“So you didn’t die.”
We were sitting in a large, comfortable parlor on the other side of the hall from where I had burned the doll a few minutes earlier. After forbidding me to leave, Teddy had carefully placed the black hair he held in a small glass jar tucked away in the shadows of a recessed wall shelf. Only then did he step out of the room briefly to retrieve a crimson robe. Beckoning me to follow, he led me across to where we currently sat, his hands clasped in his lap as he regarded me with a small smile.
“No, I did. What did they tell you killed me?”
I started slightly at that, but decided to go along with it for now. I didn’t believe he had been dead, of course, but I knew something was going on, and while I couldn’t rule out an elaborate trick of some kind, it seemed unlikely. “Okay, um. They said it was a stroke.”
He winced. “Shit. I’ll have to watch out for that. I need to eat healthier for one thing.” His smile widened. “But I’m getting off-topic. You saw something pretty remarkable tonight I guess. And you deserve an explanation.”
Nodding, I shifted in my chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice. I’m kind of freaked out right now. And please be honest. I know you faked your death.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow. “Faked my death? No, I was really dead. They really buried my body. In fact, that body is still laying there rotting as we speak.”
“But how? That makes no sense. How are you here then?”
He leaned forward, his eyes glittering in the meager light offered by the lamps set in the distant corners of the room. “Because I went to Hell and you brought me back.”
I stood up. “Look, I don’t have time for this weird bullshit. Pay me my money and I’ll be out of your hair.”
He waved his hand, gesturing for me to sit back down. “Calm down. You need to hear me out, believe me. For your own good.”
I sunk down into the chair again, a ball of ice slowly forming in my stomach. “Why? Why for my own good?”
Teddy sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to involve you in this. You’re Sam’s kid, and you always seemed like a sweet girl. But you’re the only blood kin I have left, and it has to be blood kin for the ritual to work. If you had left like you were supposed to, no harm, no foul. But you didn’t.”
I frowned, my stomach twisting further. “So? I can just leave now.”
He shook his head. “You can, but I wouldn’t. Not yet.” Teddy raised a finger. “Let me explain. Describe to me the people that were at my wake. Better yet, let me tell you. A bunch of well-heeled, slightly creepy strangers right? Maybe overly friendly to you for no apparent reason?”
Nodding, I swallowed before answering. “Yeah. They were really weird. Especially Dilly and Milly.”
My uncle’s eyes widened slightly. “Shit, I should have guessed. Stay away from them. They are very dangerous.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck, they’re all very dangerous. But the point is this. My death, and my return, are of utmost importance to these people. There are probably half a dozen people watching this house right now, and some of them will already know that I’m back and you haven’t left yet. Which means you might be learning things they want kept secret.”
“Ok. Like what?”
Sitting back, his expression dark, Uncle Teddy began to explain.
When I was in my twenties, I came out here to try and make a living as an artist. As you might expect, that went about as well for me as it does for most. Within six weeks I was close to starving and no one had bought a single one of my paintings or sculptures. I was on the verge on selling my remaining art supplies and using the money to buy a bus ticket back home.
Then one day I was sitting in a park whittling when a well-dressed man approached me and sat down. At first he just watched me carving. I was making a small face out of an irregular piece of wood I had found in an alley the day before. Back then I was in the habit of looking down alleyways for cans and bottles to turn in for change, but I also would sometimes run across a piece of wood I could work on for a bit. I never thought to try to sell my carvings, but it calmed my nerves.
Still, this man was intently watching me work. It was strange, but I ignored it and focused on my carving. After a few more minutes he spoke, telling me how talented I was. Had I been carving for long? Had I ever made toys or dolls?
I was getting some alarm bells—even just a few weeks in this city and I had shed most of my small town naivete. I felt like this was leading to some kind of sexual come on, but I was wrong. The man said he was part of a group that was looking for an artist to make some dolls to very specific specifications, and would I be interested. He then threw in that it paid very well.
It was an easy decision. I accepted immediately and tried to ask some questions to give the illusion that I knew what I was talking about and that he had just hired a professional. The fact that he had approached me because I looked so desperate didn’t occur to me until some time later.
He told me that he would bring me a book that explained everything I’d need to know about the construction of the dolls, as well as “the materials” I would need. He asked if I read Latin or French, and when I looked at him apprehensively, he waved the question away, saying to nevermind, the illustrations should suffice.
Two days later I was in my shitty apartment surrounded by recent deliveries of wood and ivory, along with a small rotary saw and set of dental drills for carving the ivory. I was sitting on the floor, a large leatherbound book spread across my lap, my hands gripping its edges tightly.
I didn’t read Latin or French, but my employer had been right. The illustrations sufficed. This was some kind of occult book, detailing a variety of depraved acts and rituals, and while I couldn’t be sure, it seemed that there was more than one involving the summoning and controlling of spirits or demons. This frightened me, but then I reached the pages involving the “poupees memoriam”, which I learned was French for “memoriam dolls”.
