Dolls

It was an uneventful sort of street; the type that was usually found in the outskirts of any city. House followed house down both sides of Apple Street in the mostly quiet neighborhood in suburban Hampton. And yet, there was, in the past few years, a growing shadow on this particular street. No one was exactly sure, upon reflection, when the pall seemed to settle over the area, but they did know that it had focused on a house that has since been labeled the "Jarvela place" and had definitely started sometime after that couple had moved in.

"At the beginning," one of the long-term residents remarked, "it was a fairly normal house, you know. They seemed a cute couple," she recalled with a slight shiver, "but they was definitely stranger than the rest."

The house, for all of the portents, seems like any other on the street. The garden in the front yard was never out of the ordinary. A flag flew from its place on the front of the house. Most weekends the lawn was trimmed, although, when pressed, no one seems to recall seeing anyone do the mowing, but most people are dismissive of such things. Cars were regularly parked in the driveway, except during the day when, obviously, the couple were at work. In truth, most couldn't exactly place why the house became such a source of dread.

They do know that it certainly became much more pronounced after the 4th of July celebrations in the year of our Lord two-thousand and twelve.

With summer in full swing by then, most of the time the streets were regular thoroughfares of neighborhood children on bikes. In the days leading up to the fourth, there seemed to be a growing murmur amongst them about the Jarvela place. Mostly spoken of in whispers while a safe distance away, most of the kids remarked that they had never seen the couple that inhabited the house. And, as children's imaginations are wont to do, the reasons for this began to take on mythic proportions as more chose to ride by and see for themselves, dredging up new and fantastic tales as to why the house seemed out of sorts.

The man, whom they referred to as Old Man Jarvela, had been spotted a few times, for sure. His large, almost misshapen figure hidden beneath an ankle-length coat, his head obscured by the wide-brimmed hat he always wore. Whether he wore glasses, or could see at all, was a matter of some debate, as some of the kids could have sworn to have seen the odd glint of glass inside the hooded visage.

As strange as Mr. Jarvela was, the imagined image of the even more rarely seen Mrs. Jarvela was expounded to near nightmarish proportion. Almost all thoughts on the matter claimed she was disfigured in some fashion; however whether it was due to some grotesque accident at birth, or due to later dark dealings in a trade not spoken of since ancient times, no one was truly certain, although the stories were readily swapped and all were taken as true at various times.

Several days before the fourth, several of the older kids were massed on the other side of the street, several houses down, talking in hushed, conspiratorial tones.

"Listen, everyone want to know what's really going on in there," one of the older kids said, apparently reiterating himself. "As the new kids in the area, you two need to prove you're cool enough to hang with us."

The two new bloods looked at each other. "I'm not so sure about this..." one of them started.

"Can it, Derek," the other one said, getting his hackles up. "If these assholes want us to do this, then we'll do it." The older kid smiled triumphantly as Derek lowered his eyes.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Mark," Derek said, his voice small, "It's trespassing and..." his voice was drowned out by the heckling of the other kids, Mark included. Finally nodding, Derek turned his bike around and began to peddle towards the house. Mark quickly began following.

He caught up to the other kid. "Listen, it'll be easy. We look in the front window, see nothing, then come back and add to the stories," Mark said, adding a small flourish at the end. "It'll be easy."

The two began to slow down as they approached the house. Only one of the cars was visible in the driveway and, as Derek saw it, slowed to a stop. "There's someone home, Mark," he said, the fear obvious in his voice. "I think we should leave."

Mark stopped his bike and turned to the other kid. "Fine, you cry baby, go home," Mark exclaimed, bravado clearly in his voice as he continued, "then I will get all the credit."

Meekly, Derek started following again. The two dropped their bikes on the street, just at the edge of the property. Sounds seemed to become muted as the two made their way to the front stairs. Derek's heart pounded in his chest, the sound thumping in his ears. Both kids, side-by-side began to climb the few short steps to the porch, and both ground to a halt when one of the boards creaked.

They looked at each other briefly, fear springing unbidden to both. Soon, however, determining that no one had heard them, having heard nothing from the house themselves, they continued on. As they approached the heavy lace-curtained window, they could clearly begin to see inside the front room. Nothing seemed out of place, at least at first. With a quick glance at each other, they leaned in more, to try and get a clearer view.

If anything, the front room seemed like any other the boys had seen. Derek couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the colors seemed muted, somehow, as if they were staring at an old, worn photo. But the one thing that drew Derek's attention, and held onto him, was splayed out on the coffee table.

7 porcelain dolls, their legs missing, had been seemingly thrown carelessly onto the table. As he stared at the scene though, Derek began to sense a feeling of unease, as if the dolls had not been placed carelessly, but that there had been some purpose to their placement. They also seemed to be waiting, as if, at any moment, they would spring to life and wonder what had happened to them.

As they stared into the front window, they were startled by a face suddenly appearing in front of them. The two screamed and scrambled over each other to get off the porch. Hearing the door latch behind them, the two sprinted to their bikes and took off, hoping to get back to the safety of the other boys down the street.


Stay tuned for next week's installment of this story.