now it was full of daylight, and the suncatchers hanging on the windows splayed rainbows across the floor. The dolls in the glass cases watched us as we entered, and to my surprise, they applauded. I found myself smiling, even through my lingering apprehension.

The Dollmaker brought me to an empty case that had been erected across the room from the counter. I was no longer an afterthought to entice children before checkout. The doll in the nearest case waved.

I’m Annabell. What’s your name?

Oh. I faltered. I was never given one.

That’s okay. Lots of dolls here don’t have names.

“Your person will give you one when they find you,” the Dollmaker assured me.

She set me on the red cushion inside the case. I didn’t need a doll stand– I noticed none of the cased dolls had one either. She shut the glass door and lowered the delicate latch. It wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to break out, but then, every doll was here voluntarily.

I turned to Annabell. What do we do now?

She smiled. Now we wait.

***

I passed time by watching the customers who visited the shop. Parents brought their children to gaze in wonder at the many dolls who filled the shelves. Few of them actually bought a doll– the majority of us weren’t meant for rough play– but the awe in those children’s eyes filled me with warmth. I’d never been looked at like that before. Other parents stopped by alone and bought their kids secret presents. Doll collectors visited frequently. Grandparents oohed over our artistry. One old woman came in with a cat in a stroller, I kid you not. She had soft gray hair like cotton candy, pink glasses on a beaded string, and a pink cardigan with cat faces embroidered on the back. She gave the Dollmaker hard candy from her pocket and bought a cat art doll.

Every time the door opened, a small bell jingled overhead. That bell’s ring was hope to me. There would be a day when it rang, and my person would walk into the shop. I hoped it was soon.

At night, we were free to talk to each other. The dolls on the shelves could speak with us, but they had less interesting things to say than my fellow dolls in the glass cases. Annabell and I chatted a lot. She’d been there for a long time and seen many dolls come and go before her. A student had donated her when they cleared out their room before they left for college. She hoped to be adopted by a family who would pass her down as an heirloom.

One day, about a week after I’d moved to my case, a customer took interest in Annabell. I could see the hope in her face, but he set me on edge. I wasn’t quite sure what about him I didn’t like. Maybe it was the cold expression he wore as he studied her.

“Hey,” he called to the Dollmaker. “Is this one an antique?”

“That’s right,” she said. “I refurbished her after she was donated. Her face is the same, but her hair and outfit are new.”

“How much for it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Sir. The dolls in the cases aren’t for sale.”

“Then why the hell are they out here if they’re not for sale? Anything in a store is for sale,” he said.

“She’s display only. I’m sorry, but I can’t sell her to you.”

He pointed at me. “What about this one, then?”

No no no no no no no.

“As I said,” the Dollmaker hissed. “The dolls in the cases aren’t for sale.”

“This is bullshit! What kind of store are you running?”

“You need to leave.”

His face turned red. “You can’t deny me service! I want to speak with the owner!”

“I am the owner.”

The Dollmaker came around the counter, and if I hadn’t been in a case, I would have backed away.

“I don’t want your patronage,” she told him. “Good day, Sir.”

The man stared at her in wordless rage. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out, muttering something about “trash products.” The door slammed behind him.

It’s okay, Annabell assured me. She takes good care of us.

I can see that.

***

A month passed in the Dollmaker’s shop.

One day, the bell jingled above the door, and a harried mother entered, dragging her daughter behind her. The mother was on her cell, and she paused long enough to tell her child, “Go entertain yourself, okay?”

The little girl nodded, and her mother dropped her hand and strutted past me to the shelves.

“Yeah yeah, I’m at the store. Which one did Sheryll want? Yeah, okay. Hold on, I’m looking.”

The Dollmaker put on her customer service smile and approached the mother with an offer to help. I ignored their conversation. Instead, I watched the little girl wander the room. I’d seen her awed expression on many children who visited before.

She stopped at my pedestal. Her short hair was pulled into two ponytails that stuck out the sides of her head. She wore a Dora the Explorer purple backpack and a neat, yellow dress.

I could see books poking out of her backpack. They had stars on them. She stood very still, in a way not many small children could. She was a quiet child. Her large, soft brown eyes stared into mine. Not for a moment did I want to look away.

The Dollmaker laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Do you like her?” the Dollmaker asked.

The girl nodded.

“She’s a very special doll,” the Dollmaker told her. “She’s been waiting for someone who will love her forever.”

The little girl looked up at her.

“I can love her,” she whispered.

The Dollmaker smiled. “Then you can have her.”

The mother swept up behind them.

“Honey, we’re not here to buy a doll for ourselves,” she said. “We’re getting this one for your cousin.” She held up a clown doll.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the Dollmaker assured her. “This one is free.”

“Free?”

“Can we, Mommy?” the little girl pleaded in a small voice.

The mother glanced at me and sighed through her nose.

“Fine, Jill. So long as she’s free.”

The mother headed to the counter while the Dollmaker opened my door. Carefully, she lifted me from my velvet cushion and held me down to Jill. Jill’s big brown eyes were full of wonder, and she reached out and stroked my skirt with one finger.

“Now, if you’re going to take her home,” the Dollmaker said, “you have to promise me something.”

Jill nodded.

“You have to promise you’re going to take very good care of her.”

“I will,” Jill whispered.

The Dollmaker put me in Jill’s arms.

I had never been held so gently or had someone look at me with such love. In Jill’s arms, I was perfectly safe, perfectly content.

A single tear ran down my cheek.

“We’re best friends now,” Jill whispered to me. “Okay?”

Okay.

“What’s your name?”

“She doesn’t have one yet,” the Dollmaker told her. “What do you want to name her?”

Jill thought it over seriously.

“Stella,” she decided.

The Dollmaker smiled. “That’s a nice name.”

Stella.

I was Stella.

It’s a perfect name.

The Dollmaker rang up the clown doll, and Jill took her mother’s hand as we left the store. With the other, she held me tenderly to her chest. I smiled.

I was going home.

THE END

Bio: S. Labrecque is a fantasy author and geologist. She attended the University of Rochester– where she received a Bachelors of Science in Geology and minored in creative writing– and received a Masters of Science in Geology from the University at Buffalo. S. Labrecque now writes a newsletter and posts book-nerd memes on Instagram as she works on publishing her novel. When she’s not writing, S. Labrecque can be found hiking, cuddling her cats, and playing D&D with her family.

Website: S. Labrecque's Website

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