Page 13 of A Doll's Curse

Camille had begun taking antidepressants, which often caused her to sleep during the day. Belinda, now eighteen, didn’t need her mother as much as she did in earlier years. Her parents never really fought, but they never showed affection either, both resigned to what had become of their lives, living in the void of their marriage.

Belinda, even at such an age, still carried her doll around. Camille would get mad at her and question her daughter’s mental state. But despite it all, Camille never showed much interest in uncovering her motives.

One day, a high school peer and neighbor named Briar dug through Belinda’s oversized backpack to play a prank on her. As she was about to pour a box of condoms and lube packets into Belinda’s bag, she noticed the doll hidden inside.

Without much to say, Briar paused and retreated from the bag. It was that day that she decided not to bother Belinda again. Even though no words were ever really exchanged, both girls would lock eyes every time they crossed paths.

Walking back home from school that spring afternoon, Belinda saw Miss Nancy watering her grass. Now that the season had settled in, new blades of grass were making a greenery comeback. A gentle, warm breeze brushed softlyagainst her skin, and the sun felt comforting and bright. Belinda loved walking home, often stopping by the mansion in hopes of catching a glimpse of its owner.

“Are you still eating them squirrels kid?” Miss Nancy shouted from her front porch as she closed the water hose valve.

“Pardon me?” Belinda said.

“Are. You. Still. Eating. Them. Squirrels? Did I stutter, kid?”

“I have never!” Belinda shouted back before starting to run home.

“Yeah, whatever. Go on and hide, just like your father,” sneered Miss Nancy, trying not to get her pink tracksuit wet. Her gray hair was neatly pulled back into a bun.

Belinda ran inside her home, slamming the door behind her. Camille sat on the kitchen table sewing a shirt when she saw her storm upstairs.

“What’s the matter?” Camille slurred.

“Nothing, I’ll be in my room,” Belinda replied.

Without further care, Camille returned to the shirt she was sewing, but not before pricking her finger. “Goddamn it!” A drop of blood stained the white shirt. “Great, my shirt is ruined, fucking kid.” She continued to mumble under her breath before popping a pill from her pocket into her mouth.

After throwing herself onto her bed, Belinda retrieved her doll from her enormous backpack. Now her dress was old and ragged. Her hair had once been perfect, but now it had breakage from the many years of brushing. The dolls’ eyes were more smudged now and what once was a beautiful smile, now looked like a darkened frown. Belinda rubbed the doll’s hands, now gray in color and black around the nails. It gave her comfort.

While sobbing from the accusation, she lay in bed, her eyes heavy and her limbs limp. Belinda fell asleep before her tears had dried up; her mind dove deep into trance.

“Pin Pon es un muñeco,

Macabro y pálido.

Se lava su carita,

Con sangre y ácido.

Pin Pon se desgarra el pelo,

Invocando un gran llanto,

Aunque se lo arranque todo,

Él no para aquí.”

With her legs crossed, Belinda sat once again on an old, quilted blanket. Brushing Pin’s hair, the air around them felt heavy and musky. The gray clouds could be seen for miles; the grass on the ground was wet from a previous rain. As she ran her brush down the doll’s hair, Belinda’s eyes were wide open and solid black. She sang Pin Pong’s lullaby slowly and without an accent, as if she had spoken Spanish all her life. The song came naturally, like she had known it all along.

Putting the brush down, Belinda turned the doll around to face her. The doll’s blacked out eyes met hers as she rested her cold hands in her lap while she continued to hum the lullaby.

The wind began to rise, fast and sharp, until everything around them spun like a cyclone.

“Kill. Kill. Kill them all.”

The wind carried the whisper of malevolent voices, low and insistent.

“Kill them all,”they hissed, circling Belinda’s head. The whispers grew louder, swelling into a chorus as they closed in.