DOLLY

Linda Farnsworth drove as if a life depended on it. She loathed having to go there again—the family estate. Once upon a time, she had promised never to set foot within those aching walls again. Now, she couldn’t get there fast enough, cursing herself for leaving her only daughter, Piper, with the man she loathed almost more than the estate—Piper’s father. God knew what she’d find after getting there. When Piper phoned her, there had been a calmness, almost a humorous note in her voice. But Linda knew her better than anybody, and she’d detected that certain undertone, that nuance that hadn’t been encountered since her daughter was five. And that frightened Linda. It frightened her more than anything else did or could. What had her thirteen-year-old daughter done?

Piper had always seemed like a normal child, or as normal as a little girl could be, having been born into wealth. Except…she had an oddness about her. Not odd in a way that could mark her different from other children. (Although, everyone noticed a peculiarity in her.) It was her obsession with having the perfect doll. Yet, it was more than that. A manic preoccupation, as if her lifeblood depended on it.

Her father, Edward Farnsworth, hated that about her. That, and the fact that she was plagued by a mild case of Asperger Syndrome. (Oh dear, I forgot to mention that.)

Her diagnosis was as subtle as her condition. It would’ve gone unnoticed if it wasn’t for her consistent lack of empathy. At first, it was believed that she was a spoiled child, but then, she exhibited the signs of sociopathy.

In her daily dealings, she was much too tense. That was, until she was given a doll. Then, like the sun after a hurricane, she was calm again.

Edward, being a retired commander in the US Navy and a self-made multi-millionaire out of Silicon Valley, viewed his daughter’s inclinations as a stain on his family’s name. “Why in the fuck is she so obsessed with dolls?” he’d ask often of his wife, Linda. “She’s a girl, and girls love dolls,” she’d say.

But that wasn’t enough for old Edward, who secretly blamed Linda for never producing a strong son.

One day, when the family was sat down for breakfast at their Maryland estate, an event set into motion a domino effect that would change them forever.

“Piper has asked for a new doll,” Linda said. She sipped her coffee while staring at her daughter, lovingly.

Piper, who’d brought her current doll down for breakfast, behaved the way many little girls would: she stroked its hair and pretended to feed it toast.

“What’s wrong with that one?” he said from behind his morning paper.

“It’s not the doll,” Linda said. She was almost giggling. All the while, smiling at Piper and relishing the bond the two of them shared.

Piper smiled back.

“It’s a goddamn dolly. Play with it,” Edward said. He broke the paper down in half and leered at his daughter. “Didn’t I buy that one last week?”

Piper leered back at him. “Yes, but—”

“Every girl longs for the perfect doll,” Linda said. It was natural to come to her daughter’s defense. “When I was her age, I had the perfect friend. A doll named Madeleine, who accompanied me everywhere. It’s only natural.”

Edward returned to his paper. “Natural, if you’re a retard.”

The table went silent.

Piper’s gaze grew stronger as she clutched the antique doll under an armpit. Then, she addressed her father. “You’re mean.” Her eyebrows furrowed for all to see. Referring to the doll, she announced, “Francis isn’t my favorite.”

Again, Edward folded the paper and glared at his only child. “Then why do you insist on carrying the filthy thing around?”

“Because,” she said. Old Edward was all ears. “Because she’s all I have until I find the perfect dolly friend.”

Linda smiled. She enjoyed her six-year-old daughter’s rebuttal.

“Heh,” Edward grunted. “You two are made for each other. What a waste.”

What type of man says such things about his family?

That thought had found its home in Linda’s mind daily, until she’d had enough and left him. For seven years, she’d maintained the promise. Then came Piper’s thirteenth birthday.

“Why do I have to go?” Piper said to her mother.

“Because, it’s your birthday and your father wants to see you,” her mother said.

They were on their daily walk on the trail behind the expensive townhome the two of them shared in Annapolis.

“I don’t like to see him,” Piper said.

“You shouldn’t say such things about your father,” Linda said. A smile grew on her face.

Piper ignored it. “He killed my friend, you know,” she said.

