Doll of Mine (A Dia de los Muertos Story) (2 page)

“Everything is ready, mija. Let’s finish the altar.”

She nodded. Mother and daughter gathered all their beauties at the table and began their preparations. Tomorrow night, November the first, the food her father loved best would be placed in bowls and added to the arrangement both at the cemetery and in their home. The intricately cut paper banners were tacked to the wooden crates they’d used to build the pyramid like design. Marigolds in every bright color were stuck here and there, adding to the brightness, reminding them of the joy meant to be had. Tea lights added the ambiance of the mixed emotions of the festival.

We mourn and we celebrate at once.

Alma could almost taste the sweet tackiness of the tamales on her tongue.

After they were all finished, adding painted skulls and
caramelos
to the mix, they stood back and hugged each other, knowing they’d done the spirit of their father proud. Only two more items remained—a bottle of tequila was placed near the top and a pillow/blanket combination was laid out in front of the whole thing, giving her father’s spirit a place to rest.

Everything was perfect.

That night, after the house had been cleaned and more preparations had been settled for the secondary altar at the cemetery, Alma and her mother fell into a deep sleep, each on their cot-like beds. She’d never slept on a mattress like they showed on the novellas on TV. Her friends did, but every night she was content nonetheless.

The younger woman woke at the strike of three in the morning with an eager smile. First thing the next morning, she would meet her friend at a nearby dock where a boat would take them to a place that was both revered and feared.

     
La Isla de las Muñecas

She’d wanted to go since she was a child, but was never allowed.

Her mother stirred beside her, mumblings of her father’s name always came from her mother’s dreams since he’d died.

If ever a woman was wholly in love with a man, it was her mother.

She tried to regain sleep, but some shuffling and scratching noises outside their home kept her from finding it. She figured it was a stray cat or some animal looking for food and tried her best to ignore the sounds. By the time the sun rose the next morning, Alma had been awake for hours now frightened of the noises. As she dressed, her mother made the beds and then swept, careful not to touch her toes—another superstition. It was said that if you swept along the feet of a single woman, she would never find a husband.

“
Santa Madonna
.” Her mother’s cry startled Alma.

       “
Qué pasa
?” She asked her mother what was wrong.

“
La sal.”
Her mother replied in a whisper, pointing to the salt she always poured at the doorstep.

Walking over and putting her arm around the frazzled woman’s shoulders, Alma saw what her mother had been so uneasy about. The salt was now black around the edges of the line, as if it had been singed. There was only one meaning behind such a sign—something or someone had tried to cross their line and hadn’t been allowed to pass.

A haze of knowing filled Alma’s vision and again, images of the man from the day before filtered through, reminding her of the feeling of him following her home.

“I heard noises outside last night.”

“How?” Her mother asked aggressively.

“
Como esta
,” Alma parroted the noises by scratching at the door and sliding her feet against the dirt floor below them.

“It is a sign, a bad omen. You will not go and that is final.”

She should’ve known that her mom would connect the events from the night with a reason not to let her go.

Alma groaned aloud and slapped her hands over her face. The candles, freshly lit on the altar of her father flickered, making her mother grow more positive of her decision.

“See?
Es tu
Papá
. He doesn’t want you to go either.”

Alma ignored the protests of her mother. It was the first time in her life she’d done so.

“I will be back in the afternoon. We will set up the altar and feast with Papá.”

Her mother made one last failed attempt at stopping Alma. She pulled a handkerchief from her apron and dabbed at her eyes—her dry eyes.

“
Por favor
, it’s just a tourist spot. It’s not a big deal. Please lay some new salt while I’m gone. I don’t want
La Llorona
getting you while I’m gone.”

“Don’t you make fun of me,
canija
. My beliefs have kept you safe.”

“Or kept me caged.” Alma whispered.

With her fists planted firmly on her hips, her mother gave in out of defeat. “Go then,
cabrona
. Go to the island and let their little creepy eyes bore into you and suck out your soul or whatever they do. Don’t come crying to me when that happens.”

The tiny woman had always had a flare for the dramatic.

“I will. See you tonight,
Mamita
.” Carmelita let out a ‘Pshh’ sound when her daughter kissed her goodbye, but made sure to smile and wave before Alma was out of sight.

TWO

“I wore three crosses just in case and I put an extra one on a safety pin on my underwear.” Elena was Alma’s best friend, but only of late. They’d never spoken to each other before, even though they attended the same schools. But after Alma’s father died, her old friends no longer stuck around, but Elena’s father had died two years before and they bonded over it.

“That only works if you are pregnant. You always get the rules wrong.”

“Huh,” Elena remarked, unfazed by getting the tradition mixed up.

“How long before we get there?” Alma asked the boatman who rowed like he was in no hurry at all to do anything, much less visit their destination.

