One-Eyed Doll Read online

  One eye missing. The other eye … open.

  Strange. Its head was now turned directly at him. How could that be?

  For the first time, Malik noticed there was a faint smile on its painted face. Like that famous painting, the Mona Lisa.

  What are you smiling about? he wondered.

  Malik shivered, and shut the door tight.

  6

  THE BOYS MAKE A PLAN

  Malik’s mother sat at the sewing machine. She often made clothes for Tiana, little dresses and skirts. She was handy that way. Without so much as turning around, Mrs. Rice asked where in the world Malik was going with the cat dish.

  “Just outside,” he said.

  “The cat eats inside,” his mother said.

  “Not lately,” the boy explained.

  The fact was, Midnight had lately refused to come indoors. Wouldn’t step one paw into the house, no matter how hard Malik tried to coax it. “Come inside,” he would say in his softest voice. “Here’s your milk. I warmed it up for you, Midnight.”

  The skittish cat just backed away. It would rather starve than enter the house. Malik finally gave up. He began bringing food to the stoop out front. Midnight gobbled it up fast as lightning. Then the wild feline bolted into the woods.

  Malik didn’t know what to think. Could it be that Midnight had a girlfriend somewhere? Maybe he was spending time at some other house? But in Malik’s mind he connected two things, the cat and the doll, linked by an invisible thread. He couldn’t be sure, but Malik traced Midnight’s strange behavior to the day they found the box behind the old place. He remembered the way Midnight arched his back. The way he hissed and spat in the woods.

  The cat feared and hated the doll. But why?

  It didn’t make much sense.

  But there it was. The plain truth. Malik wished he could talk to the cat. Ask questions. Get answers. He’d ask, “Hey, Midnight. What do you know about that old doll? Why don’t you like it any?” Then maybe he’d softly confide into its whiskers, “Between us, I don’t like it neither, not one bit. But I can’t explain it. How about you?”

  He called inside to his mother, “Maw, I’m going to Soda Pop’s.”

  “Not so loud, Pa’s sleeping,” his mother called back. “You want to take Tiana with you?”

  Malik paused. “Do I have to?”

  “No,” his mother said. “Not today, I guess you don’t. She seems happy enough up in her room. Tiana and that doll. They have a special bond, those two, like peas in a pod. Don’t be too long, Malik. I’ve got to get to work at the nursing home by lunch hour.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The boy gave his mother a peck on the cheek. Then tramped his way to Soda Pop’s house.

  Soda Pop opened the door. His right hand was buried inside a big bag of potato chips. “Hey, Mal.”

  “Anybody home?”

  “Just me,” Soda Pop answered.

  “You got a minute to talk?” Malik asked.

  Soda Pop shrugged, looking around the empty house. “I got a lot of minutes. What’s up?”

  Malik plopped down on the living room couch. A small cloud of dust rose up and danced in the sunlit air. “I’ve been asking myself questions all night. Why would anybody go to the trouble of putting a doll in a box? And locking it shut? Then nailing it tight to make double sure? And burying the box in the backyard? Triple sure that doll wouldn’t get out. Huh, Soda Pop? Why would somebody go to all that trouble?”

  Soda Pop chewed on his lip, then shrugged. Finally he said, “That’s the million-dollar question, id’n it? I figure the crazy woman did it, before they hauled her away in a straightjacket.”

  “Well, I got some ideas about how we can find the answer,” Malik said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Two ideas, actually. First, we need to look at the writing on that box again. I think it might have been a code.”

  “I can study up on codes.” Soda Pop leaned forward, interested. “Get a book or something.”

  “Good. The other thing is, we need to find out more about the lady who used to live in that old place,” Malik said.

  “That was a long time ago,” Soda Pop said. “Maybe we need to talk to somebody who is old. Real old. Like fifty and more.”

  Malik grinned. “I know a good place to start.”