She was referring to the time when she was eight. In a fit of rage, Edward, trying to teach Piper to sail, had snatched the doll that she insisted on bringing and tore its limbs apart, tossing them into the Chesapeake Bay. Why couldn’t my child be normal? Why did my child have to be afflicted with something so dreadful? Why couldn’t I have had…a boy?

Piper never forgot.

Linda, not knowing what else to say, spit from her lips the biggest lie. “Your father loves you in his own way. You may not see it, but he has some good parts to him.”

“Well,” Piper said, clutching a sock doll in her hand, “he owes me the perfect dolly.”

Piper’s drop-off to her father was always the same. Her mother would drive the same spent Volvo wagon. She’d honk the car horn while driving once around the circular driveway, then park a few yards from the entrance, never at the front door. Piper suspected it was to watch her walk to the door.

Piper could always feel a tremendous amount of love coming from her mother’s stare.

There was none from her father.

Whenever Samuel, the butler, welcomed Piper, Linda would wait no less than five minutes before leaving—Piper swore she once saw her mother crying as she drove away. This day was no different, except it was her birthday, and she was forced to be there.

As always, she stood in the doorway, remembering her mother’s prompts. (Be kind and don’t forget to smile. It’s your birthday, baby. Now, do something for Mommy. Hide the doll I’ve given you.)

Immediately, Piper stuffed the doll down in the purse she always carried. Down below the pastel nail polish, below the lip gloss and hand cream, Piper folded the ceramic doll to the bottom where her father would never look.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Farnsworth,” Samuel said as he led her for the “umpteenth” time to the library where her father was a perpetual fixture.

With her purse over a shoulder and hands behind her back, Piper waited while Samuel pried open the sliding doors. Then, she followed his footsteps with her eyes, listening to the sound as it disappeared around the corner.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you coming inside?” her father said. The light from an elongated window illuminated his back, leaving a menacingly dark silhouette of his torso as he sat behind a massive desk. “So, it’s your birthday, again.”

“Yes,” she said, but she still failed to cross the threshold.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come and sit down.”

Piper did as she was summoned, keeping her purse tightly at her hips. It wasn’t until she’d sat down that her eyes met his.

“Where is your mother?” He asked.

“Gone. She always waits for me to come in before she leaves. I think she worries about me.”

Edward leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. “It figures. She was always much too sentimental.”

“I don’t think so,” Piper said. Her gaze bore through him. “She loves me.”

Edward ignored the explanation. “Tell me now. How old are you?”

“Don’t you know?” Piper said.

“Of course, I do. It would be nice of you to go along.”

“I don’t feel like going along; I feel like going home.”

Piper dropped her head as if she were pondering something.

“Well, you’re here now, so you’ll have to deal with it,” Edward said, and he was good and proud when he said it. “You don’t like me, do you?” Piper thought again of her mother’s suggestions and remained silent. “I’m your father, and daughters always love their fathers. How can you love your mother more?”

Piper leaned forward in her chair. Reaching deep into her purse, she pulled the hidden piece of an imaginary friendship from the bottom and sat it upon her knees. Looking directly at her father, she leaned forward even more and rested her chin on a balled-up fist. “You still owe me a dolly,” she said.

The sun’s rays burned, seemingly on purpose, into Linda’s coffee. She watched the steam with thoughtless abandon.

The local coffeehouse was her favorite resting place until it was time to pick up Piper. Rarely did Edward keep the girl overnight, and the one time he did, Linda found herself holed up at the hotel across the street. She just couldn’t leave her baby—not with him. There was always something under the surface of their being together that alarmed every cell in her body. A something that she refused to put a finger on (if she could help it).

So, until her daughter called, she would sit for hours and let any bizarre feelings brought on by boredom express themselves. (Like when she rubs her hands together just to watch the dust from her clothing dance around in the beams of light. And fuck anyone who’d watch her doing it.)

After a second large caramel mocha and a half-dozen mini vanilla scones, sad thoughts engulfed her mind.

Knowing the type of man, she had once called husband, the fear of what he might say or do to their daughter obsessed her. It wasn’t so much what he would do but how Piper would perceive it.

