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A New Room for Becca

Becca had not wanted to move.

She was sure that she would miss all the fun of her city life: swimming, clubs, and of course boys, either to giggle over or to flirt with. Some of them didn't seem interested, but some of them did, and Jamie had been one of them. She missed him already, missed his cute freckles and his brilliant blue eyes. He had actually cried on her last day of school, frowning and refusing to talk to her as she walked away with her parents. She hadn't known what to say.

She got her first glimpse of the new house from the backseat of the family SUV as they drove down their private driveway (which seemed, to Becca, more like a regular road). It was enormous and in the middle of nowhere, two things that made no sense to Becca. Why did they need a bigger house, and why couldn't they live closer to people and things that mattered?

She hugged Lucy Rabbit tighter, her lips pressed into a thin line of unhappiness.

Finally, they parked, and she got out of the SUV. All at once, her feelings changed. Everything around the house was green and lush, and the air smelled clear and slightly like a flower shop. The ground crunched under her shoes, and it was as if she could hear better here. The colors popped as if her sight had become more acute. She turned to her parents, an enormous grin on her face, and saw that the tiredness and tenseness that had been in her mothers face every time she shouted, "Becca, sit down, we'll be there soon!" was melting away. She still looked haggered, but her shoulders didn't slump anymore. Her father was smiling, hands on hips, looking at the front of the house.

"This is gonna be a fixer-upper!" he proclaimed. "How about you, kiddo, you wanna do some painting with your dad?"

"You bet!" she said, thrilling at the idea.

"Maybe we can finally have a dog or a cat," said her mom. "Or a couple of dogs!" she said, sounding brighter.

"REALLY?" gasped Becca. Pets of any kind had been previously forbidden.

"Well, let's have a look," said her dad.

The house was marvelously filthy. Dust everywhere, old furniture and hangings they had to clear out, and fraying wallpaper. Becca peeled some off in one of the upstairs rooms, enjoying the sound as it tore away from the wall. When her father came in, she caught her breath for a moment, expecting to be told to stop, but to her amazement, he smiled.

"I see I'll have to put you to work on the wallpaper as well, huh baby?" He crossed the room in four big strides and picked her up, a fatherly gesture he hadn't made in a long time. He grunted a little at the effort. "This is going to be your room, Becca."

She put her hands around his neck. "This big room?" She paused. "All for me?"

He laughed. "All for you."

Dinner that night was pizza (which secretly relieved Becca, who was afraid they would have to live off the land) and salad. "I'm going to grow a garden!" enthused her mother as she set the salad in front of them. Becca was not fond of salad, so this did not come as welcome news, but she smiled and ate it anyway.

The best part was bedtime. The movers had not yet arrived, so they rolled out sleeping bags on the living room floor. There was a fire going in the woodstove.

"Just for a couple of nights, Becca. This is the warmest room in the house," said her dad.

"Oh, it's okay, dad, this is fun!" she said. "I need to get Lucy, though," she said, suddenly anxious, "I left her up in my room."

Lucy would be cross about being abandoned, but would probably forgive her in time, especially after the bed arrived and she was nestled among the pillows there. When Becca entered the room, she felt a breeze and saw that the window was open. Knowing that it would suck all the heat from the house, she went to close it, but before she could get there, she felt something, like a hand touching her - lifting her hair, and letting it fall.

She turned, expecting her mother or father. "Hello?" she said. No answer, so she shrugged and moved toward the window. When she got to Lucy, she sat down and picked her up. "Sorry, girl. I got so excited about camping out downstairs, I forgot to come back after getting into my jammies. Friends again?"

Lucy stared up with her small black eyes.

"Good," said Becca. Then she felt the strange touch again, this time on her chin. She looked up. "Hel --

"-- Oh," she finished quietly. She set Lucy down.

Before her, reaching through the window, was a hand. A hand at the end of a long, ghostly arm, to be precise. At first, all she could do was stare at it. It reminded her of cigarette smoke, and she had no idea why it was here.

"My name is Becca," she said hoarsely, almost unaware that she was speaking.

The hand waved at her in a friendly way. She smiled, and the fingers of the hand curled in, and the thumb pointed up: OK.

"Do you live here, too?" she asked.

The smoke swirled and reformed, and this time it was a head. The head nodded.

"This is going to be my room. You can visit me anytime you want."

A smile appeared in the face.

Becca picked Lucy up again and stood. "I have to close the window for now, though, because it lets out the heat."

The smoke swirled and backed out the window. It waved at her once again, did a slow somersault in the air, and floated away into the trees, a long tail streaming out behind it. Becca waved back, and closed the window.

Once downstairs, she got into her sleeping bag. "How's Lucy?" asked her father.

"She'll be okay. Lucy and I made a new friend," she said.

"Oh?" said her father.

"Yeah - he lives in the trees outside."

