There it was, propped up on the marble counter, the bearer of my emotions. Stuffed legs dangled off the edge. A stitched-on, artificial smile comforted me. Its eyes gave the illusion of tracking you, understanding you. Except, I don’t think it’s an illusion any more.
I gripped the knife harder, my calloused hands trembling. “Yes, Soulsculpt.”
…Earlier this day, I begged my mother to buy me one of those dolls I’d heard my friends talking about. After school, they would dash home, seeming ecstatic that the time finally came where they’d be able to “Unwind to their Dolls”. Unwind? I’d think to myself. I’ve only ever heard grown-ups use that word when coming home from a long day at work. “I need time to unwind,” they’d say with a yawn or with miserable and wrinkled faces.
Was school really that stressful? Homework wasn’t too bad and all the teachers were nice to us–even letting us stay at recess for a little while after the bell rang. Yet, all my friends would still wanna unwind from all that.
“Daisy, why do you unwind to dolls?” I chuckled, while asking one of my friends.
“They are not ‘dolls’, Iris. Of course you wouldn’t know.” She rolled her eyes. Excuse me?
“Oh sorry, my mistake. I meant your ‘barbies’.” I shot back.
“They aren’t barbies either. Soulsculpts! They are called Soulsculpts, and they’re understanding. They truly know me. Your mommy hasn’t bought you one?” Her laugh shrunk as she walked down the hallway. My blood boiled. Soulsculpts, eh? I’ll get the best Soulsculpt and everyone will be jealous of me, she’ll see!
Later that exact day, I brought it up at the dinner table.
“Can you guys please buy me a Soulsculpt, oh please!”
My mom nearly choked on the wine she was drinking. “A-A what?” She set the wine glass down and coughed. “Who told you about those?
My dad’s eyes were fixed on his meal. He never likes a meal my mom cooks this much. Why was everyone acting so weird? “All of my friends have one,” I pouted, “I’m the only one left out!”
My parents exchanged a glance. My dad, setting his fork down with a clink, spoke up. “Honey. Wouldn’t you prefer a, i don’t know, a hot wheel? Back in my day, those were rad.”
“No one uses hot wheels anymore. They’re lame!” I crossed my arm, “I want a Soulsculpt!”
“Iris you can’t because–”–she looked at my dad as if he would finish the sentence– “–because there’s an age restriction.”
“Right, right. Your friends’ parents are terrible. They should be arrested for breaking the rules.”
“Your own friend is terrible?” I asked dad.
“Oh…” His eyes glistened as he stared off into the distance.
“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have brought him up.” It’s been days since Daisy’s father died, but it still feels surreal.
“What he meant to say is, those parents should be more cautious. Those… dolls are not suitable for children. No more discussion.”
“Right, no is no.” My dad added in.
After dinner, my parents snuck off to the basement. They tucked in a girl who they thought was asleep. I got out of bed and crept out of my room, making my way past the darkness of the kitchen and into the hallway. I tiptoed, careful not to cause the old floorboards to creak.
The decor on the wall began to rattle. A glowing light seeped through the cracks of the basement door. Muffled whispers lost their way to my ears. Nothing they said was distinguishable. Nothing but tone. They sounded as if they were arguing. Three voices exchanged words and… Wait. Three voices?
Gently, I turned the knob and pulled the basement door open. Light stung my eyes, as if I were staring at a miniature sun. As I adjusted to the sudden light contrast, I crept down the steps. I peeked at the arguing voices from behind the wall.
My mom and dad knelt before a make-shift shrine that resembled a pillow fort. Propped on top of the shrine was a doll with ugly stitching. Is… Is this what adults did in their spare time?
My eyes darted left and right, attempting to find who the third voice belonged to.
“Honey,” my mom whispered to my dad, “Soulsculpt is gone.” I looked back towards them, the doll was missing from the shrine.
“Keep praying, it’ll come back.” Their heads faced the floor and they began murmuring.
What was going on? What is this? Why-
A hushed whisper from behind, made me jump out of my own skin. “Iris, come up.”
Who? What? Though trembling, my legs carried me up the steps. I felt compelled to do as the persuasive voice said.
“In the kitchen, come!” The unnatural sounding voice said. I peeked into the kitchen, seeing that same blue doll propped up on the marble counter. “Now, now. Don’t be afraid, Iris. I don’t bite.”
I walked into the kitchen and stood in front of this… thing.
Pounding on wood reverberated throughout the entire house. “Iris! Iris! Don’t listen!”
I stumbled back. Mom? Dad?
“Don’t mind them, Iris. Don’t you wanna unwind?” It emphasized.
“N-No! You’re a freak!” I said, walking back until I felt the counter with my outstretched arm.
“All your friends think otherwise.” The doll shifted colors like a chameleon. It’s a dark purple now… “I sense you’re both mad and fearful, would you like to talk about it with me?”
“What are you a therapist!” I shouted at this freak.
The pounding and shouting grew louder. The basement doorknob rattled violently.
“Some may say that, others… Well, they refer to me as a friend.” The doll tilted its head, as if it were in an animated movie. “Would you like to be a friend, Iris?”
Still looking forward, my outstretched hand felt something sharp. I gripped the handle and swung it to the front of my body. A knife. I pointed it at the doll. “No, let my parents go!”
“Ouu,” it said amused, “What will you do with that?”
My hands trembled, “I-I’ll stab you!”
“Now now, Iris,” It shifted into a red color, “I can sense your anger. Would you like to talk about it?”
“No!” I trudged forward, “No, no, no and no!”
“Hmm, maybe this anger stems from not fitting in? With your friends at school maybe?”
“I… I don’t want to fit in!” I gripped the knife harder, feeling calluses forming on my palm.
“You see, Iris. That’s a lie your brain tells you, in order to cope with that unbearable feeling of not fitting in. I can fix that. I will bear those emotions for you. Like a true friend.”
The hoarse shouts coming from the basement faded away. It was as if Soulsculpt and I were the only people in the world. It understood me. It cared. I lowered the knife and smiled at the bearer of my emotions. It shifted into a green, friendly color.
“Very good, Iris. That’s the first step. Acceptance.”
My tunnel vision sight was fixed on Soulsculpt. “What’s next?”
Soulsculpt turned red, “Kill.”