Short Story: All Dolled Up

 As I plug away at other writing projects, I figured this might be a good spot to dump some old short stories I wrote for classes. Here's one inspired by the Fleming Museum's collection of creepy dolls:

    

All Dolled Up

By Casey June

    The first thing I notice about the doll is her eye. It is hollow. Both of them are, but the eye on the right has an extra chip taken out of the face, an uncomfortable touch of asymmetry. The doll’s dark interior clashes with the gleaming porcelain of its skin, though even that is starting to yellow and peel. I scratch my own cheek at the thought of it as if to check that it is still whole and intact. The doll doesn’t seem bothered by her unpleasant appearance. She stands against a wall swaying to some silent music, her gentle curls and gallant dress keeping the same time, drifting to and fro like ghosts.

“Dude, do you know who invited her?”

Derek’s voice booms out from next to me and a few inches above my height. He reboots my attention and my gaze zooms out to the room around me. The doll is surrounded by plenty of other party goers all occupied with their phones or their drinks, none who seem all that interested in the girl with the hollow, broken eyes gazing just above my forehead.

“Uh, no, I don’t,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve seen her around.”

Derek scoffs. “Well do you know who let her in?”

“Brad, I think.”

“Ugh, typical. He’ll let in any girl who makes eyes at him. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything too weird? She’s kind of bumming people out.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, but I don’t think I mean it. I’m too busy staring into the doll’s cold, broken emptiness. I start to make my way to her side of the room, half following Derek’s instructions and half following my own curiosity. She doesn’t turn her head to follow me; it remains fixed to where I once stood as I draw closer.

“Are y– ehem,” I clear my throat to let my voice come out louder. “Are you enjoying the party?”

The doll twists her neck a little too far over her shoulder to look at me next to her. “Oh yes, very much so. I don’t usually come to these.” Her voice is left echoey after resonating through her hollow head.

“Where are you from?” I feel myself growing warm from the packed room and the drinks I’ve had. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

The doll tilts her neck, her porcelain head dipping into her plush torso. “Haven’t you? You’re in my Business 101 lecture. Drew, right?”

I cringe at the sound of my own name. It sounds wrong in the dissonant echo of the doll’s voice. “Oh. I mean, yeah, that’s me. I guess, I mean… I’d think you’re pretty hard to miss…” Christ, I’m falling apart. Why did I come over here again? Right, Derek asked me something. “Listen, you’ve got your own vibe going on, but it’s not really what we–”

“Would you like to dance?”

“Me? Um, I don’t really think it’s that kind of party.”

“That isn’t what I asked.” The doll’s eyes are so close to mine. The emptiness inside seems to reach out.

I shake my head and look away. “I don’t really dance.”

“That’s too bad. You should let yourself dance.” The doll steps into the center of the room and begins to dance, not the pumps and bobs that the rest of the partygoers do in time with the bumping bass of the speakers, but a ballroom waltz. She holds her hands out to where a partner would be and steps in time to her own beat. The room clears around her as people try to put distance between themselves and this display. Some people look on and laugh or mock. I don’t. For some reason, I find myself smiling.

***

I leave the party not too long after that and all thoughts of the doll leave my mind with the rest of my dreams. When I wake up, I stretch my arms out with my hands on my neck. My finger passes over a strange texture, like the edge of a plate or a chip of broken pottery. I go to the mirror to examine it and see a trapezoidal chip in my skin revealing a dark interior underneath, like my insides have suddenly turned hollow.

“What the…” I murmur in the time before curiosity turns to horror. I’m almost tempted to poke my finger through it to see if my interior is as empty as it looks. The thought of it makes me want to throw up. I begin to sweat and quickly call up the one person I can think to tell about this.

***

“Sup dude?” Robin says as I step into her apartment. “Nice hole in your head.”

“It’s not nice!” I whisper-shout through gritted teeth as I sneak in and quickly close the door behind me. “How do I explain this? I can’t go out like this!”

“Relax dude,” Robin laughs. “I have some concealer you can borrow. I use it to cover up marks on my neck all the time.”

“Wait, concealer? Like makeup?” Suddenly, I imagine my face like a doll’s: painted to resemble a garishly pale porcelain.

“No, like concealer, dumbass. It’s not like I’m giving you a full glam. The whole point of it is for people to not notice you’re wearing it.”

“I– I can’t wear that.” I scramble through my mind for an excuse that sounds confident. “Would it even work? I mean, this is like a hole, not a mark, right? You’ve got to have a scarf or something.”

“It’s like sixty degrees out, but whatever,” Robin scoffs as she scrambles through her wardrobe. “This one’s gray and brown, that's not too girly for you?”

“That’s… not the point!” I grab the scarf before I blush too much. “I’ll bring it back once I get this figured out.” I glance at the hole in my skin again in Robin’s mirror. The darkness inside seems to almost stir.

“Don’t bother, it’s too ugly for me,” Robin says without meeting my eye.