      “
Treinta minutos,
más
o menos
.” Thirty minutes wasn’t much to wait, but it seemed like they’d been on that rickety boat, more like a glorified cardboard raft, for hours. The wobbly thing toggled back and forth even on the calm canal. Checking her watch, as the half hour passed, like clockwork, a thick blanket of fog rolled in, blinding them to their surroundings. Alma thought it was an oddity, the fog rolling in with no other sign of impending weather, in the middle of the day.

“
Aqui esta.”
The boatman motioned toward a dock that had appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t look toward the island, simply ticked his head to the left, never moving his gaze from the water ahead.

“Thank you.” Alma gave the man his allotted fee. She didn’t see any movement from the man, who now seemed to be cemented in place and the boat now shook with the wracking of his body. “Aren’t you coming? We need a ride back.”

“No. I will be back later.”

“When?”

“Two hours. Time enough to get back for the festival.”

The festival.  In all the excitement of finally getting to the island, she’d almost forgotten.

“Thank you. My bag,
por favor
.” Alma reached to meet the bag halfway between her and the boatman who then gave Elena her bag as well.

Hearing the boat move a lot faster away from the island than it did coming in, Alma and Elena turned their attentions toward the welcome sign which read in English and Spanish. ‘Welcome to the Island of the Dolls.’

Elena spoke up, “Where do we put the offering?”

“All the books say you can put it wherever. But I want mine near the cabin.”

Her friend shrugged, not in any way put off by the eerie feeling Alma was getting. It was much of the same spider web feeling that covered her through most of the night. They proceeded, backpacks on their shoulders, towards the center of the island, the area deemed most active by ghost hunters and locals alike. Teams of investigators had come from far and wide to get something on tape—some had succeeded, most had not.

The dock didn’t offer much in terms of sights, but as soon as their feet hit land, the angels began to toss about. The tiny plastic beings hung from every place possible and some spots in between. Most of them were tethered to branches or the trunks of trees by their necks, which seemed to Alma to resemble a noose.

Every doll seemed to be plagued by a different ailment. One was overrun with cobwebs with spiders dancing at the base of her feet. Another was spotted with a green growth that looked like the chicken pox Alma got as a child.

Some hung from strings, others were plunged into the ground, connected to sticks like a shrunken head. None viler than the others, their gazes seemed to follow the duo no matter where they went.

“So why did he hang all these dolls?” Elena questioned her friend as they took light steps toward the center of the island.

“He was appeasing the spirit of a girl who drowned in the canal. She haunted him. He thought that the more dolls he had, the less she would torment him.”

“Ew, that’s creepy.” Elena shuddered.

“Not creepy.” Alma widened her eyes, trying to make Elena watch her words. “Interesting. It’s said these dolls come alive at night and they can hear and see everything.”

“Oh…” Elena went ghost white at the realization that after only a few minutes on the creepy island that she may have stirred something negative.

“Let’s set up our offering.” Alma thought then was as good a time as any. She pulled the necessary elements from her backpack. Getting them in there and out of the house with her mother in such a close vicinity was a task. She found the first item, a doll, dressed in traditional Oaxacan garb, a rainbow embroidered dress and two tiny braids adorned her head. Next was a handful of tall white candles, followed by a bag full of hard candy. Those were the three elements needed to make the dolls and their spirits more—complacent.

After Elena pulled out her own offering, a baby doll, complete with a dress and pacifier, the two girls set up their gifts side by side, sitting their dolls up, surrounding them with candles stuck into the dirt and lit, with candy and lollipops littering the spaces between. Alma must’ve re-situated the whole thing a dozen times just to make sure everything was right. Her doll strongly resembled her, a characteristic she hadn’t noticed when she purchased it from the street vendor. Then again, she was in such a hurry, trying to hide it, she could’ve picked anything.

“Let’s go look at the cabin.” Alma suggested first.

“Isn’t that where one of the dolls opened its eye or something?”

Alma giggled at Elena’s apparent fear of plastic toys. “Yes. So don’t piss them off.”

Before getting to the cabin, they passed hundreds of dolls in all shapes, sizes and variances of decay. Some were completely intact. One or two had mold growing on their faces or feet. From tree to tree, a metal line ran through the dolls’ heads, displaying them like clothes hung on a clothesline. The sound of wind chimes could be heard, though neither one of the girls had seen a single one.

Elena surveyed the area closer than she would care to admit. Since leaving the house earlier that morning, she’d felt something following her. Whatever it was had darted in and out of the brush surrounding the banks of all the other islands they’d passed. It was a shadow of sorts, but somehow, in her mind’s eye, it resembled the man from the day before.

And that movie, Jeepers Creepers.

Alma saw Elena engrossed in one doll in particular. Its head was turned towards the doll that dangled beside it and the other doll was turned to face the first one, in turn—like they’d been frozen in time right in the middle of a conversation.

