Moving to Texas wasn’t exactly in my plans, especially in the middle of the school year. Rick, my mom’s appalling boyfriend, got a job transfer, and my mom felt that we should move with him to “show our loving support”. Those were her exact words, even though she knows I don’t support him and will never consider him a fatherly figure. My mom is completely oblivious to that fact and thinks that someday we will define the perfect small family. Even Rick in his most drunk state wouldn’t believe that.
. . . . . . . . . .
I opened the old, rusted, black iron gate and made my way to the front door of the house. I heard it close behind me with a long squeal and then a click. The house looked to be at least 100 years old with the roof never being replaced, for shingles blew off in the wind and flapped around, barely hanging on. Planks of wood stuck up on the stairs and on the porch, creating an eerie feel. Siding on the house was peeling off, exposing what lie beneath while the chimney crumbled on the roof. The lawn probably wasn’t mowed for at least two years, for the grass stood up to my waist. The front door was connected by one remaining hinge, and as I tried to open it, it became unconnected and dropped before me. Not the best first impression. I stepped inside and looked around. Old furniture was covered with sheets and dust blanketed anything that was exposed. I whipped off one of the sheets that covered a round table in the foyer and set down the box I was carrying. All of a sudden, I heard the creaking of floorboards upstairs.
“Mom? Rick? Are you upstairs?” I yelled up, hoping for a response but not getting one. The wind whistled through the windows that had cracks in the glass. Window shutters slammed up against the house repeatedly, sounding like an amateur drummer on a new set of drums he received Christmas morning. Then suddenly, everything went silent again. A strong wind blew which caused an old newspaper to come tumbling to my feet and stop there. I bent down to pick it up and read the title. The headline read “Local Kidnapping Ends Fatally”, and it was dated February 29, 1958. The paper was turning yellow and the edges were torn. Underneath the headline was a picture of a young, bright, blue-eyed girl with hair the color of the summer sun. The white flowers in her hands along with her white dress helped show off her broad smile that was displayed across her face.
“There’s something you need to know about that night,” someone said behind me. I spun around and saw no one.
“Who’s there?” I screamed. An old doll with red yarn hair appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Please don’t be scared,” the doll stated. With further observation, I noticed that the doll only had one eye and its apron was torn.
“What...what is going on? Dolls don’t talk. I must be going crazy,” I spit out while I paced back and forth. This was all too much for one day.
“You aren’t going crazy, Bailey. Please come upstairs, and I will explain everything to you,” the doll explained, still standing at the top of the staircase.
“Uggh, I don’t know,” I said. Outside I heard Mom and Rick fighting over anything and everything. “Fine, I will come up,” I finally decided. I took one more look outside the window to check on Mom and Rick and bounded up the stairs. The doll lead me to the end of the hall and into the last room on the right. I halted in the doorway. The room was fully furnished from lace curtains to pink walls to a canopy bed. Covering everything were spider webs and dust. Dolls scattered the floor while some sat around a table waiting for their friend to come back with tea. Some had missing eyes and limbs. The more I stared at the room, the more the flaws showed through. The lace curtains were torn and falling off the rod. Mice scat covered the floor. The window was cracked open, spider webs were sprawled across the walls, everything looked aged. Yet, it looked like the little girl that owned this room was coming back any minute. The blankets on the bed were folded back carefully like someone woke up there this morning. Dresses hung up in the closet on their hangers. Perfectly ironed, perfectly sorted.
“Take a seat, Bailey,” the doll exclaimed, pointing to a pair of pillows on the floor. I chose to sit on the pink one with water damage.
“What do you have to tell me?” I asked the doll.
“The newspaper article that blew to your feet earlier today told of an event that took place in this very room. The little girl in the picture was Ellie Mae, my best friend,” the doll said with a sad tone.
“What happened to her?” I asked as I took in my surroundings once again.
“Ellie Mae was a four-year-old girl that lived here with her daddy and step-momma in 1958. Ellie loved her dolls, me especially. She took me everywhere with her, even to her first day of school. Ellie deserved so much more than what she was given. Her daddy was an old drunk, and he was very abusive to her. She would come home from school, and he would beat her for no reason. Ellie would have to go to school with bruises and cuts almost everyday, but she was the type of girl that would still smile on the worst days. You would see no tears coming out of those blue eyes. One night, Ellie’s daddy came home late. He just got home from the bar, and he was angrier than ever. Ellie was upstairs sleeping with me by her side, and her daddy came pounding up the stairs and into her room. He beat her, hard, yet she didn’t make a sound. He challenged her, yelled slurred words at her, but she didn’t say a peep. He grabbed her and shook her. Angry at her silence, Ellie’s daddy took her down the stairs and into the truck and drove her out onto the forgotten country roads. Ellie of course grabbed me on the way. In the truck, her nervous, nimble fingers played with my button eye. After a while, my eye just popped off, sending her daddy into another frenzy. He pulled to the side of the road and beat her again. He took of his belt and whipped her. Whip. Whip. Whip. Whip. Ellie’s body crumbled to the ground, me in her hand. She was beaten lifeless. Her daddy became frantic, not sure of what he did. He grabbed her tiny body and took it into the woods. When he was far enough away, he put her body up against a tree and covered her with leaves. Before he left, Ellie’s daddy grabbed me to take back home. As we walked away, I saw Ellie’s tiny feet sticking out from the leaves. That was the last time I saw her. Ellie’s daddy drove straight home and put me on her bed. With his aggressive grip, he tore my apron before he set me down. The next morning, he destroyed the house and opened the window to Ellie’s room and raised the ladder up to it. The police were convinced that it was a kidnapping. Ellie’s daddy wasn’t the smartest southern man, but he sure had the police fooled. Her body was found nine months later, and by then her body was too decomposed to notice the beating marks. Ellie’s case went on for two years before the police set it aside. Her daddy lived with the guilt and drank all day, every day. He died three years later because his kidneys stopped working from all the alcohol. I sat up here all these years,” the doll concluded.
“What does this have to do with me, though?” I challenged.
“You are Ellie Mae reborn,” the doll calmly stated, pouring some tea into the cups on the table.