Contained

Frilly lace, faded roses, glassy-eyed stares frozen in pucker-lipped silence; the old dolls perched, each waiting their turn for the camera and their inspection. The musty scent of dust and years of storage pervaded Amelia’s nostrils like a retirement home’s cologne. Invading the small doll’s privacy, she lifted the skirt of the German doll in her clutches. She posed the antique lady on the cushion for a shot of her delicate petticoat.

Collectors wanted to know that everything, underwear and all, remained intact.

Bags shifted when one of the dolls, still in the tote, fell against the hard plastic. The thump forced a squeak out of Amelia. The camera tumbled into her lap. She shook her head and scooped it up to snap the picture.

The plastic rustled again. She froze.

Abandoning her current model, Amelia stood up and crept over to the tote. Inside, the bags full of potential sales stared up at her, their porcelain occupants as still as ever. She shook her head again.

They’re just unbalanced. That’s all. Shifting like an old house.

And yet, her desperate attempts to console herself felt hollow and empty. The hairs pricked on the back of her neck and goose-bumps raced across her skin, standing at painful attention.

Taking a deep breath, she reached towards the plastic container, ready to prove the dolls were nothing more than lifeless toys. As her fingertips grazed the clear plastic, something scuttled behind her.

She spun around too fast, her hip knocking against the tote and tossing it on its side. Dolls tumbled out on the carpet, contained in their plastic sheaths, but not protected from the fall. She flinched at the guarantee of a few broken parts, but the larger part shrunk in horror at what her eyes registered.

Her camera sat on the fuzzy blanket, next to where the German doll should have been sitting.

Only the camera remained.

Amelia’s mouth dried out and her heartbeat hammered in her ears. The room seemed to close in on her, filled with too many ominous hiding places. No roommate or boyfriend shared the apartment with her to play cruel jokes. She was entirely by herself.

Yet, someone moved the doll.

A cabinet clicked shut in the kitchen, the sound echoing too loud in the emptiness around her. Shaking, she reached into the top drawer of the chest sitting next to her couch and pulled out a rubber-handled switchblade. She flicked it open and held it at her side. Her gazed locked on the dark kitchen.

One slow step after the other carried her across the scratchy carpet. The air conditioner kicked on, its mechanical whirring deafening as she strained to hear movement. She gripped the handle of the knife so tight the rubber bit into her skin.

Her free hand found the switch and flicked it on, bathing the small room in dull, yellow illumination. The cabinet under the sink, open less than an inch, jerked shut. Amelia stumbled backward, her scream strangling in her throat.

Plastic rustled from the living room and a voice, high-pitched and too sweet, cried out, “Daddy, why have you put me in here?”

Amelia shrank against the wall, trying to keep an eye on the kitchen and see into the living room at the same time. The cabinet shifted in the corner of her vision. Tears blurred her sight and a desperate whimper escaped her.

The voice cried out again, “Daddy?”

“I’m not your Daddy,” she blurted.

One of the totes thumped and shook. It fell on its side, spilling the dolls across the carpet.

Amelia bit her lip, trying to keep from shrieking. She sank to a squatting position, the knife jutting out in front of her as if she could somehow ward off the nightmare coming to life. Soft sighs and crinkling noises assaulted her, followed by the sharp squeak of the kitchen cabinet.

“Stop! Please stop!” She squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears trailing down her cheeks.

The sound of dolls waking quieted into the snivels of a young child.

Amelia opened her eyes and thrust her fist against her mouth to quell a scream. She still sat in the apartment, but it was no longer her apartment. The retro, olive green furniture crawled right out of the seventies and the thick, shaggy carpet looked like it could hide a small town.

Muffled sobs drifted from the back room. Still clutching the small switchblade, Amelia rose to her feet. She followed the sound into the main bedroom and saw a man with glasses sitting on a bold pattern bedspread. He thumbed his way through a book, never glancing up at her.

“Excuse me,” she said, hoping for an explanation.

He didn’t answer or register he hear her. Though the cries had grown louder the room, they still sounded muted .

The trunk in front of the bed gave a resounding thud.

"Daddy? Why won't you let me out of here? Please let me out..." The girl’s pleas were as ignored as Amelia’s own request.

Chills danced down her spine. She took a step back and raised the knife again.

“Daddy! I can’t breathe,” the stifled voice said.

The man began humming and rocking back and forth. He turned another page and continued reading.

When Amelia spotted the shelves of porcelain dolls sitting on the wall, watching the scene, her her heart dropped into her stomach. Their cold glass eyes seemed focused on the trunk, indifferent and yet somehow sad. She took another step back and shook her head, trying to understand everything before her.

The trapped child’s mewls devolved into distressed gasps. “Daddy?”

The sound tore at Amelia’s heartstrings and she couldn’t take it anymore. She ran into the room and lunged at the trunk. Her fingers grasped for the edge of the wooden lid and slid right through.

The room dissolved back into her own furniture and she stared at her bed, the trunk gone. The girl’s pleas for mercy still echoed against the walls.

“Daddy, let me out of here.” The shrill demand came from behind her.

She whipped around to see one of the dolls sitting against the doorframe. Its painted lips pursed in a heart-shaped kiss. The doll sat lifeless but she knew better.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Muffled sobs filled the room, low wails for release. Amelia covered her ears, but she couldn’t block the shouts for help. She sank to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut, praying she would wake up.

Something touched her nose.

Her eyes snapped open. The German doll stood, its glassy gaze locked with hers. Amelia couldn’t move, she could only stare back and recognize the intelligence reflected in the supposed-to-be-inanimate object.

“I want release.” The voice came from the doll, swelled in the air around her, pulsed in Amelia’s bones.

A sharp shriek tore out of Amelia’s throat, the last noise she made.



Amelia packed the dolls with tender caresses into the totes, stroking their silken hair and touching her fingers to their cold lips. She hummed to herself as she put the lids back on.

Satisfied the dolls were contained, she began singing words to her tune, her voice crisp and childlike, “Daddy, I will find you. I will find you.”