Dale's Doll

Dale's Doll - Part Four

The nightmares began, right about the same time as things began going wrong all around me—a load of files for work simply vanished from my computer, the boiler packed up, the car had a nail in one of its tyres—a succession of inconvenient bad luck.

I don't know, I just feel like since that doll has come into our home, everything has been going wrong.

It could be complete coincidence, it could just be a series of really unfortunate events; but for some strange reason, my gut is convincing me that all this sudden string of bad luck, stems from that grubby little doll.

Which is why I have a plan.

The unfortunate attachment that Delilah now has with her doll, well it's about time that it was severed. I spoke yesterday with the nursery teacher, and together, we have come up with a really good weaning-off-Dale plan.

Each week, one of the children is going to be responsible for Mr Snuggles, a cute brown otter soft toy. The children will be encouraged to take care of the toy, to explore and try new things with it, then talk about their adventures with Mr Snuggles to everyone at the end of each nursery week.

The nursery teacher said that if Delilah has Mr Snuggles first, it should be an exciting distraction from Dale. After a week with the cuddly toy otter, we are both hoping that Delilah's strong attachment to Dale will finally be broken.

And once that strong attachment has been broken, Dale is going straight into the bin. That doll can go and rot with the rest of the rubbish. I just want the damn thing out of my house and out of Delilah's life.

I think all this recent worry, is the reason for the onset of my nightmares. Such awful and disturbing nightmares.

The kind of nightmares that just stick to my waking consciousness.

And it's always the same nightmare.

The same and unforgiving, disturbing nightmare.

There's a garden, a bright and beautiful garden. Then in an unnerving second, it's not.

The garden becomes quietly gloomy, devoid of all colour and all birdsong.

In this dream, I am trying to make sense of where the sunshine has gone, and it's while I am thinking about the missing sunshine, that I see Delilah.

She's waving at me, calling out my name. So, I hurry to get to where she is. My legs are moving quickly, but Delilah doesn't seem to be getting any nearer. I start jogging, but she's still the same distance away from me.

The garden is getting darker and darker, so I start running faster and faster—frantically faster.

I just want to get to Delilah.

I need to take her into my motherly arms.

To keep her safe.

To protect her from the dark garden.

My heart is pounding, as are my feet against the shadowed dry grass.

Still, I can't get to Delilah.

Panicking, I start screaming.

Screaming at the darkness.

Screaming at being unable to reach my little girl.

I begin crying at Delilah to run towards me, just begging her to stop waving and to just come to me.

But she won't.

She just smiles, and continues to wave.

Then just as quickly, her smiling and waving stops.

Eerily comes to a stop.

The darkness is thickly now around us both. Enveloping us within its inky chill. All I can see of my little girl, is just the lightness of her skin on her preciously innocent little face.

I keep watching her face.

Watching it begin to smile again.

A smile that no longer belongs to me.

I plead with Delilah to look at me. Only me.

No matter how hard I run or how loud I scream, I can't get to where she is and I can't get her to listen to me.

My pleading turns to despairing sobs. My arms are outstretched to Delilah, desperately wanting my smiling little girl to come and fill them with the warmth of only herself.

Then from out of the suffocating darkness, two monstrous arms appear behind Delilah, beginning to slowly engulf her.

I expect Delilah to scream.

To scream out in petrified terror.

But she doesn't.

Instead, my little girl starts to giggle. Then she excitedly and so sweetly talks to those arms that are about to swallow her up. "Dale! Dale!" She calls out, just as those monstrous arms fully engulf her whole and then disappear back into the darkness from which they first came.

That's when I wake up.

I always wake just as my little darling has been taken by those sinister arms. I always wake, unsettled and with my heartbeat thundering between my ears and in my stressed-out chest.

There's something about that doll that I don't like.

That I don't like and that I confusingly now fear.

It may seem irrational.

It may seem stupid.

That's exactly what Vince thinks as well.

But I don't care.

I only care about getting rid of that doll...which is why the plan has to go ahead.