The Awakening of the Dolls

Chapter One

Akira Miyamoto woke up from her sleep, her body stiff and heavy. Her eyes fluttered open and closed as she tried to stretch her limbs, only to feel them weighed down. She felt like she was glued to the bed. Her long black hair fell over her face, seeming thicker than usual. Then as she tried to lift her arm, she realized the soft silk that she was clutching. More dark hair that wasn't hers was spread over the pillow.

Then Akira remembered. She had fallen asleep with the doll cradled in her arms. The large, porcelain object wasn't the most comfortable to sleep with, but that likely wasn't the only reason she was so stiff. She had taken a nap and slept through half the day. It was near evening now.

Akira pulled her hand away. The doll was much warmer now, probably from being pressed against her. She lifted her head to observe the thing. It was the prettiest doll she had ever seen, larger and more realistic than any others she owned. A brightly colored, patterned kimono was draped over her body, her black eyes glistening the same way as her porcelain skin. Occasional cracks marred her pale skin, as well as her pink lips. She almost looked like a real child - a very mature child - if not for the artificial shine of plastic and blank, hollow look in her dark eyes.

Akira had found the doll on her recent trip to Japan with her family. She had been lying on the street, at the side of a cemetery. No one she had asked had recognized the thing. Akira had snuck the doll into her backpack, and her mother had been too concerned by the injury her father had sustained during the trip to pay much attention.

She had carried the doll everywhere since arriving home, including to her half brother's house. After their trip to Japan, her father had insisted they spend more time together. She had cleared out her other dolls to make room for the large one, except for her stuffed lamb. She carried that everywhere as well, even though it was falling apart. It had been torn apart even more in Japan, which was why she had been so excited to find the doll.

What Akira liked most about the doll was her hair. It wasn't too long, stopping at her shoulders, but looked and felt just like a real human's. Akira ran her hand through the dark, shiny strands, as thick and smooth as her own long black hair despite the shorter length. She began tying them together when her mother called to her.

"You're finally awake, Akira. Get out of bed. It's time for your bath. You better use the bathroom before I'm finished making dinner."

Akira forced herself out of bed as the stiffness in her body slowly abated. She carried the doll in her arms to the bathroom. Her mother shook her head at the sight.

"I wished you left that thing behind," she sighed. "It could have belonged to someone. And now it's too late to return it."

"Nobody I asked wanted it," Akira insisted. "I'll return her the next time we go to Japan."

"I think you're getting too old to play with dolls," Mrs. Miyamoto quipped. "You're going to be eight in less than a week. You still keep all of your dolls on the shelves of your room."

"But I only brought Rosemary here," Akira pointed out, hugging the doll closer to her chest.

Her mother shook her head. "You gave it a name? Of course you did."

"It's a beautiful name," Akira insisted. "And it suits her." She was proud of picking such a graceful name for her doll.

"What about your stuffed lamb?" Mrs. Miyamoto demanded. "The one that I got you for your fourth birthday? The one that you carry everywhere with you? The one that you brought to Japan and cried your eyes out when one of its legs fell off?" She raised an eyebrow. "Now it seems you've completely forgotten about it."

"I didn't forget about Scottie," Akira insisted. "But he was falling to pieces already. Rosemary is brand new." She was still attached to her stuffed lamb, despite its tattered condition. But this doll was new, and larger, and more like a real person. She could pretend that it was her baby sister while she combed her hair or slept with her.

"And whose fault is that? I told you not to wave him over the bridge like that," her mother admonished lightly. "Actually, maybe it's a good thing you have a new doll now. That lamb was nearing the end of its life, tattered and filthy. It wouldn't be much longer before we had to set it out to pasture." Akira wasn't sure what that meant. "Oh, forget about that thing. I'll help you take your bath."

"No, Mama. I can do it myself," Akira insisted.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Miyamoto raised an eyebrow. "You always get soap in your eyes and cry, remember?"

"But I didn't the last few times!" Akira protested.

"Because I helped you," Mrs. Miyamoto muttered. "You burned yourself on the stove while trying to cook by yourself last night, remember?"

"That was an accident! Mama, you said yourself. I'm going to be eight next week," Akira insisted. "I can do it myself. And I'll take Rosemary to get washed as well."

"You'll take that awful doll with you?" Mrs. Miyamoto raised an eyebrow.

"Rosemary is not awful!" Akira protested. "I'll wash her and put her in my old clothes."

Mrs. Miyamoto shuddered. "There's just something about that thing that gives me the creeps. It looks too real."

Akira giggled. "Mama, don't be silly! It's just a doll. You should know that."

Mrs. Miyamoto smiled. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I should be the one telling you that, not the other way around."

Akira disappeared into the bathroom before her mother could protest. She felt slightly apprehensive while lowering herself into the bathtub. She'd never admit it, but she did miss bathing with her mother. But she needed to learn to do things by herself.

She stepped out and decided to lower the doll in first. She hesitated, remembering how Scottie's leg had fallen into the lake and dissolved to wool and thread. But Scottie had been tattered and fraying, while this doll was made of hard, polished porcelain. Besides, she'd be in a shallow bathtub, not a deep lake.

The doll's eyes slid closed as she was lowered into the tub. The water washed over her porcelain skin, revealing the cracks and blemishes hidden by the polished exterior. Akira squeezed soap and shampoo into Rosemary's hair, watching as some of the strands fell out into the water. It was just like how her mother washed her own hair to prevent her from hurting her eyes. Akira decided it was good practice. She carefully bathed the doll as if she was a real child, satisfied when she managed to avoid getting soap near her eyes.

Once Rosemary was sufficiently washed, Akira slathered her own hair before stepping into the bathtub. She leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering how her mama would sing to her and kiss her head. She relaxed in the warm water for a while, letting the bubbles wash over her skin. She jumped as she felt the doll floating near her, the wet hair tickling her legs.

Akira carefully raised her hands to her head and rinsed off the shampoo, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly closed. She was almost pleased with herself when she felt something that made her jump. A sharp throbbing in her ankle. Something had circled her leg in a tight grip. And it wasn't letting go.

She was about to open her eyes when she felt herself slipping... being pulled under. She opened her mouth to let out a scream as her head dropped beneath the water.