No one knew her daughter the way she did. No one understood what Piper was capable of doing. Not even Linda, if she were being honest with herself. Yet, there were always signs. The first had come when she was five-years old.

Poor Ricky. The little boy from her kindergarten class, who was rushed to the hospital for a broken nose. The catalyst was the Raggedy Ann doll that Piper had been carrying at the time.

When the school called (and private schools rarely do unless there’s a problem with a patron’s donation), Linda had known it was bad.

If little Ricky had only kept his taunts at bay, Piper wouldn’t have used the classroom globe to nail him across the face until she had found satisfaction. The result was Ricky being carried away on a stretcher.

What possessed you to do such a thing? Linda had asked her daughter, later.

He called my dolly ugly, was Piper’s response. He shouldn’t have made fun of my friend.

Then, there was the other time, when a neighbor’s corgi chewed the hand off her Barbie. Piper stood at the window and shot a piercing look at the dog for a solid week. Shortly after, the dog’s collar was found on top of some hedges. And, although there had been no trace of foul play, Linda always suspected that her daughter knew something about the disappearance. Piper never spoke of it, and the dog was never found.

Linda stood up to stretch her legs. A new supply of teas and coffee that waited in the corner in whimsical decorative tin containers would be just the thing to clear her mind.

She let her eyes scan each shelf until a can with beautiful, bright colors commanded her attention. Picking it up, she thumbed the papyrus-like paper that was branded on the lid. It read: Dolly’s Southern Comfort: a blend of chamomile, mint, lemon peel, and rose petals.

Was it a sign? She was through.

Back to the table she went, resting her head in her hands, and watched life unfold on the other side of the window.

Then, she remembered the look in her daughter’s eyes when she had dropped her off. There had been something different in Piper’s face before she left the car. It was fleeting, but Linda caught it. A vacant look that Piper only revealed when she was too upset to speak. Linda realized that nothing good ever came from it.

A chill ran the length of Linda’s spine, but she was able to shake the feeling. Piper was older, now. A young lady. She’d learned to control herself through communication training and behavior therapy and hadn’t exhibited any malicious signs in years. As far as Linda knew, this was a case of her overactive imagination.

Then, why was she so worried?

Piper sat at the dining room table, watching her father drink bourbon and walk around, snapping his fingers to the classical jazz recordings piping through hidden speakers—mostly Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five,” which must’ve be set to repeat because Piper had heard it at least five times.

“You like jazz?” Edward asked.

“I don’t know,” Piper said as she reached for her purse.

Edward kept his fingers snapping. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You either like it or you don’t.”

“I only hear it when I come here,” Piper said. Now she was digging into the bottom of her purse.

“Well, what does your mother listen to?”

“Stevie Nicks. She listens to a lot of Stevie Nicks.”

Edward stopped snapping and gripped the back of a chair. “I see,” he said. “She was never one to appreciate real music.”

“I don’t know,” Piper said. She caught hold of her dolly, pulled it out, and laid it on her lap.

“So, I see you’re still playing with dolls,” he said.

“They’re the only friends I have.”

Edward looked around the dining room, taking notice of the empty chairs that should’ve been filled with well-wishers. “Well, now, what would you like to do today?” he said.

She thought for a moment, pressing a finger to her lips. “Where’s Samuel?” she asked.

“Who knows? Somewhere around, finding something to polish.”

“Today, I would like some wine. Do you think he would show me the cellar?”

Her father’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. The thought of his doll-carrying daughter finally gathering the nerve to drink gave him hope. Perhaps I’ve rubbed off on her, after all. Wine isn’t as substantial as a bourbon, but it is alcohol, and she asked for it without the presence of her mother. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but why don’t I show you?”

“No!” she said. “Mother thinks I should learn to connect with people, more. I agree. I would like for him to show me.”

“Okay, okay,” Edward said, barely able to contain himself. “When did you start drinking wine?”

“I haven’t, really. Mother would never allow it. But, I’m thirteen today, and I would like wine.”