  7

  MALIK TAKES A TUMBLE

  That night, Malik again waited outside Tiana’s door, perfectly still. He tried not to move, not to breathe. It was full dark, past midnight. The house was quiet. The sleepers slept. Outside, wind pushed the leaves in the trees, the branches swayed and stretched their twisted fingers. The moon was pale, partly hidden by clouds. A thin black cat moved in the shadows, mewling.

  Low, hushed voices spilled softly into the hallway. Malik listened closer. He could not make out the words. One voice whispered with a steady urgency. Tiana’s voice answered back, saying again and again, “Yes, yes, I know. Yes, yes.”

  A chill ran through Malik. She was just six years old. A little girl. What was happening with his sister?

  CREEEAAAK.

  He stepped into the room.

  Tiana was sitting up in her bed. The old doll was clutched close to her chest. Both heads stared at Malik with the same expression. A plastic emptiness. Tiana looked tired, worn out. There were dark circles under her eyes. One eye, Malik noticed, looked bloodshot. Swollen.

  She wore a red ribbon in her hair, identical to the one worn by the doll. For a moment, the living girl and the doll appeared to Malik as Siamese twins. Connected somehow.

  “You’re still up,” Malik said. “It’s late, Tee.”

  Tiana shifted and the doll turned its head. It seemed to move itself closer to Tiana’s ear.

  Malik heard murmuring. He didn’t like it and said so.

  “We’re just talking,” Tiana said. She smiled, a Mona Lisa smile. Happiness, sadness, kindness, cruelty. Malik couldn’t tell.

  He came to the edge of the bed. “Well, it’s bedtime now. Long past. Gimmie the doll.”

  Tiana pulled away. “No, it’s mine!”

  Malik snatched the doll from his sister’s grip. “I said give it.”

  She fought him, but Tiana was no match for her older, stronger brother.

  “I want her back!” Tiana cried. “I’m telling!!”

  “Shhhh, you’ll wake the dead,” Malik scolded. “You’ll get your doll back in the morning. I’m just putting it out in the hall. You need to behave, or I’ll be the one who tells about your little secret.”

  The girl pouted. But after a moment, Tiana yawned and a bone-deep tiredness fell over her. In that instant, she once again became the sweet little girl that Malik had known all his life.

  He tossed the doll into the corner of the hallway. Malik stepped into the bathroom. He washed his hands and face. He stared at himself in the mirror. The face he saw was full of worry. Something was not right. He felt it. Something about that doll wasn’t right.

  Malik turned off the light and stepped into the hall. He noticed the glitter of a coin on the floor by the top of the stairs. He bent for it.

  The boy did not hear the door to his sister’s room open. Nor did he notice the soft, swift, shuffling footfalls on the floor.

  He felt a push—as if two small hands pressed hard against his back—and Malik was suddenly off-balance, falling, tumbling through the dark, bumping and twisting down the hard wooden stairs.

  It was a wonder he didn’t break his neck.

  A wonder he did not die.

  When his mother, awakened by the clatter, came rushing, she found Malik at the bottom of the stairs. His forehead was bloodied. His eyes were glazed. She fussed over her son, examining his arms and legs, feeling for broken bones. “What happened?” she asked.

  Malik gazed up the stairs.

  He thought he heard the light scampering of little feet.

  There was no one there.

  Not his sister.

  Not the doll.

  “Just tripped, I guess
,” he murmured. “Stupid me.”

  8

  TWINS

  “Do you like it?”

  Tiana was pleased. She stood in her pretty new dress. A real smile on her face. Another glimpse of what she used to be like.

  “I asked Mama to make it for me,” she said.

  Malik dug his hands into his pockets. His eyes moved from his sister to the doll in her arms. Their dresses were now identical. Blue-and-white striped. Both girl and doll wore a red ribbon in their hair.

  “What’s wrong with your eye?” he asked. “It’s half closed.”

  Tiana shrugged. “Mama says it might be pink eye. Or maybe I got a spider bite. Now I look like Selena. Don’t you think?”

  She smiled a Mona Lisa smile.

  “I guess you do. How about you leave that doll at home for once?” Malik suggested. “Come outside with me. We could shoot baskets. Play horse. Or we could pack a picnic, go fishing by the river. What do you think, Selena? I mean, Tiana!”

