Paper Dolls

Rose you said to yourself that you needed the money, you can’t back out of this now. For fucks sake we are already in the driveway! My hand grips the letter tighter. I know this letter is my way out. Just do what it says. Spend the night in the house, gather evidence in the book and you will get your money. And you need this money. I grab my bag and walk towards the man that's been watching me hype myself up for the past 20 minutes. No doubt the one to lock me inside.

“Hello, Miss Rose DeWitt?” He held out his hand free hand to shake mine. His other hand was holding an envelope and a small black notebook. I shook his hand, of course it's sweaty. Great first impression Rose.

“Yes, but you can just call me Rose.” I do my best to put on my professional voice, trying not to give away my fear. As if I would get less money if I did show fear.

“It’s nice to meet you Rose. I am Daniels. I will be the one shutting and locking the exit and I will also be the one to open the door for you in the morning. As you are aware from the letter you received, my clients are willing to pay you a lump sum of $20,000 if you can make it through the night in this house. I am sure you are also aware that it belonged to the late Ezra James. It is of course rumored to be haunted and with your...expertise. My clients want you to gather evidence of this haunting.” He hands me the journal and a pen.

“Take notes of everything you see, hear and experience. If you experience nothing, simply write that down. But make it as accurate as possible. Down to the times if you can. All my clients want is proof, or lack thereof a haunting. Give them that and you will get this envelope in the morning.” He places the envelope in a mailbox by the front door. It is a plain white envelope with the expectation of my name written on the front. He padlocks the box and puts the key in his jacket.

“Oh and a few more things, the house is equipped with top of the line electricity and plumbing, so as not to interfere with any other activity. There is also a fully stocked fridge and library. No internet, so you can't ask someone for help and there is a phone but it only dials out to my phone number, if you need to get out early. Otherwise you are left to your own devices. If I do not hear from you, I will be back at 7 AM sharp. Any other questions?” Daniels crosses his hands in front of him, like he has something better to do with his time. The money is right there though. All I have to do is last in this house for 14 hours.

“No, I don’t have any questions.” He waves me inside and we stop at a dining room table. Daniels pulls out a single white sheet of paper and another pen.

“This says that my clients will not be responsible for any injuries you may suffer, including psychological damages and you will not try to sue them for liability. As long as you get your money and they get their evidence, there is nothing else to this arrangement. Sign at the bottom and you will be officially locked in.”

My hand trembles as I sign the page. It feels as if I’m signing my life away. But I won't have a life without that money. It’s a risk worth taking. As soon as I am done, he grabs the page, walks out the front door. Looks back at me and mouths good luck before slamming the front door and locking me inside. A chill immediately runs down my spine. I sit down at the table and look at the little notebook he gave me. It’s pocket sized, with an elastic strap around to keep it closed. A ribbon peeking out of the bottom, something nice to hold my place. Rounded corners, and a soft cover. I opened it. The first page says ‘In case of loss’ with a blank line below. I write my full name. You never know what will happen. After that is pages of blank sheets. To write or draw anything I need to. I slam it shut, hoping I will never have to open it again. I resolve to just sleep through it all. I head upstairs , choose one of the 4 rooms and I pass out.

***

BANG!

I spring forward out of bed with the crashing sound. What the hell was that. I glance over at the clock. 3 AM. Fuck. So many times growing up was I awoken at this time. The devil's hour. I turn the lamp on and grab the notebook, jotting it down. You would think growing up in a haunted house would prepare me for this. It still gets me everytime. I don’t want to investigate but if I want my money, I have to. I resolve that going down for some food would be like investigating. Praying I don’t see anything on my way down or back up. Like Daniels said, it doesn't matter what I do or do not see. As long as I report back. I put on my robe and sneakers heading downstairs. I learned a long time ago to never wear slippers. You never know when you’re going to need to run.

