Predictably, I got the riot act from Mom and Grandma when I got home.
“What were you doing out so late?” Mom demanded.
“You KNOW it’s dangerous out,” Grandma added, jabbing a finger at me.
“I’m sorr—”
“I was so worried!” Mom went on. “Claudie, you know better!”
“Do you realize what’s happening right now?” Grandma brought a hand to her temple and looked away.
Down the hall.
I could almost see the basement, teeming with too-still dolls, their not quite empty eyes staring back at me no matter where I went. I could almost feel their gazes.
--grounded.” Mom finished.
It was fine; after tonight, I wasn’t sure my friends were my friends. I kept thinking back to Gil, the way he’d pressured me in the basement… the grin on his face as we ran away.
Grandma followed me down the hall; as I ascended the stairs, she stopped at the basement door and glared at me. I continued up, hearing the door creak open as I moved out of sight.
I couldn’t sleep. Visions of Gil flashed through my mind; him jeering at me as a ‘joke’, the rest of them joining in, the pentagram in the basement.
I tossed and turned, their voices tormenting my ears. Other voices joined in too, unfamiliar ones, not those of my friends. They jeered and celebrated, but it wasn’t those voices that came especially clear.
Gil’s voice. So cool calm and casual normally, it came especially sharp today, somehow.
A loud bang lifted me from all this- relief- until it continued. It seemed the whole house shook. And then–
“Alice?”
A deep voice. An angry voice. Not from my head, but still from my nightmares.
Dad? How has he found us?
He kept banging. “Alish! I know you’re in there!”
Sophie and Ryan sat up sleepily, and hearing his voice, jumped out of bed.
“Dad’s here!”
I jumped out of bed too, blocking them at the door. “Wait!”
“What?” Ryan whined.
Outside, I could hear the house creaking. Footsteps. More banging.
“ALISH!!!” Dad was slurring his words. “Bring me my damn kidsh! You can’t take them from me!”
“Dad’s here!” Ryan repeated.
“Why can’t we go see him?” Sophie asked.
“Its… it’s not safe,” I whispered urgently.
“But… it’s Dad….”
I could see the tears budding in their eyes, their cheeks getting flushed.
“Wait here,” I told them.
I crept from the room, making my way down the stairs.
The basement door was open.
Inside, the orange of candlelight flickered, casting ugly shadows this way and that over all the dolls.
Their gazes burned into me, brighter, hotter than any candle. The Pentagram flashed in my mind, and as it did, the dolls… twitched and shuddered?
“ALICE!” dad’s howl broke me from the horrors of the basement.
Then, another voice.
“She’s not here, Randall,” Grandma hissed. “Get away from here before I call the police.”
“Bullshit you fucking crone!” Dad raged. “You’re always getting in the way of our perfect family! You couldn’t stand that Alice chose me over you!”
“She’s not here,” Grandma repeated.
“You old hag! Open this door right now!”
I tore my gaze from the dolls and made my way down the hall as best I could. Fear quickened my heart while terror stiffened my limbs. It was all I could do to force myself to move.
“You are not welcome here!” Grandma shouted. “Begone!”
There came a loud bang from the front door. Then another, then another. I could hear Dad’s breathing growing heavier and heavier with each door. Beneath the assault, I could also hear splintering wood.
I peeked around the corner- there, grandma, her diminutive form eclipsed by the door- except for the cracks where light shone through. I could see her face, her expression a mask of fear and anger. Clutched in her withered fist, something small, glinting in the dark.
“I’m warning you!” she shrieked. “Do not come in here! You are not welcome!”
I tried to sneak past Grandma to the window—and slammed my shin on the coffee table.
Grandma turned. “Claudie!”
The banging stopped. “Claudie?” Dad muttered. “I KNEW IT!” he roared. “Listen here you old bird, you better open this door RIGHT NOW! You can’t keep me from my daughter!”
“Claudie, get back to your room!” Grandma whispered tersely. “You can’t be here!”
“Don’t listen to her, baby, “Dad stammered urgently. “Claudie baby, open the door. Let your Pa in.”
Through the window, I could see Dad standing on the porch, shifting his weight back and forth, his hands balling and unclenching; behind him, I could see an empty bottle on the edge of the porch…
“CLAUDIE! UPSTAIRS! NOW!”
“SHUT UP, HAG!” Dad slammed into the door again. Then more quietly, “Baby, let your Daddy in.”
I couldn’t move. There was no way I was opening the door, but how could I go back to bed? And what was that in Grandma’s hand?
“OPEN—”
Crack.
“THIS—”
Crack.
“DOOR!”
CRACK!
The door was caving in. Grandma knew it, and Dad knew it too, because he kept pounding away. But only I knew there was someone else on the porch, a small, dark shape standing behind Dad.
The door fell, filling the entryway with light; in the doorway, a towering menace, shoulders and chest heaving, huge fists clenched.
He took a step and the house thundered. Grandma lunged, but he was faster. He grabbed her wrist with one hand, and her hair with the other, slamming her against the wall.
“YOU’RE GONNA GET IT NOW, BIT–”
The giant shape shuddered, and suddenly both Grandma and I were flecked with something warm and wet. Instinctively, I wiped my face.
Blood.
And now, looking closely at Dad, I could see a small fist protruding from his chest. His once booming voice dribbled into a series of pathetic squeals as he struggled. Then, he slumped over and slid to the floor.
