Ante Mortem (16 page)

What is that?

She plucked a piece from the mattress and held it up. It looked like the stuff Momma kept in her sewing box—the stuff she used to fill Mr. Roar when his padding got too squishy…

A giggle stole the moisture from Sarah’s mouth. She froze, the scrap of fluff falling from her hand. The click of wood striking wood sounded from beside the bed and then stopped. Swallowing hard, Sarah crawled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side.

The doll was nowhere to be seen.

A tangle of brown yarn peeked out from under the dust ruffle. Sarah glanced up and down the length of the bed, looking for any sign of the doll. Seeing none, she reached out and snagged the knotted mass from the floor. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes as she held it up.

Mr. Roar’s mane.

Sarah dropped the tattered mane, clambered to the other side of the bed and looked over the edge, searching for the doll. Nothing there. She moved to the end of the bed and peeked around the footboard. The floor was bare.

Where is she?

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, the cold knot in the pit of her stomach twisting even tighter as her brain began to draw the obvious conclusion.

She’s under the bed.

Sarah’s imagination kicked into overdrive, envisioning a pair of wooden hands reaching from beneath the dust ruffle to clamp tightly around her ankle the moment her foot touched the floor. She shuddered, skin crawling at the thought of the doll’s touch.

What am I gonna do?

Sarah gulped and turned to look at the door. If she could get out of the room, she could curl up with Momma until morning. Momma would be more than a match for some old doll.

She squinted at the door, trying to discern the distance between the bed and salvation. One good jump from the edge of the mattress would land her halfway. A few more steps and she would be out the door. Sarah stood up and stepped to the edge of the bed, hands shaking as she hiked the long nightshirt up to her knees. She looked at the door and took a deep breath.
Just get out and go to Momma’s room
, she thought.
Ready? One... two...

Sarah leapt from the bed and ran for the exit, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. The whisper of rustling fabric sighed through the room, spurring her on. She reached for the doorknob, gave it a twist and pulled.

The door would not open.

A scrabbling sound sent a cold shot of adrenaline surging through Sarah’s veins. She glanced over her shoulder, throat constricting as a pair of yellow eyes glared at her from under the bed. Biting back a shriek, Sarah grabbed for the doorknob and pulled as hard as she could. “Please open,” she whimpered, hazarding another glance at the bed.

The doll clambered from beneath the dust ruffle and scuttled across the room like some misshapen crab.

The door popped open with a grating screech. Sarah flung the door aside, stumbled into the hallway and skidded to a stop. She whirled around, jaw dropping at the sight of the ravenous toy tottering towards her, and lunged for the door, pulling it shut. With a soft sob, she backed away, her shoulders bumping into the wall behind her.

Can it open doors?
Sarah did not think so, but then she hadn’t thought dolls could eat stuffed animals, either. She tilted her head, listening for footsteps, expecting to hear the rattle of the doorknob any second.

Minutes passed with no sound of pursuit. Sarah stepped away from the wall and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A sharp snap followed by a grinding
crunch
reverberated through the wood panel.

Sarah dropped to her knees and peered through the keyhole, a disgusted frown forming on her face. The doll sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, a length of flesh-colored plastic clamped between its teeth. A shudder rippled down her back.

The doll was eating her Malibu Barbie.

Sarah scrambled to her feet and bolted for the safety of her mother’s room.

A tinny-sounding wail pulled Sarah from a restless sleep. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings, disoriented by the sight of the pale green comforter and bamboo blinds. Across the room a door stood open, revealing a beige countertop littered with an assortment of shampoo bottles and shower gels. The splash of running water burbled from the room.

Oh, I’m in Momma’s room
.

The water shut off and Momma exited the bathroom, drying her hands on the hem of her tee shirt. She switched the baby monitor off and sat down at the edge of the bed. “Mornin’, Sarah,” she said, leaning over to pull on her shoes.

Sarah ground a knuckle against her eye and yawned. “Mornin’, Momma.”

Momma finished tying her shoes and stood up. “Wasn’t sure if I was sharing a bed with my daughter or a mule; you kicked me pretty hard a couple of times, there.”

Sarah yawned again and frowned, trying to recall how she came to be in her parents’ bedroom to begin with. She remembered the Amanda dream and some of the scarier parts of the other nightmares she had suffered, but there was something else. Something to do with...

The doll.

The doll had devoured Mr. Roar and her favorite Barbie. It wanted to eat
her
. Sarah glanced up at her mother, debating whether to tell her about the doll’s carnivorous intentions. She
wanted
to tell her, but…

An angry wail cut through the walls. Momma sighed and regarded Sarah with a weary frown. “Your sister’s teething again,” she said, wincing at a particularly ear-splitting shriek. “Between her crying and your kicking, I barely got any sleep at all.”