"Ohhhh," said her father, nodding knowingly at her mother. He suspected a squirrel, and her mother pictured a raccoon (with some worry, since she had set the pizza boxes outside the kitchen door).

"Goodnight, dad."

"Goodnight, honey."

"Goodnight, mom."

"Goodnight, sweetie."

"Goodnight, Janice," said her father to her mother.

"Goodnight, John boy," said her mother, giggling.

"Mom, Dad's name is Richard."

Both her mother and father giggled at this, and soon Becca was fast asleep. She dreamed of her new friend, and the exciting adventures she and Lucy would have.

Doll Hunt

"How about this one, honey?"

She flailed her arms into the empty shopping cart. The impact, which her mother didn't anticipate, had the cart trundling up the Toys "R" Us aisle. It collided into a vertiginous stack of Hoppin' Henry action figures. The rest, as they say, was restocking history. Mother and daughter were escorted out of the store. And a hapless clerk, supervised by a martinet-eyed manager, collected unpaid overtime.

Alice wanted a doll. Not just any old doll, but an ideal she was unprepared to communicate. Six-year-olds were like that. It started with her mother's embarrassed effort to atone for a forgotten birthday. It escalated into a toy store crawl extending across the better half of a Saturday afternoon.

A doll that talked? No. One that came with a plastic pacifier? Nope.

Her mother learned that technology had come a long way. There were dolls that burped, dolls that farted, dolls that wet their diapers, and dolls that spoke in multiple languages. Endless dolls with computer chips and unlimited options for every demographic.

But none of them were good enough for Alice.

Her mother apologized. Alice pouted. And the two of them called it a day. Neither spoke as the Acura puttered home. But when Alice's mother eyed a crudely drawn sign, she had an epiphany.

Five houses down, the Gibsons were unloading their goods. Jack Gibson was moving to San Bernardino for an affordable home and a new job (and a quiet divorce). Rummage stragglers sifted through used goods under the setting sun. At this late hour, as the ochre twilight cast long shadows over those left thrifting, Jack Gibson had not lost faith in the weekend garage sale mantra: Everything Must Go.

There was coaxing and apologies. Even the promise of ice cream. But none of her mother's entreaties could get Alice out of the car. So her mother walked up the glacis. Jack Gibson hadn't exactly been fastidious. Unwashed clothes had been thrown and picked over in boxes. A treadmill machine, with its electric cord dangling over the handlebars, wasn't so much an easy bargain, but a fortification that supported the more dubiously taped boxes.

But miracles sometimes happen on Saturdays. And a doll, deposited as an afterthought in the driveway, was there. It was a rag doll, with a chartreuse dress that was slightly frayed. But its arms were splayed out in such a way that even the hardest heart couldn't say no. Alice's mother saw something of herself in this doll. She remembered the days before Alice was born. Before the bills piled up. Before the second job. Before Alice's father bailed out without a forwarding address or even the consolation of an alimony check.

She scooped up the doll without a second thought.

"How much?"

Beads of sweat dripped down Jack Gibson's forehead. He was worn out. The garage sale had not gone well. But at this point, he didn't give a damn how it all turned out. He wanted the stragglers gone and the sale on the house finalized.

"For you," said Jack Gibson with a forced grin. "One doll hair."

Even Jack Gibson's jokes were slipping. But Alice's mother smiled. She knew something of weariness herself.

"Mind if I clear this with someone?"

Alice spent this time staring at the dashboard. Bored. Calculating how long she would carry out the grudge. But a tap on the window stopped her scheming. Two mother-of-pearl eyes, a stitched nose and red-threaded mouth bobbed underneath an unruly, curly wave of brown yarn.

This was the one. All of her mother's stupid jokes, her repeated sorriness, and the intolerable Dave Matthews CD running on repeat had been forgotten. Her mother beamed, but she didn't notice. Alice rolled down the window and snatched the doll, drawing it close to her heart.

Alice's mother settled up with Jack Gibson. She looked down to the car. Alice hadn't budged an inch.

Alice loved the doll, but she didn't say a word to her mother.

• • •

Weeks passed. And the doll never left Alice's grip. She took it to the dinner table. She slept with it. She took it to school. And when her bedroom door was closed, Alice's mother heard her daughter speaking in soft mellifluous tones.

Her mother had cause for concern. Before the doll hunting, Alice had a mouth that suggested a future politician or a young hotshot lawyer in training. Alice never hesitated to ask her mother questions. She had the kind of curiosity that could whittle even a competent parent down. No detail was too small. There was never enough information to pick up. It was one of the reasons Alice's mother had stopped telling bedtime stories. One of many things that made the Saturday doll hunt so difficult.

And now Alice wasn't talking.

After a month, Alice's mother thought about dipping into her meager savings and setting up Alice with a shrink. One time, she tried separating Alice from the doll. But Alice had reacted with a fury that made the Toys "R" Us passive-aggression look like small potatoes. She refused to eat and finally she did talk, letting loose a flurry of four-letter words. Her mother returned the doll, too frightened to give Alice a lecture.