“Say no more. Samuel, get your ass in here! My daughter wants to see the cellar and have a glass of…” His mind drew a blank. “What would you like, red or white?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” her father said. His smile grew wider by the second. “Today, you can have both.”

Piper watched her father’s excitement with dispassion until Samuel sauntered through the door.

“There you are! My daughter wants to see the cellar, and today, give her the best wine down there,” he ordered as if his life depended on it. This was the rarest of moments, when she actually bonded with her father. (Had she known all it took was alcohol, she would’ve started drinking years ago. Still, he owed her the perfect doll, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it.) “When you return, I have a special cake for you.”

Every year, her father offered the same cake—a buttercream masterpiece from one of the ritziest bakeries. Yet, Piper never ate the cakes. Instead, she forced fed (mostly the icing) whatever doll she brought with her. The rest would go to her mother.

“Shall we go to the cellar?” she said to Samuel.

Samuel smiled and parted the dining room doors. “Right this way, mademoiselle,” he said.

Piper placed her dolly friend under her arm and the three of them made their way to the cellar.

The cellar was just off the library. A pretentious, colossal, wooden door, more fitting for a castle than a mansion, guarded the entrance.

“So,” Samuel said, looking down over a shoulder at Piper, “you are thirteen today, yes?”

“Yes, I am,” she said.

Piper loved Samuel’s French accent. She’d often pretend her dolly friends had such an accent.

“This is why you require wine,” he said. A subtle smile broke across his normally stoic face. “When I was your age, I had drunk more bottles of wine than you can count.”

“I don’t know. I can count really high,” she assured. “Isn’t that right, Jenny?” She held her doll up for him to see.

“Of course. Wine is good for the soul.” Samuel then used his shoulder to break the door from its latch. “This way, hon. I am sure we can find a suitable wine for such a grown up lady.”

Piper smiled and offered her free hand, and they steadied themselves down the stone steps that led down into darkness. The cool, stale air and musty scent increased with each step, and when they’d reached the bottom steps, Piper swallowed the air as if she had generated it.

Click! Samuel pulled the string that was connected to a lonely lightbulb at the bottom of the stairwell. “Boo,” he said just for fun, but Piper’s face was as if it were constructed of stone. “Did I frighten you?”

Silence.

“Where are the wines?” she asked, as though he’d said nothing at all.

“Here, mademoiselle,” he said before switching on all the cellar lights. “Voila.”

There were hundreds of bottles laying on their sides.

“Perhaps you would consider something fruity. I know a beautiful Riesling,” he said, picking up the first bottle he saw.

“My father said I could have a red and a white, and he said the best.”

“Of course,” Samuel said. He placed the bottle back and began to patrol the aisle for the perfect wine.

“Do you have a family, Samuel?” Piper said out of nowhere. She hadn’t said more than a few words to him over the years. “I’ll bet you have a big family that loves you a lot.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I was married once, but there is no one, now.”

Piper followed him through the maze of shelves until he’d landed on a section of reds. “Voici,” he said, handing her a large, dusty bottle.

“And white,” she said.

“Yes, of course. Come this way.” He motioned.

“Do you have children?” she asked.

Samuel continued to search the shelves. “No. We didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

“Oh. What would you have wanted? A girl or a boy?”

“I wanted a boy. You know, someone I could play football with,” he said before homing in on a bottle.

“You could play football with a girl,” she said.

“I suppose…”

There was a moment of silence between the two before Piper spoke again. “My father wanted a boy,” she said.

“Really? Why do you say that?” he said, but he was only half listening.

“He doesn’t like my dolls. He wants a stupid boy.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“It’s true. Are you calling me a liar?”

Samuel stopped searching for a moment to look at Piper’s face. It was void of anything. “I would never call you a liar, mademoiselle.”

“Good, because it’s true. Plus, he’s promised me the perfect dolly and hasn’t delivered. Now, what do you think of that?”

“I think your father has a lot of money. I’m sure he will, eventually.”

Piper laid her doll down on a tasting table. “I don’t believe he will, but I’ll make him.”