***

I met Derek and Robin around the same time. On the first day of my statistics lecture, I managed to scout out an open seat next to Derek, who was busy bouncing a crumpled up sheet of notebook paper against his laptop monitor. He was the first to talk to me, which I’m always grateful for. Hitting it off with him was simple with enough “sure”s, “I bet”s, and “hell yeah”s. Eventually, he invited me to a party he was having at his place that weekend. Though I later realized that nearly everyone he’d talked to got the same gesture, it was the first time anyone had wanted me anywhere with them. That feeling was hard to shake.

The next week, I found my seat taken by Derek’s roommate Brad, but I didn’t find that too big a deal. Instead, I moved closer to the front of the lecture hall next to Robin, who if anything seemed annoyed that one of her buffer seats was now taken, but warmed up to me soon enough when she saw I clearly needed help with the classwork even if I was never going to ask her myself. She and I have definitely grown closer at this point, though I still go to Derek’s party’s when I can. Robin says that he and his gang don’t care for me as much as I care for them, but I can’t get Derek’s first invitation out of my head. Someone who’s that ready to have me around can’t be that bad.

“Nice scarf, dude,” Derek laughs when I see him that afternoon at his house. “Did you dig it up from your grandma’s grave or something?”

I should say something clever, like I got it from your mom when I left this morning. “I, uh, got a rash. Robin lent this to me.” I push my way inside to avoid facing Derek any longer. His abrasiveness comes unfortunately timed with my internal defense of his.

The house is as messy as ever, the inevitable result of any three college boys forced together for an extended period of time. Shaun, their mysterious third roommate who I still have yet to meet, is out of the house as usual. Brad sits on the couch and pops off after beating a computer player in Smash Bros.

“Let’s go, dude! My Falcon is nasty!” He leaps from the couch and makes a show out of dapping me up. I recoil as he slams his hand into my back. “Nice old lady scarf, bro.”

“How about if I win a game, no one says anything about my scarf?” I angry-mumble.

“Hell yeah, you’re on dude.” Brad claps me on the back and we sit down, choose our characters, and play.

“You said you got that scarf from Robin?” Derek asks as he watches on.

“I just said you guys can’t talk about the scarf anymore,” I say as I quickly take Brad’s first stock.

“You haven’t won yet, idiot.” Derek laughs and sits on the couch arm next to me. I try to scooch away, but I can’t get too far without rubbing up against Brad. The thought of contact with either of them makes me squirm. “You gonna make a move on her or can I?”

“Pretty sure she likes girls, so…”

“Really? Shit, so do I. We have so much in common.”

My skin ripples at Derek’s comment. I airdodge straight into Brad’s smash attack. He takes my first stock.

“Why do you always play girls in these games anyway?” Brad asks after silently celebrating.

I cringe so hard I can almost feel myself crack. “Uh, Peach is top-tier. Or she was at some point I think. I just know how to play her, that’s all.” I channel my anguish into one more attack, knocking Brad off the stage and winning me the game. “Anyways, can we drop the scarf thing now?”

Brad shrugs and scoffs in conceit. “It’s a stupid game anyway. You would be good at it.”

***

I wake up the next morning with my face sore like I spent the night with a forced smile. I groan like a zombie as I forge my way to the bathroom. I try to wipe the sleep from my eyes as I sit on the toilet and attempt some kind of face massage to ease my aches. As my fingers move over my cheek, I feel it: a distinct opening in my skin with edges cool to the touch like porcelain.

I hastily pull my shorts up and scramble to the mirror and grimace at what’s become of me. A long, triangular chip gapes open next to my ear and a hairline crack extends over my temple. Dizziness begins to buzz over me as I examine the crack in the mirror and trace its edges with my finger. It has a slight sharpness to it that makes for an almost pleasant sensation, like tracing around the rim of a cool glass. Suddenly, I’m struck with morbid curiosity as my finger bridges over the hole above the darkness within. I take a deep breath and slowly move my index finger closer, closer to the opening. I expect some kind of resistance, some rebuff at the threshold, but my finger glides into the darkness effortlessly. I don’t know what I expect past that, maybe a wall of bone, maybe a grotesque sensation of feeling the innards of my own flesh, but there’s just… nothing. My head is empty. I feel a chill.

A second passes and I tumble back to the toilet to throw up.

I walk to class with my hood up, a rarity for me even on the coolest of days, and certainly now in mid-September, but no one seems to take notice of my behavior but me. I spend the entirety of my lecture resting my cheek on my hand to cover the chip. I look bored, but my mind is racing at as fast a tempo as my anxious feet tap out. I can feel eyes on me even when I don’t see them, countless eyes, taking note of each and every fear, insecurity, stray shameful thought that seems to emanate from the cracks in my skin. My soul is laid bare before everyone who I offend with my presence. Why wouldn’t they be judging?

As class is at last dismissed and I turn back to grab my bag, I see her in the rows behind me: the doll from the party in a similarly extravagant getup. Her skin is just as cracked and peeling. Her eyes are just as broken and empty. My impulse is to hide from her, but I shake it off. I don't know exactly what I want her to answer for, but she will.

“Hey!” I speed walk to corner her after we leave the building. “Hey, did you do this to me?”