Then one afternoon, the principal had called Alice's mother. One boy had double-dared another to rip one of the doll's stone eyes out. And Alice responded to this young whipper-snapper's derring-do by beating the shit out of him. The boy had gone home with a black eye, a deep abrasion across the cheek, and a later affront to his manhood. The principal told Alice's mother that she hadn't seen this kind of violence since landing the gig back in '96.

And despite gentleness from the high school counselor and by-the-book austerity from the principal, Alice hadn't said a word.

• • •

Late one night, Alice's mother bolted up from her bed. A cold mist had settled into the air. Odd, because none of the windows were open and it had been a warm afternoon. Her bare feet hit the stairs to see if the door was open. But she stopped in her tracks when she heard a distinct whisper.

With us. You take care of me, I take care of you. Every moment. Provide. You've been a good little girl. And your momma will never know, that tight-assed bitch. You're going to be a great little, oh, I can't wait to crack you open. We both know how much fun we've been having. And they'll NEVER know. Just keep silent, you sweet little thing. Just keep it all inside. And then one day, we'll have a real child. And you can be a better mommy than YOUR mommy.

Alice's mother froze. The window was open, causing the drapes to flutter open with a gusty gale. But she was most disturbed by the unspoken presence in the room. A thin visible mist had formed into skeletal tendrils and a wispy hand had approached Alice. The doll was at her side.

Alice's mother ran across the room. But the mist followed, wending above the hardwood floor and forming a lasso around her waist. Alice followed the hand, eyes blank as baubles.

Reject, Alice. This is who you will become if you're not careful. SHE can't remember the day you came out of HER womb. Oh, but we'll remember. We'll remember, you and I.

The mist lifted Alice's mother next to the ceiling and then withdrew its clutch. The mist returned to the hand form.

All you need to do is touch me. Love me. Be with me. And we'll be together for life. You can be the mommy your mommy wasn't. Reject. With us. Us together. Touch.

Alice reached out and took the misty hand.

• • •

Joe Gibson refilled his tumbler with bourbon. Yes, things had gone very well for Joe Gibson. Sure, the other one had run away. The way they always did. But he knew that there'd always be another to find. He knew that others would find the doll and love it. He knew that nobody would ask questions. They never did.

It was a happy life insured by an age-old process. In San Bernardino or anywhere else.

Cliché

"Coooooooome," it crooned. Then demanded, "COOMMMMMME!"

The little girl was petrified, and yet she went. The voice and the energy that surrounded her had her entranced. She was a puppet and the puppetmaster had her dancing. Climbing on top of the chest, out the first-floor window, her feet barely reaching the ground as she backed her way out, and then all the way down the long and winding concrete driveway. But she didn't forget Teddy. She couldn't. She'd never leave Teddy behind, lest she be alone, and then she wouldn't know what to do.

She followed the energy and the subtle whispers down the drive to the old dirt road, her little pink slippers attracting dirt and dust along the way. The energy had hands that whipped around her, scooting her, pulling her, dragging her to its source. It was the middle of the night, but the energy had light. She was surrounded. Besides, she wasn't scared. Teddy was with her.

Seemingly forever passed, and then she saw it. She was in the middle of the nearby forest - the forest where she and her mom took long walks and picked huckleberries - and she saw the place where the voice was pulling her. It was flooding out from a large hole in her favorite climbing tree. As she came up to the hole, she peered inside, squinting, trying to focus. It was tremendously bright as she stepped one foot inside, and then the other. Finally, she saw her. A small creature - short as herself. The little woman had long, striking white hair, a big crooked nose like a witch, gnarled fingers with pointy nails, and an overall disheveled appearance. She walked towards the girl with a limp, a crooked branch cane in her left hand. She didn't say anything, just extended her arm and gave her a hand. The girl accepted, clasping her tiny fingers around the old woman's wrinkled extremity. The woman sat the girl on her lap and began to read fairly tales right out of a book. The woman spoke with such animation in her face and voice that the girl sat absorbed for hours.

• • •

"Kelly. Kelly, wake up darling. Kelly?"

As she opened her eyes, she was suddenly startled at the realization that she was in her room. Kelly sat up quickly, her eyes darting back and forth across the room, as if something were missing.

"Mommy! Mommy! There was an old woman and she made me go down to the forest and my favorite climbing tree and then she read stories and she had a cane and she held me on her lap..."

"Oh, dear. Don't be scared. You're awake now, and Mommy's right here. There, there." Kelly, now being rocked on her mother's lap, struggled to grasp the truth of exactly what happened the night before. Was it all a dream? Had she found a new friend in the middle of the forest? She felt odd, again as if something were missing.

(Cut to scene panning out, Teddy sitting against the climbing tree in the forest, spooky music in the background.)

A Tortured Soul