Just then, Samuel found what he was looking for—a Riesling from Cologne, Germany. Using a ladder that was used for retrieval of top-shelf wines, he climbed until he was near the top before stretching to reach a perfect bottle. Only after it was in his hand did he answer her. “How do you plan on making him?” he said as he began to descend.

“It’s a secret, but you will help me,” she said.

“Really, how?”

“By disappearing.”

It took only a second before he’d realized her last two words: By disappearing. By then, it was too late. A vibration—more like earthquake tremors—shook both he and the ladder.

His first reaction was to jump, but he was far too high up, nor did he care to injure his boss’s daughter in the process. But the tremors not only continued, they increased.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he navigated his footing. There was no answer, and he feared the worst. Then, he looked down.

A ghoulish face stared up at him. It was the eyes—eyes he thought he’d never see in an adult, let alone a child—that alarmed him the most. And, she was wearing an apron embroidered with her family’s crest. Her father had dozens of them, used specifically as parting favors for visitors. But…Samuel didn’t recall her putting on one.

Finally, it occurred to him. It’s her. She is rocking the ladder, he thought. A small grin revealed itself on her lips.

By now, he was more than halfway down. At its worst, he would only sprain an ankle, but why should he? She was only a child.

Then, she did something that made him regret his decision. She picked up the large wine bottle that sat on the ground beside her. Tightening her small hands around the neck, she held it as if it were a Louisville Slugger, and began to ascend the ladder.

“What are you doing!” he said, but she remained mute, staring. And when she’d just about reached the heels of his shoes, her hand cocked that bottle around and swung with everything she had, directly to his Achilles tendons.

The pain was searing, and he let out a cry before falling sideways onto the hard stone. And then there was blackness. In the blackness, he heard her giggle, and as the darkness gave way to a hazy light, he opened his eyes to find Piper standing over him, bottle still in hand.

“I told you. You’re going to help me get my dolly,” she said. Then, she closed her eyes and raised her arm once again. The words “go to sleep” were her last before she brought her arm down in a chopping motion in the area where Samuels head would be. She did that again, and again, and again until her body gave out. After it was done, she folded the splattered apron and wiped off the bottle, then took one in each hand.

Piper climbed back up the cellar steps and went looking for her father.

Bored with the coffee house, Linda decided on a little window shopping. There was only a couple of hours left before she would have to pick up Piper, and she needed a distraction to slow down her mind. Only a few steps out the door, her feet had landed her in front of a boutique dedicated to babies. Oh, how cute, she thought when a baby blue jumper caught her eye.

She knew what was next. It was her mind playing the game of what ifs. What if she’d never gotten a divorce? What if Piper had been born normal? What if the doctors were wrong about her uterus and she could have another baby—a boy, then the man she once called husband wouldn’t have been such an asshole.

Linda despised having such time on her hands to think. It cast her life in a confusing and complicated light, as if every past moment had been destined for failure. Why else would she have married a man, given birth, only to leave him? A man that was worthy of half her heart and nothing more. A man, she was sure, never truly loved her. But she had tried to make it work, despite her feelings, even when his distaste for their daughter was apparent. Even when his ambivalence toward her grew paramount.

He was a good man. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have married him. But…then why was she so embarrassed? Her family was respectable; she’d attended Maryland University on a full scholarship. She’d married well (or so her friends had said), became a mother, and had loved her then-family with all the depth of her soul in a way that she never thought fathomable. Still, there was something missing.

By the time she’d passed three shops, that something became obvious. She was partly responsible for the destruction of her family. Sure, she’d administered a few niceties to her daughter concerning the girl’s father, but every ounce of her being had hoped that Piper would see exactly what she saw in Edward—that he was not fit to be in their lives.

Yet, there was a small part of Linda that turned back each day since leaving and wondered if things would’ve been different had Piper not been born. Or, had she been a normal child.

The thought disgusted her. What type of mother ponders such things?

Piper was the only thing that made life worth living. Nevertheless, it was also her daughter that scared the shit out of her the most. And, although she loved her precious baby, there was no amount of love that could stop the fear and wondering of what Piper would do next. Whatever it might be, Linda had lost many a night’s sleep speculating.

