Doll of Mine (A Dia de los Muertos Story) (3 page)

THREE

That night, Lucia went with Alma to the celebrations, travelling with her in the backpack. Decorating her father’s grave and partaking in the feast she and her mother had so lovingly prepared took up most of the night. Though it kept her busy, she couldn’t help but have her attentions pulled again and again by the prize resting against her back.

When they’d arrived home, Alma waited most impatiently for her mother to go to sleep before she dug into her bag. The rest of the night was spent getting Lucia back to her former glory. A night inside a back hadn’t done well for the girl’s looks.

Alma took care to brush Lucia’s hair, making it resemble its former glory. She straightened Lucia’s lovely hands and apron. She replaced the doll’s shoes and the ribbon in her hair, then flattened the dainty collar on her dress to a primped fold. Alma even took the liberty of fluffing the doll’s dress.

“There. I’m sorry for today. I didn’t mean to bump you around so much.”

Alma’s mother left early the next morning to begin the celebrations, but Alma was not expected to participate. One day was enough for her. Lucia was set on the bed, tucked into the blankets. The doll’s face seemed to have brightened since the night before. Instead of worrying over it, she lit the candles on her father’s altar and made herself a simple breakfast of eggs over rice. She spoke to her father’s image while she ate, telling him so many things that she was afraid to tell her mother—afraid it would upset her further.

“People treated me differently after you died. We lost a lot. Mom has to work all the time and she even makes dresses on the side. I have to work and I can’t go to college anymore. The money went to pay for the funeral. I’m not mad, Papá. I just miss you.”

Alma cleaned the house for the rest of the day and worked through all of her mother’s silly rituals out of respect when her mother came back. She looked weary and took a seat at the table. Looking around the small home, she praised Alma—until she saw the bed.

“
Babosa!
What have you done?”

Alma could see that her mother’s eyes were on Lucia. She had two choices. Alma could lie to her mother or she could tell the truth and face the wrath.

She’d learned at a young age that her mother knew the truth most times anyway, and the
azotes
that followed drove the point home—don’t lie to your mother.

“She was from the island. I couldn’t help it.”

“You think you can just take something and it’s okay,
Tontita
? People from around here don’t visit that place for a reason!”

Alma trembled under the rebuking from her mother. “But he said if I bring it back before tonight, it will be fine.”

Every drop of blood rushed from Carmelita’s face and she turned in her seat. “
Quien, mija
? Who told you that?”

“The man. I saw him in the market and then on the island.”

Her mother gripped the edge of the table. “What did he look like?”

“He looked my age. Dark clothes.”

Carmelita jolted from the chair and pushed the curtain on the window aside. “It is night,
mija
! All day you’ve played around. You must go now!”

Alma grabbed her bag and scurried to the bed to grab Lucia, but the doll, who’d been in the same place all day was gone.

“She’s gone!” Alma shouted at her mother.

“Find her now!” Both women searched through the tiny place until Carmelita’s movement completely

There on a lone rafter, Lucia sat, her face now contorted in a scowl.

“Get a chair,” the mother prompted. Alma got atop the chair and grabbed Lucia. “It’s ten, Alma. You must get to the island.”

Alma turned to her mother. “You aren’t coming with me?”

A lone tear flowed down her mother’s face. “I am forbidden. You are not the first in the family to hear the island’s call—or the Dark One’s beckoning. Go now—before it’s too late.”

Alma didn’t know the meaning behind her mother’s confession or her tears, but she didn’t have time to wonder. She had to get Lucia back.

“
Ni madre
! You are crazy if you think I’m taking you back to that God forsaken island!” The boatman from her previous trip yelled at her and then proceeded to flee the scene. She plopped onto the wet ground and began to allow the weight of the situation to come down on her. As the tears flowed and the sobs abounded, a woman approached her.

“What’s wrong, child?”

The woman was the age of her mother, wearing old fashioned clothing that, in modern days, was only worn by the older Aztec women. Her salt and pepper hair was tied back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were kind and concerned.

“I need to get back to
a
Isla De Las Muñecas
 
! I have to!”

The woman smiled and behind her the halo of the moon doubled as a halo around her face. “Come, we can take my boat. We will get you there quickly.”

There was no other boat. Alma had never heard of another boat in the area that made trips to the island. But instead of questioning the kind gesture, she scrambled to the edge of the water and stepped gingerly into the boat which looked like a hollowed out tree.

Most of the trip was silent. As the island came into view, she noticed the fog had lifted and instead of the wind chimes she’d heart before, faint accordion music rang in the distance.

“What’s that music?” She asked the woman.

“
La Cancion de
las Muñecas
. Some music only plays at night.”