Tiny brown spiders made the dolls’ legs look like they were moving and a brisk wind made them sway on their leashes. Alma rolled her eyes, thinking to herself that these things made up for most of the supposed haunting stories.

Elena still hadn’t noticed her presence, captured completely by the two
compadre
figures.

“Come and play with us.” Alma whispered in Elena’s ear, causing her partner to jump. Elena then slapped Alma’s shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again.” Her attention was easily brought back to its previous target. “Look at them. It’s like they were talking and got interrupted.”

“Well, you’re going to be spending the night with them if we don’t hurry up. We’ve already wasted an hour here. Let’s go see the cabin and then make our way back.”

Elena nodded, but took a picture of the duo before proceeding. The cabin was no more than a makeshift house built of what looked like driftwood and other parts and pieces. A pillow and blanket pallet lined the right wall, but other than that, no personal belongings or evidence of the previous owner existed—well, with the exception of his vast collection of dolls.

Alma scanned the place, fascinated by the variety. As she gazed at one doll in particular, it seemed to smile at her, but never moved. She approached the doll in question and examined it further. A piece of paper was tied to the doll’s wrist by a red ribbon. The word on the paper was barely legible. It seemed to be written by a pencil a long time ago.

“Lucia.” Alma finally deciphered the text. “That must be your name. It’s lovely to meet you, Lucia.” It didn’t escape Alma’s notice that this doll was the only one who had several unique features. For one, she wasn’t filthy and had no bugs or mildew on her. Number two, her hair was well brushed and clean. And the third, she was the only doll Alma had seen who was full dressed, down to her tiny pantyhose and Mary Jane shoes.

The doll seemed to call to her without a voice.

“Are you talking to that doll? That’s it, we are so out of here.” Elena flung her raven braid over her shoulder and smirked.

“This one has a name. It’s on her wrist.”

Elena walked over, but didn’t have the same reaction as Alma. “Great. Can we go now? I swear that one over there with one huge eye and one beady eye is following me all over this place.”

Alma looked at the doll in question. She was particularly off. One of her eyes was so big that it cracked her face around the eyeball and glue had been applied non-sparingly to keep it all in place. The other eye was original, a tiny, beady, black bean of an eye.

“Let me take some pictures and then we can go.”

Alma took pictures of the shack, section by section as not to miss a thing. When she got to Lucia’s section, she gasped as she brought the being toy into focus. Because as she did a voice spoke to her. “Take me away from here.
Sácame de aquí
.”

Shocked, Alma crept closer to Lucia and checked her thoroughly for any speaking device, but Lucia was made of porcelain and there was no talking apparatus attached. Alma then touched the doll’s lips but they were sealed shut, like most of the others.

“You’re whacked out, Alma.” The girl told herself. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

She went for the door, determined now, more than before, to get home and sleep before her mother needed her most. Once more, just for her own sanity, she turned to look at Lucia one more time.

But Lucia was gone.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m done.” Alma told Elena as she finally shut the door to the cabin.

“Thank you
Santo
Nicolás.
Finally.”

The girls passed everything a second time, but the scare factor had not worn off from the first pass. Walking past their dolls of offering, Elena straightened hers, while Alma noticed her place doll’s head was bowed, as if it were praying. Deciding that maybe dolls prayed as well, she left it alone. When they reached the dock, Alma heard a noise in the bushes as Elena climbed into the boat, hurried on by a boatman, now so frantic, he was almost inconsolable.

“Is—is someone there?” She stuttered.

“
Sácame de aquí!”
The voice from before begged. Alma inched closer to the brush, seeing the sheen of one pint-sized patent leather Mary Jane sticking out from the underbrush.

“Lucia!” She cried! Looking towards the shack, it was out of range. But what she did see sent frozen tingles down the muscles in her back. The man, the one from the market, stood in the path they’d just taken and in his hands was the doll she’d brought to give as a gift. With his left hand cradling the doll, his right stroked her face lovingly.

She could almost feel the ghosting of his hand along the same spot on her own face.

“
Ayuda me
!” Lucia changed her plea to ‘Help me.’ Alma didn’t know what it was about the doll, but she had to help it. Especially if that man, or boy, was the one she was trying to escape.

Grabbing for Lucia’s feet, she tugged the doll into her arms. She held it tight and faced the man in defiance.

“You can borrow her, through
Los Dias de los Muertos
. But you must bring her back before the stroke of midnight tomorrow night. I will grant her leave for that long.”

“And if I don’t.”

He turned, but his answer floated on the wind. “If you don’t, a price must be paid.”

“Hurry up, Alma!” Elena screamed from the boat and ignoring the dark man’s warning, Alma stuffed Lucia into the backpack not as carefully as she should. “I’m coming!”

Back on the boat, she looked back at the island. All the fog had dissipated. The man, which was a young man about her age, could be seen at the edge of the water, still stroking the face of the doll that by the second, more and more resembled Alma.