Edward was shocked to open the dining-room door to find Piper seated at the table. She sat erect, her hands cupped together upon it, and for once, there was no doll of any kind.

“Where in hell is Samuel?” he said.

Piper smirked. “I gave him the evening off.”

“But your cake. What about your cake?”

“I’m hungry,” Piper said, as if she’d heard nothing. “I would like a sandwich.”

“Samuel!” Edward yelled.

“No! No. I told you I gave him the evening off. I want to make it myself. I’m a big girl.” She stood straight up. “Now, where is the smoked turkey?”

Edward looked at her in disbelief. “You really gave him the evening off, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yes,” she said without a care. “The smoked turkey?”

“In the kitchen, I suppose. I’m not sure if there is smoked turkey. I don’t remember it being on the menu, and Samuel always checks with me concerning the menu.”

“Never mind, I’ll find something,” she said before storming in the direction of the kitchen. Her father followed like a lost boy. “A touch of honey,” she said of the slices she’d found. Then she folded a few onto artisan buns, even made a sandwich for her father.

He watched her slather on mayo, pickles, pepper jack, tomato, onion slices, and a bit of pepper. Then, she cut each in half and offered it to her dad.

The two of them ate in silence, and when they were done, Piper removed the plates.

“That was one hell of a sandwich,” he said. “But, I’ll bet you’re ready for some birthday cake.”

She smiled at him from the dishwasher just a few feet away. “I will get it,” she said.

“In the pantry,” he said of the tiny room that was next door to the kitchen. No one ever used it but Samuel. “But it is your birthday. I should go and get it.”

“No. You stay. I’m capable of getting my own cake. I’ll be right back.”

Edward watched his young daughter saunter out of sight and smiled with the pride of a father who had raised a wonderful child.

After five minutes, Edward checked his watch, turned around in his chair, and glanced at the closed door. The retrieval of the cake should’ve taken no more than a minute at the most. “Everything okay in there?” he called.

No answer.

He was just about to check on her when the latch on the kitchen door clicked. “Ah, there you are,” he said, not turning around. “Do you like your cake this year?”

“It’s perfect,” she said.

He tapped the table in front of him. “Here, put it down and you can cut it.” But then, he felt it. A sharp pain at the base of his skull. It felt like lightning had struck him square in the head, and he doubled over into a darkness.

When the darkness faded, Edward found himself in another space. The clearness of sight had abandoned him, and his head ached like nothing he’d experienced. Then, he felt a damp, sticky sensation that trailed down his neck and onto the collar of his crisp shirt. It was then that he realized it was his own blood. He’d been knocked out, but by who? Why? And where was Piper?

“Piper!” he yelled, struggling to pull himself together, but it was pointless. His body was no longer under his control. Looking down, he saw his extremities harnessed tightly to a wheelchair. “Piper!” he again yelled.

“I’m right here,” she said. Her voice was soft, haunting, unnerving.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he said, trying to look over his shoulder.

Piper eased up behind him. He could feel her breath over his shoulder. “I’ll bet you’re wondering where I found it,” she said while striking the wheelchair with her hand. But that question was the furthest from his mind. What he really wanted to know was why he was nude, save for the soiled boxers he was wearing. “I found it in the utility closet. Remember when you used it for Grandpa when he came for a month? I’m really glad you kept it.”

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Why am I strapped to this godforsaken thing?” It was his intention to sound lackadaisical, to fall back upon his military training, but this child brought forth the things of his nightmares.

“Because. Because you would try to stop me.”

“From what?”

“From my perfect dolly, of course.” Then, she began to push the wheelchair to a table in a corner of the room.

Now, his eyes were clear and for the first time since coming to, he could see exactly where they were—the shed that sat in the rear of the property.

No one had ever used it, as far as Piper knew. Her mother once petitioned for it to be converted into a guest cottage, but that fell on deaf ears. Piper would put an end to that. She chose the space for a special reason—to construct her perfect dolly.

