'Mom!'
Daniel stood there, not sure what to say, not sure how to defend himself. Margot was acting as though there was nothing unusual here, nothing out of the ordinary, and it threw him. Couldn't she tell that there was something the matter with the doll? Couldn't she see?
Obviously not.
Maybe it was him. Maybe there really was nothing wrong. Maybe he was just overreacting.
Daniel looked once more at the doll, again felt repulsed, scared.
He tried to tell himself that he was having some sort of breakdown, that the stress from being out of work for so long had finally gotten to him, but he did not believe it.
Wasn't that the definition of mental illness, though?
If you had it, you didn't know it?
He didn't believe that either.
What did he believe?
He believed that Tony's doll was evil. He believed that his son was doing something wrong in making it and that he knew it was wrong and that's why he had tried to hide it. He believed that, for whatever reason, Margot couldn't tell what was happening and didn't understand.
'It's not for school?' Daniel asked again.
Tony shook his head.
'Then throw it away. If you want art supplies, we'll get you art supplies.'
'We can't afford--' Margot started to say.
'I don't want art supplies!' Tony said. 'I just want you to leave me alone!'
Margot pulled at Daniel's sleeve, pulled him toward the door. 'Come on.'
Daniel stood his ground. 'I don't want that thing in the house.'
'What's the matter with you?' Margot frowned at him.
'I'll do it in the garage,' Tony said.
Daniel didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. He knew his attitude appeared irrational, but he could not seem to articulate his aversion to the figure, could not seem to explain and communicate his feelings toward the horrid object. The threads were there but he could not pull them together. He glanced from Tony to Margot. He did not want to get into a fight with them over this. He knew the truth, felt it in his gut, but he was aware that he was in the intellectually weaker position here and that in a fair fight he would lose.
It was best to back off, throw the thing away later, when they were both out of the house.
He allowed himself to be led by Margot out of the room, and she waited until Tony's door was closed and they were safely in the kitchen before confronting him.
'What was that back there? What did you think you were doing?'
He didn't even try to explain. Out of the room, away from the figure, it almost seemed silly even to him, and he could think of no way to defend himself that would sound even remotely plausible.
'If that's all he's doing by himself in there, making 'art projects,' then we should consider ourselves lucky.'
'Yeah,' Daniel said. 'You're right.'
But he didn't think that at all.
He walked back into the living room, nipped on the television, found a movie.
The thing was, Tony didn't seem to really understand what the doll was either. He obviously knew enough to try to keep it hidden from his parents, obviously felt as though it was something he should not be doing, but there'd been no deception or dishonesty in his defense of his 'art project.' He'd seemed as naive as Margot in that way, sincere in his straightforward appeal. It was as if, on one level, he recognized the abnormal and abhorrent nature of the object, and on another level he saw it as merely an ordinary product of an ordinary hobby.
He didn't seem to understand what he was doing or why.
He was like . . . like a baby playing with fire.
What made him think of that analogy?
Daniel didn't know, but it was accurate nevertheless.
There was a danger here. He sensed it. And he would not feel comfortable until that thing was out of his son's room and out of his house.
Margot finished the dishes and came out in the living room with him. She sat next to him on the couch, read the newspaper, snuggled into the crook of his arm, but there was tension between them, and though they tried, they could not regain the relaxed and happy atmosphere of dinner.
The doll.
The shadow in the alley.
`Something was going on here that he couldn't quite grasp. It was like a word on the tip of his tongue that he knew but could not immediately articulate. He had the strong feeling that on some level he did understand what was happening, that somewhere inside him was the key that would unlock this puzzle, but he could not seem to find it.
They went to bed at eleven, made love quietly, perfunctorily, then rolled over, automatically moving to opposite sides of the mattress.
He lay awake long after Margot fell asleep, long after the timer shut off the TV, staring up at the ceiling through the silent darkness.
Silent?
No, not quite.
There was a rustling whisper of movement from down the hall.
From Tony's room.
Ordinarily, he would not have been able to hear the noise, so subtle was its intonation, but in this quiet the faint sibilance was clearly audible, its changing location pinpointed by slight increases and decreases in volume.
He listened carefully. It was a sound he had heard before, a long time ago In the House --and, soft as it was, it sent a powerful chill through him. He could not quite place it, but its origin was in his past and there was something about it that frightened him. Daniel closed his eyes, concentrated on listening.
The noise faded, moving away from their bedroom door, then grew louder, returning.
It was the sound of ... a doll patrolling the halls, hunting little boys who dared to leave their rooms.
What in God's name had made him think of that?
He didn't know, but it was the image that came to his mind, and it stayed there, refusing to budge. His first instinct was to get Tony and Margot out of the house.
They might be in danger. But he could not act on that impulse. As concerned as he was for their safety, he was paralyzed, afraid to get out of bed, afraid to wake up Margot, afraid even to move.
It would not harm Tony, he told himself. Tony had made it.
And it wasn't after Margot.
It was after him.
Just as it had been in the House.
He heard it outside, shuffling by on toilet-paper-tube feet.
He held his breath, praying that it would not stop in front of their bedroom, praying that Margot had locked their door.
He waited until both Margot and Tony left.
Then he searched through Tony's room.
Daniel wasn't sure what he thought he'd find. Some clue, he supposed. Something that would jog his memory, something that would let him know what was going on.
Something.
But there was only the doll itself, at the bottom of his son's closet, in a plastic grocery sack sitting atop a jumbled pile of old worn-out sneakers. There were no notes, no diary, no hints as to why Tony was working on the disturbing figure, no reference of any kind to anything remotely connected to the object. There were only Tony's
