06 – Helen

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“Well, that explains how you got all those new clothes then, don’t it, poor boy?” Chuck said.

The Caretaker snapped his eyes at him. “Don’t start, kid.”

Chuck scoffed but said nothing more. The Caretaker pointed at the bags.

“Alright, everyone, line up between here and the bins, and we’ll relay these bags out to the dumpster.”

He guided them out and lined them up: Hagman by the bins, due to being the tallest, and in descending height order back to the main hall doors. The Caretaker tossed bags to Helen, who handed them to Wyllow, who passed them along, and the bag went back to Hagman, who threw it in the dumpster.

“Good job,” the Caretaker said, making Helen jump. “Whoa, easy, kid. No need to be so tense.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“What’s the matter? Do you have a cold?”

Helen shook her head.

“Well,” the Caretaker said, “I was going to ask if you had a story for us, but frankly, you look like you’re about to drop.”

“I’m just tired.”

He studied her for a moment. “You really aren’t part of this mess, are you?”

She shook her head again.

“She’s lying,” Chuck yelled. “She’s just trying to get out of working.”

The Caretaker ignored him and pulled out a chair. “Here, sit down. Have the last of the cake. You look like you could use the sugar.”

She took the chair gratefully and wolfed the cake down, followed by a cup of soda.

“I’ll call your parents,” the Caretaker said. “You also look like you could use an early night.”

Helen stiffened and jumped from the chair. She grabbed a tray of wasted food and stuffed it into Davie’s bin bag.

“I’m fine. I can go on. I don’t need to sleep!”

The Caretaker rubbed his chin. “Helen? Has something been happening to you as well?”

Helen’s Story

It was my birthday last week. All my family and friends came to wish me well. I got a lot of presents at the party, and everyone sang.

When they all left, my dad came to find me with one last box. Someone had left it with no label or card. Inside was a doll, with a tea party set and several outfits to dress her in. Dad said I could play with it in the morning.

I woke up the next day with my bedcovers on the floor. Maybe I’d kicked them off in my sleep, but I didn’t think about it because the tea party was already set up on the other side of my room. I played with it for a few minutes before Dad called me for breakfast, then played some more when I got home until it was time to put the toys away. I left the doll on top of the pile in my toy box so I could grab her quickly again the next day.

When I came back from brushing my teeth, I found her sitting on my pillow. Dad always liked playing tricks on me, so I just put her away again and went to bed.

The next morning, I could make out its face between the box and lid, along with a half-dozen or more stuffed bears. I had too many toys if the box wouldn’t close anymore.

I shivered and realized my covers were on the floor again. Wondering if I moved a lot in my sleep, I caught sight of something in the mirror and sat up, finding half my toys scattered across the floor.

“Dad, were you in my room?” I said.

“Yeah, just now,” he said. “I put your doll back. Stop leaving toys in the hall.”

I didn’t remember leaving anything in the hallway.

After playing with my presents all day, I went to bed that afternoon for a nap. Dad woke me when it was time for dinner, and I lay there wondering if I could eat. Noticing I had a temperature, he came back with a tray of soup and a thermometer and wrapped my blanket around me.

“Stop throwing it across the room or your symptoms are gonna get worse,” he said.

When he left to have his own dinner, I lay in dazed silence until a small creak from the other side of my room caught my attention. Through the crack between the toy box and its lid, two red pinpricks of light stared out. It took me a minute to realize they were doll eyes.

Before I fell asleep again, I wrapped the blankets even tighter around me, determined to stay cocooned all night. For the first time in three nights, I had a good sleep.

When I woke the next day, the toy box was closed. My alarm went off, and I rose from bed, letting the blanket loose. As I stood, something fell from my cocoon. The doll hit the floor and landed on its stomach.

“How did you get in here?” I said.

I didn’t expect an answer. But then I didn’t expect it to roll over and sit. Its head tilted up to face me and smiled, and I screamed and threw the blanket over it, grabbed my clothes, and ran to my door. The door refused to open.

“Was I being invasive?” the doll said in a sweet voice. It stood up and chuckled. “I only wanted to make sure you weren’t up to anything under that quilt.”

“You’re alive,” was all I could say. “You’re alive?”

The doll smiled wider. “I could stay out of your bed if you like, but I’ll need to see what you’re doing.”

I pulled on the doorknob, rattled it hard, but the door refused to budge.

“I don’t do anything! I was asleep!”

“Maybe you don’t and maybe you are, but I need to know for sure. So before I let you out, here’s a word of advice: no adult will ever believe you.”

After that, the door released, and I fell out. I tried to sleep in the lounge after that, but the doll is always waiting when I wake. My cold is getting worse, and I’ve lost weight, but no one would believe me. I can’t sleep knowing it’s always watching me.

I’m so tired.