“Me? Why, I don’t know what you could mean.” She turns and her eyes meet mine. She’s closer than she was at the party. “Oh! I remember you from the ball!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” I tear my hood off my head. A few pinmark holes have been appearing throughout the day out of stress, connected by a small web of surface level cracks. “Why is this happening to me? Why am I breaking?”

The doll gasps. It comes out as a creaking sound that I guess is supposed to be excited. “Breaking? No, that’s not it at all. Don’t you see? You’re hatching!”

“H…hatching? What do you mean? Hatching into what?”

“Yourself.” The doll’s hand cups my cheek. It’s cold. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“That means literally nothing to me.” My voice cracks just a little.

The doll doesn’t acknowledge my complaint. It skips off, humming some kind of tune I can’t quite hear.

***

I don’t leave my room much for the next week. In the rare cases when I try to, I’m hit with a wave of nausea as I put myself in the shoes of someone forced to bear witness to the crumbling facade of my body. Every once in a while, a new crack appears on my face: on my forehead, across my cheek, over my nose. There’s no point in trying to hide them anymore; the best I can do is isolate. Derek has a party over the weekend and calls me a bitch for not going. I don’t think I miss much.

The day after the party, I get a text from Robin. let me come over now im going to scream and break something.

I text back, I’d rather you do that at your place than mine.

on my way. A few minutes later, Robin is at my door. I take a deep breath. She’s not the type to make a big deal about cracks in your face, right? I open the door and she walks in before I can say hello.

“I’m gonna kill him.” She starts pacing the floor. “I’m gonna kill him for real. No really, I mean it.”

“Right.” My voice feels funny in my throat after not using it for days. “And who is this you’re murdering?”

“So there was this party last night, yeah? I’m normally not that big into these things, but Kim is going, you know Kim? Anyway, Kim’s hot and we get to talking when Derek fucking Warner grabs me in by the hip and starts hitting on me and trying to get me to take another drink. God knows what that would’ve led to. Ugh! I can’t believe him!”

“Yeah, that's–” My phone buzzes in the middle of Robin’s rant. It’s a text from Brad: your girlfriend slapped derek across the face last night it was crazy lol. 

“Who’s that?” Robin asks.

“Oh, it’s…” I think about lying for a moment and feel a crack on my lip deepen. The timing can’t be worse as I feel the last of my good faith in them dry up. “It’s, you know, the guys.”

Robin halts her pacing and flops on my couch. “Typical. You’re all the same.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I thought you were different, Drew! You were quieter, you were kinder, you were the only guy I knew who wasn’t constantly thinking about how he was a guy and I was a girl. Why do you bother hanging out with these guys? Is it for status? For parties? Some weird feeling of debt? What do you want?”

“What do I… where is this coming from?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed it. You barely talk anymore and when you do it’s like you’re scared of your own voice. It seems like you cringe at the sound of your own name. Oh, and you have cracks all over your face! Super not normal! What’s up with that?”

“I…” I can’t think of a good way to form a sentence. Am I really scared of my own voice? “There’s… this doll.”

***

I plan to intercept the doll the next day. June, Robin told me her name was. I told her what’s been going on after our argument and she insisted on staying over to cook me dinner. Despite my protests, she reminded me that I can’t cook for shit and I clearly haven’t been eating well. Apparently, she and the doll share a feminist theory class. “I always thought she was making a statement,” Robin said. “You know, about how women are objects?” She doesn’t seem to connect the same dots that I do. But I’ll get some answers today.

“June!” I call out when I catch a glimpse of her on her morning walk. Her porcelain face reflects the sun and makes her look radiant. “Tell me what’s happening. It’s getting worse.”

The doll tilts her head sympathetically. “Well, of course. It has to get worse before it gets better.”

“I don’t want it to get better!” I cry out. My voice cracks. “I don’t want it to get anything! I just want to be the way I was!”

“But don’t you feel lighter now?” June soothes in her echoey voice. “I saw you looking at me at that party. Looking deep into my eye. Didn’t you wish that it could happen to you too? Are you scared of loving yourself?”

“What, this?” I scoff and gesture to the largest hole in my head. “There’s nothing in here. Is that all I am? Empty?”

“Is emptiness all you see in you?” Another chip falls from June’s eye. The hole of her eye now takes up half her face. “Is that all you see in me?”

The doll’s face continues to chip away. As it does, the darkness inside her starts to stir. It twists and rolls and starts to change color: from monochrome whites and grays to suddenly a hypnotic kaleidoscope of iridescent reds, pinks, and purples. It’s beautiful.

“This could be you.” The doll’s voice starts to emanate from where its face once was as I’m enraptured in the brilliant void of her being. “Why won’t you let it be?”

My body starts to feel weightless, but something keeps me tethered, something loathsome. “I… the time isn’t right. I wouldn’t end up the same. I’m… well you can see, I’m empty.”

“I don’t believe you.” The doll’s other hand reaches for my other cheek. I don’t pull away. The world starts to hum. I can feel the mask of my face crumbling. “You see emptiness. I see possibility. It’s time for your outside to match your inside. Come away with me.”

I feel the dark inside me begin to fill with the same color. It has a sensation to it, an energizing impulse that my body can no longer contain. Mind and body fall away and June and I are left weightless.