The Heirloom: A Short Story
Caroline Harrow gently prized the doll from her daughter’s hand and placed it back onto the table in front of her. The table-top yard sale that she’d decided to visit was a lot busier than she’d expected, and she wanted to get her daughter out of the way; home and dressed before her father picked her up later that afternoon.
“Please mum!” she begged, her face screwed up tightly. She pulled at Caroline’s sleeve and pouted her lips in that expert way she had come to develop. The Victim Look, Caroline inwardly called it. She rolled her eyes. “Sarah, sweetheart, you probably have two hundred dolls at home! You don’t need another one. Now let’s get back, I’ve things to do.”
“No, mum, but she’s special! This dolly is special!” Sarah reached for it again, and held it up, as if pushing the old and musky item before her mum’s nose would change her mind.
The elderly woman sitting behind the table – it was her yard-sale, and she had effectively tipped the entire contents of her home onto her lawn, somehow even managing to make space for the curiosity seekers, who were milling about and picking at the items displayed before them – chuckled and nodded towards the doll. “She can have it, please. What use have I for it?”
Caroline smiled. “That’s really very kind of you, Mrs…?” She left the sentence hanging pregnant between them and waited.
“Mrs Handcome. Nice to meet you.” The woman, who was tall with greying hair, wore wide, out-of-date glasses that magnified her eyes, making them appear too big for her face. She smiled warmly and reached her hand over from where she stood, taking Caroline’s in her own. Caroline felt a flash of goose-bumps run along the length of her skin and wanted to pull back, but she remained still, fixing her smile in place, trying to be friendly to the older woman. Where had that come from? She silenced the question and turned to her daughter.
“See what you’ve done? Making all this fuss. Lucky this kind lady is so understanding! Okay, you can take the doll….however…” Caroline fidgeted and rummaged through the contents of her bag and produced her red leather purse. “I’ll have to give you something,” she said, meeting Mrs Handcome’s eyes.
“Not at all, I refuse! I was letting it go for a pound anyway – I’m sure I can manage without a silly doll, and it’d make my day to see a young girl happy!”
“I’m not that young,” Sarah instantly replied, smiling down happily at the doll. “I’ll be eight next month!”
“Well then, you’re a big girl, right?” Mrs Handcome said. “Make sure you take good care of her, won’t you? I’ve had her in the home for years. She is somewhat of an heirloom, so to speak. She used to be mine, when I was a child. She was my mothers, until she passed away, and her mothers before that. There’s a couple of children still in the family, but they’re young boys…and we know what boys think of dolls, right?” The old woman pulled a mock expression of horror, and smirked.
Sarah giggled. “They always think dolls are yucky. I love them!”
Caroline placed her purse back into her handbag. “You are sure? I mean, if the doll is a family hand-down, I don’t want you to regret giving it -”
“Please! I’ll hear no more of it! Make an old woman happy. Take the doll.” The older woman paused for a moment, staring across the table to Caroline. A moment of silence lapsed, and she repeated it, firmly, as if some decision had finally been made and accepted. “Yes. Take the doll. My family have no use for it now!”
“Yay!” Sarah hugged the doll close to her chest, delighted with her new-found treasure.
Caroline nodded. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Good luck with your move.”
Before the other woman had a chance to reply, Caroline took her daughter’s hand in her own and led her toward the car, which was parked outside the local grocery store. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
She looked up at the greying sky, felt the chill in the air, and winced. She knew bad weather was on the way.
* * *
She’d been right; the weather was terrible. At least they’d made the drive home before the rain had lashed down heavily, coating the ground and air itself in steep water. It was only two fifteen in the afternoon, but the greying light of the day made it seem impossibly later.
After preparing lunch, Caroline ate at the table with her daughter. It was only after doing the washing up, and noticing that she hadn’t heard Sarah for some time, that she dried her hands off on the tea towel and made her way up the stairs. She shivered; the heating would have to go on later. Winter was approaching rapidly. The very air itself spoke loudly of the turning seasons.
“Sarah honey, what are you up to? Don’t forget your dad will be here to pick you up in an hour. I hope you’re getting your over-night bag ready?”
She paused outside her daughter’s bedroom, her ear pressed to the door. She could hear quiet whispering. An imaginary friend? Or playing on her toy mobile phone? Caroline waited, trying to make out the words. Perhaps it was paranoia, but since the divorce, Caroline had been waiting for a change. The Change. Something to turn, to rotate in her daughter. Risen from some kind of anger, perhaps, or upset, or even betrayal. Wasn’t it to be expected, given the quick change in her little life? That her dad had up and walked out literally over-night surely had some kind of traumatic effect on Sarah. It certainly has on me, she thought inwardly, trying to fight back the surge of anger that always accompanied thoughts of her ex. If we never shared a daughter, the little shit wouldn’t come anywhere near me, or this house, ever again.
Caroline couldn’t make out the muffled words from behind the door, and her daughter had not replied to Caroline’s question. “Honey, I’m coming in!” She knocked once and threw open the bedroom door. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed, the new addition to her doll collection in her tiny hands. She was staring down at it, a smile inching at the edge of her lips, stroking the dark, black hair that hung limply from the toy.