Edward’s nerves began to unravel when he was finally able to get a good look at her. Her eyes. They were shallow and empty, and she fidgeted a great deal. Mostly with a few objects that were neatly organized on a small table, which she brought over and placed beside him. Upon it, a basic saw, hacksaw, blow torch, shreds of gauze, and a sewing needle threaded with yarn.

“What the hell is that?” he said after seeing the table of tools. Piper couldn’t bring her mouth to open, but she could put back on the apron she had worn in the cellar. Edward squinted his eyes when he saw her in it. “What is that? Is? That? Blood?”

“Remember Mr. Diddles?” Edward’s face grimaced with confusion. “He was my favorite dolly, but you destroyed him.” Her father’s confusion doubled. “I wish you hadn’t pulled his arms and legs apart.”

Finally, he recalled the incident. He even remembered tossing the unstitched pieces into the bay. But that was long ago, and the humor he had felt in doing so had long since evaded his mind.

“That thing was a hindrance, when all I wanted was to teach you something,” he said.

“But that doll was my favorite friend. My only friend. Don’t you see? And you took him from me. Now, you’re going to keep your word and give me back the perfect doll.”

Edward clenched his fist and tightened his arms and legs to no avail. The double straps around each extremity made simple movements impossible. “Get me out of these goddamn restraints this instant, ingrate,” he demanded.

“No! Not until you keep your word and give me my dolly.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a doll. The best one money can buy. Now unstrap me.”

“That won’t be necessary, Daddy. I’ve been researching such a thing on the internet. It was all about making dolls,” she said as she went through each tool on the small table. “I can have the perfect doll after all.”

“If you don’t release me at once, I’ll…”

Piper looked at her father struggle with the eyes of a scientist observing an experimental mouse in a maze. And when she pulled from the apron a gag, and tied it around his head, stuffing a majority of it into his mouth, visions of his days as a war captive flooded his system.

“This is to keep you quiet,” she said.

Edward struggled against the gag and his own saliva.

“What? You want to say something?” she asked before removing the gag.

“ARE YOU CRAZY? Release me, now!”

“Do you promise to be quiet, no matter what?” Edward sat in awe, neither confirming nor denying. “Mr. Diddles never complained, even when you tore him apart…a real trooper. Now, you will have to do the same. Especially since you will be my new Mr. Diddles. Can you do that, Daddy?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Edward pretended to not have a clue. The alternative was unthinkable. She was his daughter. Odd and eccentric, but she wasn’t mentally sick. Not in the way that his imagination had created. No, she simply needed a good talking to, and then she would unstrap him and he could finally get her the psychological help she needed.

But she didn’t release him. In fact, she double checked that the harnesses were doing their job. “If you start to scream, I’ll have to resort to Plan B,” she said.

Plan B? he thought. What is Plan B? He would soon come to know Plan B, intimately, after she raised the basic saw in her tiny hand.

The air in the shed became thick and hot with the stench of her intention. Made more so by the fireplace Edward had installed. One in which a fire was roaring beautifully a few yards from them. In it, a poker sat perched at the ready, but ready for what?

When she grasped the saw with its blade catching the light of the fire, Piper’s intentions became undeniably apparent—to make her father a living doll.

“Wait, wait,” Edward said. Yet, his pleading fell on deaf ears. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time. We can get you help.”

Piper placed the blade of the saw where Edward’s shoulder met his clavicle. “I don’t need help; I need a dolly.” Then, she began to recite the procedure in her mind. First, I remove the left shoulder.

A good three swipes of the saw and she was forced to fall back upon Plan B—the needle and thread. If her doll was intent on yelling, her only option was to sew the mouth shut.

One, two, three, she passed the needle through both top and bottom lip until they resembled specimens of shrunken heads discovered more than a century ago. There. Now, the sound was scaled down to horrific grunts, followed by incessant whimpering. On to the procedure.

Let’s remove the left arm. But there’s a stubborn bone to tend with. Thank God for the apron. It catches the filling and fluids. That was smart thinking. Oh no. The edges are too rugged. I’ll need the C-shaped saw with the skinny blade to smooth things out. Next, the poker-thingy. It’s been sitting in the fire long enough. If I lay it on the openings, the filling should stay intact.