The basic construction of the dolls was fairly simple. Wood body, with joints at the shoulders and hips. Ivory head, carved in the distinct likeness of the person to be bound to the doll. A recess in the body of the doll containing the hair or flesh of that same person. Oh, I’ve improved on the design over the years, but only aesthetically. You’d be surprised how competitive these people get over how their dolls look or who has the fanciest one.
Still, back then, I was terrified both of the people I had gotten involved with and what would happen if I failed to get the job done. I could have just left town then, and I wish now that I had. But back then I was young and stupid, and I didn’t want to go home a failure. I was supposed to get $5,000.00 for completing the doll, and as you might know, that was a great deal of money thirty years ago. So I set to work.
The first time I made a memoriam doll, it took me nearly a month. I kept restarting, you see. I went through half the materials I was given before I finally decided I needed to take a step back and quit overthinking it. Give myself over to it. When I started back, it was entirely different. I just carved, and the shapes flowed out. In eight hours I was done, and it was far better than anything I had ever done. When I held that finished doll, it was like I was looking into the heart of my mysterious benefactor. I had made something true. Something powerful and real. And that’s what really hooked me.
I believe everyone has some thing or things they are meant to do. They’re built for it, destined for it, call it what you like. But when you find your thing, you know it. And I had found mine.
Mr. Darrow, as he introduced himself after seeing the doll, was ecstatic at my handiwork. He studied it closely, turning it this way and that. He glanced up at me a couple of times, asking how I knew to carve this line or that curve into the doll’s rigid flesh. Lines that weren’t in the book’s illustrations. I shrugged, no longer nervous. I just knew that they were supposed to be there, I replied.
The man nodded, his eyes growing damp as he completed his examination of the doll. “It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”. He suddenly reached forward and gave me an awkward hug. “Thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you.” He regained some of his self-control and stepped back, wiping his eyes. “You are about to become a very wealthy young man.”
And he was right. Darrow was part of a massive network of the rich and powerful that wanted their own dolls. And they were paying $500k a doll now, then later a million. Within five years I had enough that I never had to worry about money again. But it never occurred to me to stop making the dolls. I loved the work, and they wouldn’t have let me anyway.
These people… they are very bad people. I always knew from the first time looking at that book that I was dealing with something supernatural. At first, I figured it was some kind of voodoo or something. Then I thought it was some bored rich fucks that wanted to play at Satanism to add color to their parties. But no, they’re the real deal.
You need to understand, I’ve seen things over the years. Been at their rituals, seen the results of their practices. They are calling on truly evil, primordial forces to gain wealth and kill their enemies. To grasp a kind of power that makes them more than human. By the time I really realized what I had gotten into, it was too late.
“Okay, but what’re the dolls actually for? “
Teddy nodded. “I’m getting to that.”. He stood up and walked to the fireplace in the room. “The first thing you need to Accept is that Hell is real. There are other worlds, other realms, than this one, and Hell is one of them. It is much different now than it once was, but its purpose is largely the same. It is a terrible place for terrible souls.”
He turned to look at me with a humorless smile. “Unsurprisingly, my associates fall into that category. And as I feared…as was confirmed for me this week…so do I.”. He sighed. “And none of us want to go there. So one of the biggest goals of any high level black magic hoodooer is to find a loophole or an escape hatch, a way of cheating the consequences of playing with those dark forces. There aren’t many, but the dolls are one of them. If they are made correctly and the ritual is done right, the person and the doll swap places, sending the doll to Hell.“
I shook my head. “Let’s say I believe all this is real, which I don’t. Aren’t you just delaying the inevitable? I mean you’re still going to die again eventually, right?”
He wobbled his hand back and forth. “Yes and no. When you brought me back, I came back in a new body. Basically, a physical manifestation of my spiritual and mental self-image. That can lead to some fucked up results at times, but for most people they come back in a relatively healthy version of their normal body, as most people see the thing that killed them or the infirmities they have as separate from themselves. So the plaque-laden artery that killed me is likely clean as a whistle now.”
“Also, if they can get a few hours back here, many of them can heal themselves. And they can extend their lives for quite some time as well. I think Darrow was well over a hundred when I first met him, and he’s still around now.”
“But the biggest thing is that they are all biding their time for something they call the Breach. They don’t talk to me about it, but the snatches I’ve heard make it sound like it’s something they think will change the rules for them. Either way, they would rather be here than in Hell.” He rubbed his chest absently. “I share the sentiment.”
I was going to ask another question when there was a loud knock on the front door. Teddy raised his finger to his lips. “Stay here. If you hear me say the phrase… ‘worth my salt’, you run out the back. Run and keep running, and don’t go home. Never go back to places they could find you.” He waved his hand placatingly at my expression. “Hopefully it won’t be needed though. They need me too much.”
I could see he was worried, and while I wasn’t sure how much of what he was saying was true, I did trust I was in serious danger. I heard him open the front door in the middle of a louder knock. A voice that sounded like the lawyer I had met that morning echoed down the hall.
“We know she didn’t leave, Ted. I’m sorry, but we have to take her.”
---
Credits
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