The Awakening of the Dolls

Chapter Three

When Akira woke up, she wasn't clutching Scottie in her arms anymore. What she was clutching was still soft and warm, but felt different from the familiar stuffed animal she was used to. As she turned her head, she felt more of the warm material on her pillow, along with what felt like coarse string.

She didn't think much of it at first. Her body felt as heavy as when she had fallen into bed. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking as she struggled to regain her vision. She winced as she turned her head, before her eyes shot open at the sight of cotton and thread on her pillow. She scanned her bed to find more pieces scattered across the covers. She spotted a black piece of fleece amongst the white cotton, as if torn off from her beloved lamb's leg.

Akira shot into motion as she forced herself out of bed, her drowsiness fading at the alarming sight. She searched desperately for remnants of her lamb, but all she found were bits of fleece and thread. It was as if his skin had been ripped off and his insides had been spilled everywhere. The morbid thought made her shudder. Injuring her hand with the knife yesterday must've sent her mind to a dark place.

She felt tears fill her eyes as she gathered the remnants of her long-treasured toy. Scottie had been her loyal companion. He was by her side in the doctor's room while she waited for a shot, in her lap while she took a haircut at the hairdresser, snuggled next to her when she slept... and now, he was gone forever.

Akira barely noticed when her mother wrapped her arms around her. "Akira, what's wrong?"

"Sc... Scottie," Akira managed to sniffle.

Her mother glanced around, seeming to only just notice the mess covering Akira's bed. "Oh, Akira, did he finally fall apart?"

"No!" Akira protested, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, honey," Mrs. Miyamoto soothed. "I know how much you liked him. But it was only a matter of time until he fell apart, don't you think?"

Akira wasn't in denial over the demise of her stuffed animal, as her mother thought. She was in denial that he had fallen apart. Someone had ripped him apart. Ripped him apart and scattered his remains while she slept.

"Someone did this to him," Akira cried.

"What?" Her mother began to gather up the cotton and fleece on the bed.

"I bet it was Michael," Akira muttered. "He must've snuck into my room and torn him to pieces..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs. Miyamoto assured. "Your brother would never do something like that." Akira didn't really think so either, but she almost wished that it was him. At least that would be an explanation.

Before her mother could stop her, she had dashed out of her room and to her brother's. She pulled open the door, ready to yell at him. Then the words died in her throat. He was fast asleep, his brown hair falling over the pillow as his right arm clutched at the covers. Then he shifted slightly upon hearing movement.

Akira stepped out of the room, almost disappointed. She had already known deep down that he wouldn't do something like that, even if she ruined his things on some occasions. She remembered how he had saved her from drowning yesterday. After the doll had caused her to...

Akira told herself that was ridiculous. Dolls couldn't move. But when she returned to her room, she nearly jumped out of her skin. The doll wasn't on the dresser where she had left her last night, but lying on the floor next to her bed, staring up at her. She didn't know why she hadn't noticed before. She supposed she had been too distraught.

"Mama!" Akira cried. "The doll..."

Her mother reached over to pick it up. "You were right. Her hair does seem a bit longer." The longer strands now brushed against the carpet, the eyes rolling backwards. "And she feels so warm..."

"She wasn't there last night!" Akira exclaimed. "She was sitting up there..."

Her mother hesitated, looking conflicted for a moment as if she was considering the idea of the doll moving. Then she shook her head. "She must have just fallen."

She reached up to place the doll back on the dresser. Then she put her arm around Akira. "Come on, you'll feel better once you eat breakfast. I made your favorite pancakes. I thought that would cheer you up."

Usually it would, but Akira was too miserable to even eat that. She didn't say a word at breakfast, picking glumly at the pancakes with her fork and watching as chocolate syrup smeared over the plate.

"How come I don't get pancakes?" Michael complained.

"Michael, they're guests here. It was nice of her to cook at all," Mrs. Barker scolded.

"Well, she better cook my favorite for dinner," Michael quipped. "Stuffed lamb with potatoes."

At that, Akira burst into tears, her shoulders shaking. Everyone turned to stare at her in surprise, except for her mom who put her arm around her.

"What's wrong, Akira?" Mr. Miyamoto exclaimed in concern.

"Oh, come on. I didn't mean that," Michael protested.

Mrs. Miyamoto stared at her daughter in concern, before turning to everyone. "It's... it's been a bit of a tough morning for Akira," she admitted. "Something very bad happened."

Akira wiped away her tears as her mother explained the loss of her stuffed animal. She seemed just as distressed about it as Akira was, especially upon seeing how upset her daughter was. It had been her present, after all.

"Uh... maybe I can lay off on stuffed lamb for a while," Michael muttered.

"Oh, Akira... I'm sorry," Mr. Miyamoto said. "But you shouldn't be too torn up over it. That thing's absolutely filthy. We should've thrown it out years ago."

"John," Mrs. Miyamoto scolded, shooting him a warning glare. "It was my present to her, remember?"

"You're right," Akira sighed. "I should get over it. Scottie's gone... gone forever."

"I can try to fix it," Mrs. Barker offered. "I'm very talented at sewing. With just a little needle and thread, I fixed Michael's teddy bear that he slept with until he was eight."

"Mom! Don't tell them that," Michael protested, lowering his face into his cereal in embarrassment. Usually, Akira would've been making fun of him, but now she was too distraught.

"That's kind of you, Sharon, but I don't think anything can fix it," Mrs. Miyamoto sighed. "It's completely destroyed. Ripped to pieces. I could barely find all of the parts." She lowered her head, a saddened expression crossing her face.

"It didn't fall apart," Akira insisted. "It was torn apart. Somebody destroyed it."

"Really? Who could that be?" Michael scoffed. "I didn't, and you don't seriously think my mom or your mom did, do you?"

"And I definitely didn't," Mr. Miyamoto added.

"What do you think, the doll came to life and ripped your other doll to pieces?" Michael scoffed. "That would be less surprising. That thing is creepy."

"It's a lamb, not a doll," Akira muttered. Actually, that was what she did think, at least a little.

"Oh, right. At least you still have that doll, don't you, Akira?" Mrs. Miyamoto pointed out. "And your other dolls?"

"Just that doll," Akira muttered unhappily. "I didn't have room to pack the other ones."

"Well, look on the bright side. Your eighth birthday is coming up soon," Mrs. Barker said. "That should cheer you up, shouldn't it? You'll get lots of presents and eat cake all day."

Mrs. Miyamoto nodded in sudden excitement. "Yes! Her birthday is coming up. In less than a week. Oh dear. I've barely bought any presents."

Akira barely paid attention. All she could remember was the way the doll had been staring up at her, the chapped lips forming into a small smile.

But strangely, what somehow disturbed Akira the most was the increased length of her hair. Usually, she would've been thrilled with the change, but now, it only terrified her more. How long would her hair grow?