The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

“They do look like you and your family, don’t they?” Belinda said.
“What are they?” Annie asked.
“Why, they’re worry dolls of course. More interesting and well-made worry dolls, but
still, creatures on which to place your deepest fears and darkest desires all the same.”
Belinda watched as Annie returned her gaze to her lap; Abbie’s had never wavered from
there.
“Shall we play with them?”
“Sure,” Abbie said, and though Annie felt her sister’s enthusiasm was wrong,
perverse even, she felt the undeniable urge to agree. As if handling an injured bird, she
transported the dolls to the surface of the coffee table. With equal care, Abigail did the
same.
When all eight dolls were laid out before them, Belinda leaned forward and said,
“Where would you have the Mother-doll go this evening?”
Abigail took the Mother-doll between thumb and forefinger and stood her on the
oak table.
“Out,” Abbie said, in an eerie, toneless voice that Annie thought didn’t sound much
like her sister. “Out to dinner and to see a show.”
“Lovely!” Belinda cried. Contrary to the smile Annie had come to expect, Belinda’s
angular face showed real emotion for the first time since coming in from the rain earlier
that night.
“Annie, is your Mother-doll going out as well?”
“No,” Annie said hollowly, and felt as if she’d won some battle within her she hadn’t
realized had been waging.
“Suit yourself.” The pleasure Belinda had exhibited a moment ago dissipated as if it
had been a balloon Annie had popped with a pin. She turned to Abigail. “Who is the
Mother-doll going out with, Abbie?”
“Why, the Father-doll, of course.”
“Of course,” Belinda said.
Abbie raised the Father-doll up like a reanimated corpse.
“So,” Belinda said. “The mother and the father are off for a night on the town. But
where are the children?”
“The children stayed behind,” Abigail said in that same monotone voice.
“The children stayed behind,” Belinda agreed. “But without a babysitter to keep
something bad from happening.” Belinda’s hand disappeared into the pocket of her
dress, reemerging with a new doll, bigger than the others, and more terrible by far. The
doll’s dress was blood-red and black as midnight; her hair was black and long and loose;
and her eyes…
Annie tried to examine the doll’s eyes, but everything went fuzzy when she looked in
that general direction. The one time she was able to catch a glimpse, the eyes appeared
to vacillate between black stitched X’s, and black, bottomless pit-pearls. Annie didn’t like
those pearl-eyes, or that doll, one bit.
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