Caroline shivered again. Goosebumps appeared, lightly dimpling her skin. What is it with that doll! She stepped in and joined her daughter on the edge of the bed. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Sarah, not taking her eyes away from the doll, nodded. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she, mum? I told you she was special.”
Caroline peered down at it. “Yeah, sure she is,” she lied. Caroline thought it was ugly, repulsive, even, yet she couldn’t place why. Certainly the features all seemed to be in the right place. The doll, perhaps about ten inches, wore a green Victorian-looking dress. She had long, dark hair, and her face, which was plastic, was painted in beautiful detail – the eyes a startling green, the lips a cherry red. Yet Caroline couldn’t shake the feeling that it was ugly, unattractive, that there was simply something wrong with it.
“You really need to get your bag together, baby. Get your night clothes, your toothbrush…. we’ll need to start giving a set of these items to your dad soon, so you don’t need to pack anything… but for now, you need to, okay?”
“Can I bring Joanne?” Sarah asked, looking up at her mother’s face, finally.
“Joanne?”
Sarah held up the doll.
Caroline grinned. “Yes, of course.”
* * *
She poured herself a glass of red wine and sat back, staring at the monitor screen of her computer. Her ‘working-table’, as Caroline had always called it, was situated in the far corner of the lounge, where she could get a good view of the TV whilst working. It also meant she could see Sarah, when she was in the lounge sitting in her special pink chair, watching her favourite cartoons. Of course, with Sarah having already been picked up by her dad (awkward atmosphere), and the TV listings looking as inspiring as a wet day in Grimsby, Caroline had resigned to spending her Friday evening going through some work she had taken home from the office, and to checking her emails – something she’d neglected to do for a while.
She took a sip of the Rosé wine and enjoyed the warmth of the alcohol, as it spread throughout her chest and body. “Happy Friday to you, Caroline,” she said softly, surprised at how she was feeling; having the usually noisy and busy home to herself was not something she was accustomed to.
“Right. Get on with it.” Caroline tapped her short, red nails onto the keypad and opened up her email’s inbox. Four new emails listed at the top were highlighted in bold italics– three from work colleagues, and one from a friend who was on holiday in Canada.
She chose to ignore the three from work, and guilty marked them as read. She opened the email from her friend. Attached to the short message was a photograph, of Brian, posing in front of a wooden cabin, the sky pregnant with snow, and the ground plastered in white with snow and frost. He was grinning, his cheeks burning red with cold and his nose red at the tip. He was giving the camera the thumbs up, looking ever the enthusiastic holiday maker.
Caroline couldn’t help it; she found herself smiling at the picture, glad that her good friend of nine years was enjoying himself. She scrolled down and read the message: “Hey Cazza! It’s me! Hope you’re doing well, and I hope that ex of yours isn’t being a total prick. Canada is as cold as expected, but I’m guessing things aren’t exactly much better in London, right? Anyway, all is good here. Eating lots, travelling lots, beautiful place to be honest. You and Sarah would love it. I’ll call when I get back next Friday. Brian.” Caroline clicked off the message. “It feels as cold here as it looks there,” she said to herself, pulling her black cardigan tightly around her.
She was about to return to her document section, to find her work folders, when she heard a small tapping noise from the front door. Confused as to who would be knocking at this point in the day, Caroline pushed back her chair and walked down the corridor to the front door. She peered through the frosted glass, trying to make out if anybody was there – but she could see nothing, not even the silhouette or outline of a person. She waited a moment, hesitating by the door. It was dark outside – it was probably gone eight in the evening, she wasn’t expecting anybody. Whoever it was, she wasn’t pleased about it.
Tap, tap, tap.
There it was again.
Caroline sighed, annoyed at her own timidness, unlocked the door and swung it open.
Nobody was there. But I heard it. Twice.
She stepped outside, onto her porch and looked into the street. She peered left, then right. She saw nobody, not even a dog walker.
She was about to turn to go inside when she felt a fluttering feeling against the back of her legs. Like a rush of fabric. Shocked at the contact, she spun around, expecting to find the neighbours cat, but all her eyes met was empty shadows.
“Shit.” Caroline shivered, a pang of nervousness in her stomach, and quickly marched back into the house, bolting the door inside after shutting it.
Probably kids. They’ll be out Trick or Treating any day now. She tried to accept the thought, tried to find comfort in its logical reason and rationality; but something inside of her was uncoiling, becoming bigger – a fear, an unsettled feeling, growing like the unfolding of clammy hands.
Caroline grabbed her empty glass from the lounge and padded into the kitchen. There, on the side where she had left it, was the half-empty bottle of wine. She topped up her glass, and took a long drink from it.
“He-heee!”
Caroline dropped the wine glass, and it shattered by her feet into tiny fragments and splinters.
Fear grew within her as she heard the sound a second time, like the giggle of a small child: “He-heee!”