  Malik caught the error immediately. It was a simple mistake, calling his sister by the doll’s name. But it haunted him just the same.

  “Selena doesn’t like those things,” Tiana replied. “She says they’re dumb.”

  Malik’s mood darkened. “Suit yourself.” He wheeled and made for the front door. “I’ve got something to do, Tee. I’ll be back in one hour. Okay? One hour. You and that doll can sit around all you want. Just don’t leave the house, you hear? Daddy’s home. If you need something, just wake him. But if I was you, I’d wait unless it’s a real emergency.”

  Tiana didn’t answer.

  She was already gone.

  Up in her room, Malik guessed.

  He thought of his mother’s words, “They have a special bond.”

  Tiana and that doll.

  They were becoming more alike every day.

  His head felt like it was on fire. His stomach was in knots. He knew he shouldn’t leave his sister alone. Not even for an hour. But this was important. He had things to figure out. And he was scared.

  For the first time, he was really scared.

  Malik burst through the front door, leaped down the porch steps, and raced into the woods. He found the shattered, wooden pieces from the box where they’d been left in the clearing. One piece was of special interest. He tucked the plank under his arm and went to find Soda Pop.

  The two boys sat on the curb, staring at the message.

  TOUEMT ELOSW ONEVAH EBOTE SIM ORPI

  Soda Pop leafed through the pages of the book he gotten earlier that day from the library, Secret Codes and Messages. He may have been a junk-food junkie, but Soda Pop could be pretty sharp sometimes.

  This was one of those times.

  Malik kept trying to sound out the words. “Onevah … ebo … tay … sim…”

  “Wait a sec,” Soda Pop said. “It talks in here about reverse codes and mirror codes. Let’s try reading it backwards.”

  He scribbled in a notebook:

  IPRO MIS ETOBE HAVENO WSOLE TMEOUT

  “Okay,” Malik said. “I can see some words in there: To. Be. Have. No. So. Me. Out.”

  “I,” said Soda Pop.

  “What?”

  “I, that’s the first word in the message,” Soda Pop answered. He flipped through the book and paused on a page, scanning the words. “This could also be a Space Code. They put the spaces in the wrong places to mess us up,” he said. “Let’s mush ‘em together.”

  IPROMISETOBEHAVENOWSOLETMEOUT

  After a few minutes, Malik got it. Almost. “I promise to be … have now so … let me out.”

  “It’s one word,” Soda Pop said. “Behave.” He jotted down the message one final time.

  I PROMISE TO BEHAVE. SO NOW LET ME OUT.

  “The doll wrote it!” Malik said.

  “Wait, what?” Soda Pop asked.

  “It’s alive!” Malik said. “Don’t you see? That’s why the letters were backwards—she wrote it from inside the box. She was asking to be let out!”

  9

  MALIK IN THE NURSING HOME

  It was a quick bike ride to the nursing home—if you pedaled like your hair was on fire.

  Malik made it in six minutes flat.

  His mother had worked in the kitchen since he was a baby. Malik was a familiar face to the nurses on staff. When he was little, before he could fend for himself, Malik spent a lot of time in the back rooms. Drawing pictures, building with Legos, eating snacks, looking at picture books. It was cheaper than hiring a babysitter.

  The home was a curious world, full of odd smells and old people. Most folks were frail, like glass figurines on a shelf you shouldn’t touch for fear they might break. Some still had sharp minds. They played cards, watched tv, and carried on conversations. Then there were the folks who seemed … finished. Like burnt-down candles. When Malik walked the halls, he would sometimes glimpse them sitting in their rooms. Alone and silent, waiting for a bus that would never come.

  It was sad, and Malik tried not to think about it.

  “Say, Malik! What are you doing here today?” Curtis the custodian chirped. He stopped pushing a mop around the floor and, instead, leaned on it with both hands. Happy to pause and chat.

  “Just thought I’d stop by,” Malik said.

  “Getting big!” Curtis observed. “If I don’t watch out, you’ll be taking my job.”