“Hey, Claudie,” Gil said as nonchalantly as ever. He shook off his fingers as simply as though he’d washed his hands and couldn’t find a towel.
Grandma’s gasping breaths turned to a hiss as she looked up at Gil.
Gil’s eyes flicked from me to her, to the knife laying on the ground. His face was like it was in the ruins, that odd, teasing—
--malevolent—
…smile.
“Now there’s no need for that, right?” Gil said innocently. He gestured to the large corpse, bleeding out on the floor.
“I took care of your problem. You can leave us alone. Or me, at least.”
Silence, held for some precarious moments as Grandma’s ragged breathing steadied. Then:
“Leave the child and return to hell.”
Gil looked to me and smiled.
Was it the real Gil? The smile was so warm. For a moment, it seemed like everything would be alright.
Then, he stabbed Grandma through the chest.
“I guess not.”
Grandma crumpled next to Dad. Tears burned in my eyes as I looked between her and what had been my friend. He just kept smiling at me.
“C-Claudie” Grandma coughed. “Claudie, the basement.”
“I wouldn’t,” ‘Gil’ said. “He really likes you. I don’t have to kill you, but I will if you make me.”
Grandma choked out a bitter, pained laugh that took its attention. “M-monsters are all the s-same, no matter their form.” She spat blood at ‘Gil’.
“Why, you-” ‘Gil’ started forward, then lurched to a halt, stiffer than the dead trees in the yard.
“The basement, Claudie!” Using the wall, Grandma pulled herself painfully up. I scooped her arm over my shoulder, and spared a glance back for ‘Gil’. The knife was impaled in his foot, and now that it was, it burned with strange symbols.
“We need…” Grandma gasped. “We need… to make… a doll.”
I staggered down the hall as fast as I could; between her shallow breaths, Grandma spoke.
“Claudie…. I am so sorry that this burden falls to you.”
“Just hang on!”
“I always knew… you could hear them too.”
I thought back to our arrival—the way the dolls looked at me then… and even now as we stumbled down the basement stairs.
Their formerly pleading eyes now glared, full of hatred. Everything seemed to burn.
“To the worktable,” Grandma said. “If we hurry…”
I half walked, half dragged Grandma to the table. Her quavering hands grabbed a doll, blank, featureless. She shoved a needle and thread into my hands.
“You need to do it. M-my hands aren’t steady enough.”
“Claudie….” Not-Gil sang. I could hear the knife clatter along the floor.
I threaded the needle, scooped up some buttons, one green, one blue. What color were Gil’s eyes again? Did it matter?
“Hurry,” Grandma gasped. “The closer it is to human, the stronger it will hold.”
I added hair… pants…. a shirt….
Footsteps, heavy, awkward on the stairs. “Don’t do it, Claudie! Don’t help her!”
It was lopsided, ugly, even, but roughly human shaped. I pictured Gil’s smile, cool, calm, collected. I stitched it as best I could.
Not-Gil stumbled into view. Whatever the knife did, it was affecting him less and less. He staggered across the basement.
Grandma stepped between us, and if looks could kill, she might have had a chance- but long enough, and she might die before it even touched her.
“Claudie!”
“It’s Finished!”
“Now,” Grandma uttered. “Blood.”
“Yours!” Not Gil dashed forward. I pricked my finger on the needle and smeared it on the doll.
Something twisted inside me, and I fell to the ground, wracked with pain. Through blurry vision, I could see the same happening to ‘Gil’. Grandma slumped between us, muttering something. She dipped her fingers into her own wound, and crawled over to me, still chanting.
Then she traced something on my head. The pain increased, and light filled my vision. I could feel myself being pulled in all directions at once, and then I felt nothing at all.
***
I woke up in my mother’s arms to the sounds of sirens and her crying my name. Red and blue colored her face.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to push her off and suddenly feeling dizzy. My head burned something fierce.
The living room bled into focus. On the couch, Ryan and Sophie, holding one another and sobbing.
“Where’s Grandma?” I struggled away from mom and almost hit the floor, but found my balance on the edge of the chair.
Out on the street, I could see Gil sitting on the back of an ambulance, two menacing cops standing over him. At another ambulance, a large, black bag was being loaded.
For just a second, Gil’s eyes met mine.
He didn’t smile.
***
Whatever Grandma made me do had worked; whatever was making Gil do those things—a demon, I guess? Was gone. Gil called 911, apparently, but, well.
It’s been hard to process all of it; my head still hurts, and I can feel my Grandma’s thoughts whispering among my own. Telling me things, teaching me things- things about the dolls in the basement, the pentagram, and other things I might find.
I know the basement’s important, especially now that Grandma is dead.
Still, I can’t bring myself to go back down those stairs. Not yet.
Instead, Gil and I rode our bikes out to the mansion.
I told him I would do it myself, but he insisted on coming with me. He still hasn’t smiled, and honestly, I find myself wondering if he’s really okay. If he’s really safe.
We stare down at the pentagram. He’s looking at it as intensely as before, and I, out of the corner of my eye, am watching him.
“Are you sure about this?”
Gil looks at me. “Yeah.” Then, with his foot, he smudges a break in the circle. Together, we work our way around, smudging it out as best we can.
It’s too late for my family, but maybe we can protect the town.