It occurred to her, momentarily, that Sarah was still in the house, that she was playing some kind of trick on her mum. Yet that was ridiculous, Caroline thought. I saw her get in the car and drive off. I stood outside, and waved her off. I saw her go.
“Ha-ha-ha…” The small, tiny, feminine sound of laughter echoed and bounced around the quiet house, and Caroline had no clue where the source of the sound was. At first she thought it was there, in the kitchen with her, but the second and third time had sounded far away, as if perhaps upstairs, or in the bathroom.
“Shit! Is somebody messing about here?” She tried to sound forceful, angry and steady, but Caroline could not deceive herself – she knew that she sounded shaken, nervous, unsure.
She considered for a moment calling the next door neighbours, or perhaps phoning the police, but she felt stupid. She baulked at the idea. She could just imagine it now: “Hi officer, yes, I can hear laughing. Please come straight away!”
Trying to allow her feelings to subside, Caroline stepped over the broken glass and stood in the hallway, at the bottom of the stairs. “Hello?”
No answer. No more laughter.
She took a few steps on the staircase and stopped halfway up, peering up to the hallway above. It was cast in evening shadow, but Caroline could see nothing, could see nobody; everything looked like it should be. “This is bloody stupid!”
She almost ran to the top of the stairs, trying to beat off her own fears, and went to each of the rooms there. The bathroom was empty, still and quiet, except for the drop of occasional water seeping from the cold tap. She peered into her own bedroom, snapping on the light and taking in her surroundings. It was a mess, her own clothes piled high in the laundry basket, but it looked normal.
She took a step towards the last room. “Sarah’s Room” it said on the door, in bright, red colours. Here, Caroline hesitated. Wasn’t the door left open, after Sarah came down from packing her bag? Caroline grabbed the handle and stepped inside the room. The bedroom window was open, allowing a cold, autumnal breeze to seep into the small space. The bed was made. Her toys were neatly arranged on the small shelving unit. Caroline turned to leave, when she saw it.
The doll.
It was sitting straight on the edge of the bed.
Sitting up impossibly straight, as if supported by hands. A floppy, material-padded doll should not be sitting up like that, Caroline thought, and shuddered. Familiar goose-bumps returned to her skin.
She padded to her daughter’s window and pulled it shut. Then she paused by the bed, looking down at the still doll. She reached for it, and lifted it. Suddenly, Caroline felt a sharp pain, and she dropped it. The doll fell almost soundlessly to the floor.
Caroline looked at her hand and saw that three little drops of blood were forming on her index finger. It stung. She peered closer, and felt repulsed when she compared the marks to tiny teeth marks.
She took a step back and looked at the doll. Perhaps something sharp on the material? She reached down to lift it, but recoiled when the doll moved slightly, out of her reach.
Caroline gasped, lifted her hand to her face and kicked the thing under the bed.
She bounded out of the room and slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. This is it. I’m going crazy. I’m seeing things. Her mind raced, and she wondered if she’d drunk more wine that she’d perhaps realised.
The shrill noise of the phone broke into the silence and Caroline felt her heart pick up speed again. She jumped, unnerved at the raw noise which seemed so over-powering in the silence of the house, and ran down the stairs to answer.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard her daughter’s voice.
“Hi mum!”
“Hello darling, how are you?”
“Alright.”
Sarah sounded glum; a little off. “What’s up?”
“Dad says I have to go to bed. It’s too early, tell him, mum!”
Caroline peered over her shoulder, still nervous from her experience. She glanced down at her hands; pricks of blood dotted brightly against her pale skin. “Honey, this is between you and your dad.”
“Mum, but I’m not even tired!”
“Sarah, I thought you packed your new dolly, the one from the yard sale?”
“Huh?”
“The dolly you got earlier, from that old woman.. I thought I saw you pack it?”
“I did.. she’s here with me!”
“Honey, she can’t be there with you… I saw her in your room.”
Sarah sighed heavily, annoyed at her mum. “No, you’re wrong.”
“Go and check in your bag, sweetheart, please, for mummy.”
There was silence, followed by a clatter, and a few moments later, Sarah returned. “Oh… you were right mum… it’s not here… I could have sworn I’d packed her.. I know I packed her! You saw me do it!”
Caroline felt a wave of ice cold fear envelope her entire body, and she felt stunned. Her mind returned to earlier; the little knocks at the front door, the rub of something against her back legs by the front door….
She tried to stop the thought, but it came: It was almost as if the little thing had managed to find its way back home..
Caroline’s hand gripped around the phone receiver, and she clutched it tightly, waves of confusion washing over her tired mind.
A small thud behind her shocked her back into the moment and she turned, slowly this time, scared of what she might see, of what she might find there, hidden in the shadowy gloom.
The little Victorian doll was standing there, amidst the spilt wine on the kitchen floor, a large shard of the jutting and dangerous broken wine glass in its hand. She barely had time to register what was going to happen before the doll ran towards her, spilling her off of her feet.
“Mum? Mum? Mum, what’s happening? Can you hear me? What is it, mum?”
The line went dead after Sarah heard a small, light giggle echoing down the line.
THE END
Part Two: Read the second part at Halloween