A shudder of terror shook Alma’s body as she saw the truth in the woman’s eyes. A movement in her bag caught her eye. Slowly, she unzipped the backpack, revealing a dancing Lucia. The doll was dancing inside of her bag and grasping desperately, trying to escape.

“You are late. He won’t be pleased.” She pointed upwards at the moon.

“Who is he?” Alma asked, afraid of the answer.

“He is not the caretaker who once kept this place holy. Rather in his place stands a prince of the darkness.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. She’s okay. I’m bringing her back.” Alma’s chest heaved with deepened breaths of panic.

The woman, still rowing, gave Alma a look of pure sympathy. “When he gives you the choice, take your time making a decision. There’s no hurry.”

“What choice,” Alma asked.

Instead of answering, the woman pulled against the dock and helped Alma out of the boat.

“Good luck, child.”

Alma turned to thank the woman, but there was no one there. The canal around and beyond the canal was empty. She took Lucia from the backpack and fluffed and primped the doll, who continued to fidget, as best she could for good measure and then hiked the distance to the cabin. Along the way, she thought nothing of the missing dolls from the trees, figuring she was simply having a hard time seeing them in the dark. When she reached the area around the cabin, her breath stopped in her chest.

A jovial circle danced around a fire, the instruments were played by invisible musicians. It was the dolls—they were all dancing, hands clasped around the fire and around him.

“Well, well, well,” The darkly dressed man clapped his hands and shone a great smile of perfect white teeth in her direction. “I see you’ve brought back my bride.”

His bride?

Alma nodded. It was the only reply she could conjure.

“I see you’ve taken excellent care of her. Thank you. She truly looks happy now.”

He took the doll from Alma’s hands and set her down. Lucia came to life as her feet hit the ground, as if the man had blown a breath of life into her lungs. She didn’t hesitate in dancing with her kind. He looked on the scene and clapped some more with the music, laughing and carrying on with the rest of them.

I’ve done it.
Alma thought to herself. She turned to sneak away from the scene and promised herself to obey her mother’s rituals and habits, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. She also promised herself never to travel to the island again.

A few steps later, she heard a growling clearing of the throat. “Aren’t we forgetting something, Alma dear?”

How did he know her name?

“I’m sure we’re not. I returned her.”

“Yes,” his grin grew devilish. “But you’re late. We had an agreement.”

She looked around. The dolls had forgotten their dance and the instruments waivered in the air, soundless. Some of the dolls looked on the man with awe, but the others openly wept.

“Can’t you forgive me? I brought her back, safe and sound.”

“Forgiveness is not an option. That’s why I gave you a chance to make good on our deal. You agreed that thieves should be punished, correct?”

Alma had agreed in the market. She had agreed that sins deserved punishment.

Unknowingly, she’d sentenced herself—to what, she didn’t know.

“But I didn’t steal. I returned her.”

“You were late!” The man chortled and contorted his face until he became more of a beast than a human. Two points on his forehead burned and bulged. But as soon as the anger came, it relented, deflating him back to the man—now more handsome than he had been before.

“I tell you what. I will give you a choice in your punishment. I am fair. That doll wasn’t just another play thing—she was my bride to be. We had a deal. You see, when you didn’t return my bride in time, her freedom from our arrangement was granted. So, you can either agree to be my bride and live the life of these dolls, awakening with the moon and joining me in marriage. Or…you can go home now and return on your thirtieth birthday and become one of them without a chance of ever coming to life again.” He pointed to the dolls that were strung by a metal line threaded through their heads. They weren’t moving or dancing. They were just plastic.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he lifted his hand towards her. The desire, swirled with terror, feeling warmed her belly and clenched at her chest.

“Come now. Being my bride isn’t so bad.”

Alma mulled it all over in her head. She looked toward the bank of the canal and then back at the dolls.

There was no obvious choice.

But she had to make one.

“Quickly,” he chastised as if he knew the woman’s warning to take her time.

“What choice do I have?”

~~~

As the sun rose over Doll Island a few hours later, the dolls all went to their places for their days of rest and silence. What the man didn’t tell Alma was that the dolls of
la Isla De Las Muñecas only were allowed to rise on Los Dias de los Muertos.

The other dolls had taken their places, mourning the sunrise and the loss of their freedom once again.

The choice had been easier than Alma wanted to admit to herself.

A life of a nightling, one that only danced at night, or half of a human life and then left to hang by a string.

“Sit, darling bride.” He told Alma. She sat next to the box that once belonged to Lucia. The dolls of the island had dressed her to perfection in a life-size outfit that matched the costume of her once innocent offering. Alma’s arms and legs shrunk and shriveled as she stared at him in shock. Her eyes could see, but couldn’t blink. Her body could feel but could not move. She could hear but never be heard.

Her thoughts were her own, jailed inside the cage of her mind.

“Goodnight,
mi vida
, my love. Until next year.”