Sarah bit her lip and looked at the comforter. She knew how Momma felt. “Sorry, Momma.”

“
S’okay,” Momma said through a yawn. She reached out and brushed a tangled lock of hair from Sarah’s face. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. Just tired is all. I don’t mean to be so cranky.”

Momma patted Sarah’s cheek and turned towards the door. “You want some breakfast?”

Sarah slumped against the pillows. “I guess so. Can I have waffles?”

“
Sure. Go get dressed and brush your hair. Waffles should be ready by the time you get done.”

“
Okay.”

Sarah slipped the covers off and got out of bed. Still dazed, she shuffled out of her mother’s room and headed for the stairs, the tatters of last night’s events flittering through her mind.
Maybe I just dreamed all that stuff
, she mused, wrapping her fingers around the handrail. She supposed it was possible. Momma always said she had a ‘vivid imagination’. Sarah was not sure what ‘vivid’ meant, but figured it had something to do with the way things always seemed so real to her, even when they weren’t.

She reached the landing and turned to the left, staring at the door to her room.

But what if I
wasn’t
dreaming?
Sarah did not want to risk going in there until she knew for certain. She sidled up to the door, knelt down and peered through the keyhole.

The doll sat in the rocking chair, looking much as it had when Sarah went to bed. Its golden curls gleamed in the early morning sunshine, not a lock out of place to indicate it had even moved, much less eaten her toys. Sarah sighed and stood up.

See? You just dreamed it
, she thought, reaching for the doorknob and giving it a twist. The door creaked open. Sarah pushed it wide and stepped into the room. The dresser stood by the opposite wall, next to the window over the rocking chair. She glanced at the doll out of the corner of her eye, and then marched across the room.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she neared the rocker.
Don’t look at it
, she thought,
just get your clothes. You can get dressed in the bathroom
. Eyes on the floor, Sarah continued past the chair and opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. She pulled out a pink tee shirt and a pair of shorts, and turned to leave.

A silvery glint caught her eye as she hurried past the rocker. Sarah paused and looked directly at the doll for the first time since she entered the room. The shimmer seemed to be coming from somewhere near the doll’s right side, peeking out from between the satiny folds of the dress. Sarah took a step back and tilted her head.

There appeared to be something in the doll’s grasp.

Chills snaked across Sarah’s shoulders. With a quivering hand, she reached down and quickly flipped back a fold of pink material. The shorts and tee shirt fell from her grasp, forgotten, her eyes widening as she gazed at the object clasped in the doll’s fist.

Amanda’s hairbrush.

The doll’s mouth clacked open. Sarah jumped, her wild-eyed gaze swinging from the brush to the cracked, wooden face. Bits of cotton batting and flesh-colored plastic spilled over the doll’s lower lip and rolled down the front of the satin dress.

Sarah backed away from the rocker, the tightening of her throat reducing her shriek to an inaudible gasp. Not waiting to see if the doll would move again, she turned on her heels and ran out the door.

“Momma!”

Sarah barreled into the kitchen and threw her arms around her mother’s waist, nearly knocking the woman over. The plate of waffles fell from Momma’s hand, crashing to the floor and startling the toddler in the highchair. The baby jumped and began to whimper.

“
Sarah! What the hell is wrong with you, child? I—”

Sarah began to babble, the words tumbling from her lips in an incoherent stream of sobs and sniffles. Trembling, she told Momma everything: about the Amanda dream and the doll’s glowing eyes; about Mr. Roar and the silver hairbrush. All of it.

Momma pried Sarah’s arms from around her waist and held her by the shoulders. “Calm down,” she snapped, giving her a little shake. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Sarah sniffled and explained it again, trying to keep the hiccups and hitches out of her voice with little success. Momma’s brow arched higher and higher as Sarah went on, the look on her face shifting from concern, to incredulity, to one of annoyance. With an upraised hand, Momma cut her off. “Okay, Sarah, that’s enough,” she said, her tone as grim as her expression. She gestured at the teary-eyed baby and the stacks of boxes strewn about the room. “I have a lot of work to do today. I don’t have time to play games right now.”

“
It’s not a game!”

Momma sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Look, hon,” she said, massaging her forehead with the tips of her fingers, “I know things have been crazy with Daddy’s new job and the move and all, but you can’t act out like this. I—”

Sarah shook her head, her blonde hair whipping about her face. “I’m not making it up,” she shouted, stomping her foot. She hitched the sleeve of her nightshirt up, revealing the purple bruise on her shoulder. “See? That’s where she bit me!”

Momma peered at the bruise and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It looks like a normal bruise, hon. You were digging around the attic all day yesterday. You probably just bumped into something and—”

“
No, I didn’t.”