An unlikely love story.
We first met when she kicked in the door of my cabin waving a tennis racquet over her head and screaming incoherently. I screamed. She screamed. I screamed, falling off the other side of the bunk bed. She ran across the room and smacked the strange figurine that I'd found in the dirt aside into the other wall. It broke into a million pieces and my funny rash disappeared. Probably right then, but I didn't notice because I was still freaking out about the door.
We were camp counselors together, even next year when she somehow managed to talk her way into keeping the job because she was afraid a rabid bat was in the cabin and she'd burst in to save me. That was when the camp bought the mysterious cottage on the other end of the forest. We went out together to find the place still furnished with taxidermied heads and animal skins stitched into bizarre and uncomfortable forms. I picked up the doll sitting on the end table, one of those popular little girl's talking things. It squeaked like I'd knocked its wiring back into contact and then said "weren't you invited to the party? It'll be great!"
"Godammit," I said. I'd been hearing that all summer from little girl's backpacks. Then when I tossed it and caught it, it said "If you can't come I'll feel bad."
"Here," I said, tossing it to her. She caught it ("good things happen when you're with friends!" it said) and followed me through the house.
Naturally with a place as creepy as that, the doll had to start acting up. I could tell when I picked it up there was something wrong with its inner workings, but it kept talking, like it had been there for so long it had gotten a battery problem. "You weren't invited," it said when we pushed open the door to the workshop, with its stuffed porcupines on one side and its hammers and awls on the other.
"God, it's getting creepy," I said. "We'll find the owner's dried corpse in the bed or something."
"It'll be great!" said the doll. I growled. She frowned. But for some reason she hung onto that doll, even when I finally threw open the door to the cellar. It was creaky and the little handle was so slick I dropped it closed a couple of times first, but then I got it open wide. I pulled my flashlight out and went down. "Bad," the doll said, the last bit of one of its sentences. "Things happen," it said a bit of another. "Bad. Things happen." Stupid thing wasn't breaking down fast enough for me.
The air was musty and close, and the place was unfinished, with beams and plywood and cinderblocks and dirt everywhere. I coughed. "Hey, can you give me the batteries out of that thing? My beam's weak."
"Sure," she said. "You can't," the doll said. I could hear her fumbling with the doll's clothes. "I can't freaking see to get it open down here," she said. "Come on, let's go up."
"Friends come," the doll said. I was already following her up the stairs. I bumped the frayed rope of the trapdoor as we climbed out and it fell with a bang on the floor. She was already out in the light, dropping her backpack to the ground and digging through it. For some reason she had one foot on the doll. She dropped to her knees as she flicked open her blade and sliced through the thin plastic of its stomach. For some reason that really bothered me and I turned away. A sudden, loud bang came from inside the cabin.
"...that was the trapdoor," I said. "Slamming shut."
"I bet he doesn't like the daylight anymore," she said.
"What?"
"This is the only battery case in there," she said, holding up a box still connected to wires that ran inside the doll. "It doesn't have any batteries. Let's burn the house down."
I talked her out of it. Someone could be taking shelter in there, some homeless person who didn't want to talk to us. So we went back and put the doll in a box, wrapped it up with chains, stuck pillows around it, and put it in the rafters of my cabin. It fell to the floor with a bang the night something killed a stray dog outside and left its head right outside the door. On a stick. So she and I went out as soon as the kids had gone home and burned the place to the ground. We didn't know if the doll had been helping it or warning us but I threw it in anyway. I hadn't been thorough the first time. I wasn't wanting a second lesson.
My second year in college the phone rang at three in the morning. I picked it up and grunted.
"Phil?" I knew her voice immediately. "Great. Didn't know if it was the same Starksmore. Meet me in the basketball court. Bring a lighter if you can. It's a scarecrow."
We were camp counselors together, even next year when she somehow managed to talk her way into keeping the job because she was afraid a rabid bat was in the cabin and she'd burst in to save me. That was when the camp bought the mysterious cottage on the other end of the forest. We went out together to find the place still furnished with taxidermied heads and animal skins stitched into bizarre and uncomfortable forms. I picked up the doll sitting on the end table, one of those popular little girl's talking things. It squeaked like I'd knocked its wiring back into contact and then said "weren't you invited to the party? It'll be great!"
"Godammit," I said. I'd been hearing that all summer from little girl's backpacks. Then when I tossed it and caught it, it said "If you can't come I'll feel bad."
"Here," I said, tossing it to her. She caught it ("good things happen when you're with friends!" it said) and followed me through the house.
Naturally with a place as creepy as that, the doll had to start acting up. I could tell when I picked it up there was something wrong with its inner workings, but it kept talking, like it had been there for so long it had gotten a battery problem. "You weren't invited," it said when we pushed open the door to the workshop, with its stuffed porcupines on one side and its hammers and awls on the other.
"God, it's getting creepy," I said. "We'll find the owner's dried corpse in the bed or something."
"It'll be great!" said the doll. I growled. She frowned. But for some reason she hung onto that doll, even when I finally threw open the door to the cellar. It was creaky and the little handle was so slick I dropped it closed a couple of times first, but then I got it open wide. I pulled my flashlight out and went down. "Bad," the doll said, the last bit of one of its sentences. "Things happen," it said a bit of another. "Bad. Things happen." Stupid thing wasn't breaking down fast enough for me.
The air was musty and close, and the place was unfinished, with beams and plywood and cinderblocks and dirt everywhere. I coughed. "Hey, can you give me the batteries out of that thing? My beam's weak."
"Sure," she said. "You can't," the doll said. I could hear her fumbling with the doll's clothes. "I can't freaking see to get it open down here," she said. "Come on, let's go up."
"Friends come," the doll said. I was already following her up the stairs. I bumped the frayed rope of the trapdoor as we climbed out and it fell with a bang on the floor. She was already out in the light, dropping her backpack to the ground and digging through it. For some reason she had one foot on the doll. She dropped to her knees as she flicked open her blade and sliced through the thin plastic of its stomach. For some reason that really bothered me and I turned away. A sudden, loud bang came from inside the cabin.
"...that was the trapdoor," I said. "Slamming shut."
"I bet he doesn't like the daylight anymore," she said.
"What?"
"This is the only battery case in there," she said, holding up a box still connected to wires that ran inside the doll. "It doesn't have any batteries. Let's burn the house down."
I talked her out of it. Someone could be taking shelter in there, some homeless person who didn't want to talk to us. So we went back and put the doll in a box, wrapped it up with chains, stuck pillows around it, and put it in the rafters of my cabin. It fell to the floor with a bang the night something killed a stray dog outside and left its head right outside the door. On a stick. So she and I went out as soon as the kids had gone home and burned the place to the ground. We didn't know if the doll had been helping it or warning us but I threw it in anyway. I hadn't been thorough the first time. I wasn't wanting a second lesson.
My second year in college the phone rang at three in the morning. I picked it up and grunted.
"Phil?" I knew her voice immediately. "Great. Didn't know if it was the same Starksmore. Meet me in the basketball court. Bring a lighter if you can. It's a scarecrow."