  No, thanks, Malik thought. He had bigger dreams. But he said with a grin, “I just might.”

  He started to walk away, then thought twice. “You’ve been here a long time, right?”

  Curtis looked up, as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “Twenty years, next September.”

  Malik whistled. He decided to take a shot. “You remember the old place on my block. Right? The one nobody lives in.”

  The brightness left the custodian’s eyes. “I know it,” he said. “That place is bad business. Bad voodoo over there.”

  “Do you know anything about…” Malik said, stepping forward. “I mean, can you tell me about it?”

  “That’s not my place to say,” Curtis said.

  “It’s important,” Malik said. “It means a lot to me. Please.”

  Maybe the old man was in a talkative mood that day. Maybe there was something about the way Malik asked. The look in his eyes.

  “There’s a patient here,” Curtis said. “Miss Delgado. She was the last person who lived there—but that was, oh, thirty-something years ago. She used to be in the mental hospital, you know, the asylum. But she’s no trouble anymore.”

  “She’s here?” Malik asked.

  “Room 17, just down the hall,” Curtis said. “I don’t think she can help you, Malik. She hasn’t said ten words in all the time she’s been here.”

  “Can I see her?” Malik asked.

  Curtis looked up and down the empty hall. “She’s been through enough. Leave an old woman alone.”

  “Please, I’ll be respectful,” Malik said. “Just for a minute?”

  “If you get caught,” Curtis said with a sigh, “I don’t know anything about it. Understand?”

  He turned in the opposite direction from Room 17 and pushed the mop down the hall. The conversation was over. Malik was on his own.

  10

  THE GRAY-HAIRED LADY AT THE WINDOW

  The old woman sat by the window. Her hands were in her lap. She never moved. She scarcely breathed.

  Her eyes stared at some point in the distance, but at the same time, it looked to Malik like they weren’t focused on anything at all. She looked, but she did not see.

  Her hair was wild and uncombed and completely gray. There was a red ribbon in it. The same as Selena. The same as Tiana.

  Malik gulped. He shuffled closer.

  The old woman did not turn to look at him. She was all alone in the world. Someone had gone to the trouble of putting makeup on her face. It was caked on thick, and it cracked along the wrinkles. Red lipstick was smeared across her mouth.

  There was a black p
atch over one eye.

  Malik coughed, drawing closer.

  The woman did not stir.

  “Miss?” Malik whispered softly. “Excuse me, Miss?”

  There was no response.

  Malik glanced to the door and the hallway outside. He didn’t have much time.

  He began talking:

  “My name is Malik Rice. I live a few houses down from where you used to live, back in the old days. Well, see, my sister and me—her name is Tiana, she’s a beautiful girl, just six years this April—well, we took something from your yard. And maybe we shouldn’t have taken it.”

  He paused, watching for some sign from the woman.

  “We found a box,” he said. “There was a doll inside it.”

  CLICK. Malik watched the woman’s one eye blink.

  Slowly, slowly, the old woman turned to look at Malik. Even so, it was as if she were gazing past him, staring at some other horror. The bony fingers of her hands grabbed Malik’s arm. She squeezed, digging sharp nails into his skin. Malik moved to pull away, but she only squeezed tighter. Gripped by some unknown terror.

  She spoke in a dry, brittle whisper. “The one-eyed witch … fear, fear … the one-eyed witch.”

  Malik jerked away hard to escape the old woman’s grip. Drops of blood formed on his skin. Her trembling hands came up to the side of her face. Her mouth opened wide as if to scream. But no sound issued from her lips.

  The scream was silent.

  Her body began to shake.

  This had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. Malik backed away, shuffling toward the door. “What does she want?” he asked. Desperate for an answer. “The one-eyed witch! What does the witch want?”

  CLICK. The woman blinked again.

  Her mouth contorted into a twisted grimace. The woman’s voice sounded like dead leaves in November, crackling on the sidewalk. “What the witch wants,” the gray-haired woman said, “what the witch wants … is to become … a real girl.”