Extreme muffled screaming trailed behind.

It worked. The filling has stayed intact, albeit not pretty, but at least Daddy has grown silent. Perhaps, he needed a nap. On to the right arm. But, I should saw in that dent. It seems softer there and, hopefully, I won’t have to deal with any more bone. One, two, three, four. Wow! It came right off. That was a smart call. Now to fix the uneven edges. Again, the poker will work its magic. My new doll has made things easy by going to sleep. No longer will I have to hear the awful noise escaping its lips. Okay, the legs. But, I should cut at the knee. It would be so funny to see my doll with little wiggling legs. There’s another dent; I should cut there. One leg, poker, the second, poker. I can remove the thread, but I’ll keep it for now. My doll looks funnier that way.

The room smelled of fried meat and reminded Piper of Thanksgiving preparations when her father came back from hunting and wild game was on the menu.

After a couple of hours, she sat facing her new doll, waiting for it to awaken. When it finally did, she was beside herself. Across from her sat the perfect dolly. Her good friend, Mr. Diddles, had returned.

When Linda’s ringtone for Piper, “Please Don’t Go,” signaled, it was already two hours past the usual pickup. Linda was relieved. One more minute and she would’ve been a broken wreck, sprawled out over a gutter. She answered on the second ring.

“Mom! Mom, are you there?” Piper said with uncharacteristic excitement.

“Yes, baby. Are you ready?” Linda said.

“Oh, Mother,” Piper said. She could hardly catch her breath. “Father has given me the perfect doll. This is the best birthday ever.”

Something deep within gave Linda pause. Call it a premonition. Call it an unexplainable knowing, but the sense of something gone terribly wrong filled her with dread.

“Where is your father?” Linda asked, afraid of the answer.

“He’s here,” Piper said.

It was then that Linda heard that certain something in her daughter’s voice. Only she was aware of it, and it always meant something unsavory.

“Piper, honey. Is everything alright?” Linda hoped for better, but when her daughter requested that she come quickly, she feared the worst. “I’m coming now, baby.”

It didn’t take long. Before Linda knew it, she’d busted through the parking garage as if she owned it. She had to get to her daughter before something went awry. If she could get there in enough time…

When Linda reached the front door, she clubbed it with the side of a hand. In her haste, she’d forgotten to press the doorbell. Then, after a few moments, Piper swung open the door. The look on her face was both startling and telling. A subtle smile and eyes that gleamed visibly. “Hi, Mom,” she said as if she were welcoming Linda home.

“Where’s Samuel?” Linda asked. Piper said nothing. “What’s happened?” Terror halted any advances to cross the threshold. But it was too late. Piper had already turned and ventured inward. Linda reluctantly followed. Linda then noticed Pipers polo shirt, tucked haphazardly into plaid skirt. Piper’s default look. Except, the pure white cotton of her shirt was splattered in a sanguine color that had reached all the way down the skirt itself. Again, Linda asked, “What’s happened?”

Piper turned and smiled over a shoulder and shuffled her feet with the excitement of a child handing in an exemplary report card. Then, she stopped at the door that led to the library.

“Mommy,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Remember when you said Daddy wasn’t all bad? That he had good parts to him?”

Linda confirmed the memory by nodding her head.

Piper took her mother by the hand and opened the door. “I want you to meet my new doll,” she said.

The room was filled with darkness, but it was also filled with something else: a sticky, sweet, metallic smell that permeated the air. Linda barely kept her lunch down before Piper switched on the lights. There, in the center of the room, Linda locked eyes with what looked like a semblance to a man. It was, it was the man she had once known. The terror in his eyes matched the shock in hers. He looked like a jigsaw puzzle. But what really stood out was his mouth, stitched up with yarn. Could this be real?

“Remember? Remember when you said Daddy has some good parts?” Piper again taunted.

“Oh my god. What have you done, Piper?” Linda said.

Her daughter giggled. Then she pointed to a wicker basket filled with what looked like waxed extremities. “What part would you like?”

End