Her Plastic Heart

With an arm full of white bath towels, I walk down the dark corridor of the second floor. Passing a mirror in the hallway, I stop and examine my reflection, as if it somehow has changed since the first day I arrived here.

Pale skin, long blonde hair reaching a couple inches below my chest. Not a stain to be seen on my all black corset dress that practically drags on the ground.

My dark blue eyes are nearly black in the dimly lit hallway. There is nothing special about my features, I myself am plain looking compared to the others. I have watched the other maids gaze for long minutes in the mirrors, mirrors have always disturbed me.

The sound of glass smashing against the black marble floor echos throughout the entirety of the hotel. I know it came from the dining hall. I’m sure it was that newly wed couple. Humans and their clumsiness, or carelessness for that matter. I turn sharply from the mirror and walk in the direction of the spiral staircase at the end of the hall.

“Again? Those filthy pigs broke another tea set?” I mumble while dashing into the broom closet at the end of the steps.

Finding a steel dustpan and broom, I rush into the room where the culprits have already escaped into the ballroom.

Probably to dance the night away while we clean up their never-ending messes.

“Lauren, a new one has arrived,” Carol, my closest friend tells me while grabbing the dustpan to help me.

Her hair is strawberry blonde and reaches her shoulders. She wears a baby blue corset dress and a white choker.

Sometimes I wonder why we look the way we do. The other maids look all different as well. Are our own designs simply random though? I don’t even know the face of the man that created me, the Dollmaker.

That’s right, I am a doll.

The only reason I know of the Dollmaker is because of the tag taped to my arm upon waking up in this trashed mansion and the rules he gave us.

The tag I still have in my room, as a reminder of my beginning. On the front of the tag was my name.

Lauren.

The word was the first word I ever spoke, Lauren. I could only think it could be one thing, my name. And of on the back of it read, his doll.

The first day I came to the hotel, on the front door was taped a large piece of parchment with rules for the hotel and us.

We never question the rules, they keep order and we all fear what will happen if we dare to break them. Simply because every time someone breaks the rules, they disappear.

After the first day I arrived here, more dolls showed up besides me. One new one has come each and every day. As of today, there are nearly two hundred of us running this place.

We all wear similar gothic dresses to match the theme of the hotel. Most of the other hotel maids wear lighter corset dresses. Several times, new maids have come with packages delivered to specific maids as well.

A maid’s name will simply be on the box and usually, there is a new dress or delicacy inside. Many of the other maids call them gifts.

One only needs one dress and treats are not necessary for a doll’s survival. So even though I have been here the longest, I am not offended the Dollmaker has sent me nothing.

My simple black corset dress is all I need, unlike the rich humans who come here with bags and bags of the useless garments. I have always been careful to keep my dress clean because I know it’s all I have.

Dolls do not sweat or get as easily dirty or smelly as the humans. I’m so glad I’m a doll, humans are such nuisances. The humans, of course, have no idea we are dolls. It will always stay that way too. After all, the first rule on the Dollmaker’s list is to never tell a human you are a doll.

I don’t know why you would want to anyway. The less they know the better, such nosy creatures they are.

Every doll is to memorize the rules of course, which is the first thing I teach the newbies. We have lost many dolls who disobeyed, we never know what rules they break. Only that they disobeyed the Dollmaker’s rules.

And on the back of the original rules was the Dollmaker’s own message.

You are my dolls, my precious girls. Obey these rules and you will live in peace. You may refer to me as master, you will be the maids running this hotel. You will take care of the guests and each other.

-The Dollmaker

I do not see what the purpose of us cleaning up after them is, when we are meant to kill them.

The Dollmaker sends us letters in the mail stating the names of the guests to be killed. Each day is the same, we read the new letter and kill the assigned guest or guests.

There are no exceptions.

I do not question the Dollmaker’s orders either because I have seen how disgusting and cruel the humans are to us.

“Pathetic,” I whisper.

A stocky man with thinning brown hair and a green sweater vest and jeans walks by me while dropping a cup of water carelessly on the floor. George Oxford, he came here three days ago with his wife. Oh, I can’t remember his wife’s name, I think it started with an “S”.

Carol makes a scoff as she watches the older man leave the room without bothering to pick up his trash. Too bad for that man it’s already after dinner.

And even more so, it’s his day to die. I watch with a smirk while Carol follows the man out of the room. Soon after, another maid walks into the room.

“Lauren, did you hear the rumors of Miriam and the dark-haired man? She still has not disposed of him. He was to be taken care of yesterday.” Emily tells me in a monotone voice. She is one of the newer dolls, her personality has surfaced. However, like most new dolls, her voice is still monotone. I can tell she will be one to gossip.

“She will be gone soon. Now keep quiet about such things, unless you want to disappear too,” I warn her quickly, secretly shocked that Miriam would do such a stupid thing with a human.

They are not worth a second of our time. Forming any kind of attachment with one is like befriending a parasite.

I have seen the ways humans watch Miriam though, their eyes full of lust as she sashays around in her silver knee-high dress, it was a gift from master of course. Her original one was to the ankles, like mine.

I do not know why master picks favorites, I just know I am not one of them. I would never want to be. It seems every other doll who receives a gift from him ends up in trouble.

After marching up the spiral staircase to the third floor, I knock on door 302. The door belonging to Michael Buknel. The man Miriam was supposed to kill yesterday.