Notebook in hand, I make my way down the steps, look every which way. Nothing. It's quiet and still. The only light is coming from the kitchen and the full moonlight. I round the corner to the kitchen and see something run out of the corner of my eye. I stop in my tracks and look towards there but nothing. Inside the fridge is energy drinks, lots of small snacks and a box of pizza. Taking out an energy drink I chug it. No way I’m sleeping now anyways. I take another out and chug it as well. Grabbing some pizza I resolve to make my way up to the library mentioned.

The lights go out.

The only thing illuminating two feet in front of me is the moonlight. I hear the fridge power down and the nothingness. Silence fills the room. I can’t breath. I can’t move. He’s here. Then from my peripheral I see him. The deformed son of Ezra James. A white sheet covers him from head to toe. As he moves more into my vision I see more. His arms are coming out of self made holes in the sheet. Cuts and deformities spread across both arms. His bare feet are dirty. Covered in mud, his toenails are cracked and a fungus seems to be growing on them. A red rope is tied around his neck, making the sheet form to his face. The outline of a nose, lips and holes cut out for eyes. But it's just black. Darkness.

He sets down a lit candle in front of me, along with a handmade doll. It looks like him. A white sheet with rope tied around the neck, holes cut out for the eyes. He looks up at me, laughs and floats off. His feet drag on the ground, nails scraping across the floor. I feel his force let me go. I breath out and I can move again. What do I do?! Making a split second decision I follow him.

“Archie are you there?” I call out to him. Hoping he can give me the clues to set him free.

“Archie my name is Rose, I want to help you. I know about your father. Ezra James. I know he was cruel to you and left you to die, all alone here. I want to help release some of your pain. But I need you to show me how -” Before I could finish a strong slap crossed my face. So forceful it knocked me down on the ground. Metal fills my mouth, I spit it out and a tooth goes along with it.

“Is that what he did to you Archie? I would never do that to you please-” Another strong blow on the other side of my face. More metal. More teeth. I look up and the room is filled with lit candles. Archie sits in the middle, making one doll after another. All around him are dolls made in his image. Hanging from the ceiling with red rope tied around their necks. One after another, I am frozen in place. Watching him hang each one.

The rope. I need to find it. I grab the doll next to me and make for the stairs. Remembering the basement is where he was kept. The rope must be there. A shriek escapes from him, making my ears ring. I can feel blood drip out of them. Using all 4 of my limbs I climb the stairs faster and faster, I can feel him coming after me. His feet shaking the whole house with every step he takes.

Each step getting louder and closer to me, I finally reach the top of the stairs and do a quick turn to avoid his hands grasping for my feet. I see the attic string! Pulling it, I start to climb up before the stairs fully make their way down, I get up and shut the door just in time to see him standing at the bottom. Staring. I fall to the ground and catch my breath. Just as I open my eyes back up I see the string, hanging from the rafters. The bottom is cut from when the police found his body. I grab a random box and stand on it, untying the rope and clutching it in hand. I need to get to the candles.

Morning sun blinds my eyes, peeking through the boards where a window should be. No doubt blocking me from an exit. Wait. Sunlight? I look down at my watch. 6 AM. How long did he have me frozen for? I put my ear to the floor and listen. No footsteps, no noises, nothingness. I slowly let down the stairs, eyes darting from side to side. Nothing. I go down and don’t even bother to let it back up. There are no more candles. Dammit. And no site of Archie. Then a flicker to my right, a room with its door open so slightly I can barely see the flicker of the candlelight. I open the door and it's a baby's room. Obviously meant for a boy. Painted sky blue with wild animals all over the walls and anything else you would ever need for a child.

Laying in the middle of the floor, next to a handmade doll, was a single lit candle. I get on my hands and knees and start to burn the rope. A handsome little boy appeared in front of my eyes, he looked like Archie. He looked like how he was meant to look. Beautiful, flaws and all. As the rope burned , so did he. Along with all of the dolls but one. Taking out the notebook from my back pocket, I use the sunlight and candlelight to write it all down. Write down his story. My story. Just as I finish, a car pulls in.

As I am descending the stairs, Daniels opens up the door with a pleasant look on his face. Check in hand. I shove the notebook in his face, take the check. Got into my car and drove away. Leaving Ezra James' house to burn.