“Open the door please,” I say loudly trying to use a sweet voice, it makes the humans more at ease before the kill. When no one answers.

I continue knocking on the door with narrowed eyes. After a minute, Michael opens the door. So she really didn’t kill him.

Not wasting any time, I pull out a blade hidden beneath the fabric of my corset and stab it into the man’s heart.

Blood gurgles in his mouth and even sprays onto my face and I jump back before his blood gets on my dress. Walking around the dead man’s body and into the room, I pick up a red hankerchief from the dresser and wipe the blood off my face.

“No!” I hear Miriam scream while running towards Michael. She was hiding in the bathroom. She runs by the gigantic, unmade bed with a look no doll is to wear, love. She has lost control of her composure over the vile man at our feet. Miriam should know better than to neglect her duties by spending more time getting to know a human. Who knows what she was up to these last twenty-four hours. All I know is she neglected her duties.

I don’t care if she merely was just chatting with the fellow because she risked her life doing it.

How many rules does she plan on breaking all in one day?

“You are not human! Master will be angry. What were you thinking keeping him alive?” I say quickly while pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut, leaving the lifeless man’s body inside.

“I do not want to be a doll. I loved him...”

Her long black eyelashes blink several times, but nothing falls. Dolls do not cry, only humans do because they are weak.

“You can not love. Do not pretend the rules do not exist. Don’t you realize what you have done?! You will disappear when master returns. You have failed,” I tell her gravely.

She nods her head stiffly and walks down the steps in front of me, lowering her head in shame.

Dolls do not love. It is another rule, among the many. We are to feel no human emotion.

Since I am a doll, I am unfamiliar with how emotions work and how I would even know if I have emotion is beyond me. I know dolls are supposed to be emotionless towards guests, but we all have our own thoughts and attitudes.

I just don’t want to be left in this hotel alone.

I suppose that’s why I bother looking out for the others, helping them learn the rules and scolding them when they don’t. I hate having to do it, but the rules are enforced and dolls do go missing.

“You failed,” several maids say in unison tilting their heads to the side in pity as Miriam takes the walk of shame into the kitchen to help prepare meals for tomorrow.

All of us dolls are fairly decent looking, but we all have our imperfections. Miriam arrived here a week after I did though. She is thinner and taller than I, brown wavy hair with exotic green eyes.

“Help us finish dinner,” I state softly while finding my place among the other maids running around like headless chickens. I grab an apron off one of the top kitchen cabinets and tie it around my waist.

Every day is the same. We greet the guests, serve them breakfast, lunch and dinner. After dinner, we are to kill the assigned guest or guests.

Each death is the same, we wait for them to leave the dining hall and wander off.

Then, depending on who’s turn it is, we kill them by stabbing them in the heart or by whatever means necessary. Today was Carol’s turn and I do believe she has already finished the job.

It is always messy to clean up as well. Dolls do not bleed or cry. Dolls do not even use the bathroom. Although, sometimes I see newer maids use the mirror to check their appearance. Humans sometimes do the same thing, staring into the mirror and not even using the toilet.

Unlike humans, our eyes are glassy looking, but our skin is just like theirs and our hair is real, it just never grows.

We do not require food though which is why I will never understand why master sends gifts such as that. Yet some of us maids do eat, even though it is pointless. We have our five senses as well, but eating food is just a waste of time.

In our free time, well there is no free time. Humans require assistance all day and our duties are to comply to their wishes as well as the Dollmaker’s.

Having to finish Miriam’s job, I have forgotten earlier Carol informed me of the new arrival. Quickly, I set down the wooden spoon I was stirring soup with and pour the soup into a large cauldron that sits in the fireplace to keep it warm. Then I set my apron down on the counter and exit the kitchen.

Entering the main hall, I find the new maid standing with a blank expression a couple feet in front of the front door.

Several guests walk by her giving her funny looks, I suppose they find her stillness strange. They probably don’t know she is new and they certainly have no idea she is a doll.

“Your arm please,” I ask while staring at the dangling light purple tag on her wrist.

“Jasmine,” I read out loud, while untying the tag from her arm.

Out of habit, I read the back too. And I find it reads the same thing all of our tags do on the back, his doll.

“Jasmine,” she responds slowly.

Something within my chest thumps every time a new doll says their name for the first time. It’s a feeling that has haunted me since when I first spoke my own name, perhaps it is what the humans call a sixth sense. None of the other maids have talked about such a thing. They wouldn’t though, for it is nonsense.

Her dress matches the color of her tag which is not too unusual. Her red hair is braided back in a bun and her hazel eyes watch another maid walk by us with new interest.

“You are a doll. You are also a maid who will help us run this hotel. I will help you learn what you need to. Do not be afraid of us, I will show you your room,” I explain while walking up the steps to the fourth floor.

The fourth floor is where we maids sleep. I do not know why we dolls need sleep, but we do. Otherwise, we would be too tired to work, yet we require no food to survive.

Once reaching the fourth floor, I walk down the hallway and guide her to her room. I show her the simple twin-sized bed with a lumpy mattress and bedside table. The walls are painted a dark maroon color and a painting of a cat sits above the headboard. A room fairly identical to all of our bedrooms.

Only the guests get luxurious rooms.