Dawn of Eve
MJ Howson
Engine Thirteen
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, organizations, events, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text Copyright © 2021 MJ Howson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, recording, electronic, photocopying, or otherwise without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Engine Thirteen
ISBN:978-0-9996166-8-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021906456
Cover design by MJ Howson
Other books by MJ Howson
The Tallow Series:
Tallow – An Urban Legend (Book 1)
Tallow – Rosemary (Book 2)
Tallow – Time to Pay (Book 3)
Co-Authored by MJ Howson
FASTER (with Alex Schuler)
I dedicate this novel to every book, television show, and movie with a freaky, creepy doll that’s haunted my dreams.
Prologue
New York Journal – January 1st, 2002
FASHION CEO STEPHEN EASTON DEAD
Stephen Easton, the creator and head of Evelyn Easton Inc. died last night after falling from the terrace of his penthouse apartment in Central Park West. The forty-nine-year-old CEO’s body landed on a taxi, crushing the roof. Police have not yet released any details as to the cause of the fall.
The iconic double-E emblem representing his fashion empire has long been regarded as the pinnacle of style and sophistication. Evelyn Easton’s designs have spanned beyond the runway and now adorn the most sought-after high-end luxury goods in the world.
The CEO’s tactics to expand the company were often criticized for being overly aggressive. His wife Evelyn has been and always will be the fashion genius who creates trendsetting designs. The couple’s volatile public spats only highlighted the ongoing battle between art and commerce.
The fashion world now waits to see if Evelyn will take the company to even greater heights or if the empire will crumble without Stephen’s ruthless business savvy. Only time will tell.
Besides Evelyn, Stephen is survived by the couple’s only daughter, twenty-two-year-old Dawn.
One
Annabelle
February 12, 2019
Janet frowned, her ice-blue eyes dripping with sadness, as she gently twisted the tiny porcelain hands of the infant-sized doll resting in her lap. The doll, dressed in a flowing dark red satin gown, emanated an aura of yearning. Its bright blue eyes seemingly fixated on Janet’s face. Janet adjusted her thick bifocals and sighed.
“It’s been months,” Janet said. She ran her fingers through the doll’s long blonde hair, noting how lifelike it felt. “It seems like nobody wants you.”
The dusty concrete floor beneath Janet sent a throbbing winter chill up her spine. She regretted sitting on the ground, but she lacked the energy to stand after a day of moving inventory. Besides, where else would she sit? There wasn’t a single seat anywhere. The floor-to-ceiling shelves, covered in boxes and trinkets, crowded Janet, serving to remind her she should’ve gotten a bigger store.
Janet closed her eyes, resisting the pain caused by the gray metal shelving unit digging into her backside. She ran her fingers against the small of her back and groaned. At forty-four years old, she felt at least a decade older. Janet slowly opened her eyes and looked down at the doll staring back at her. She said, “Maybe the world’s not ready for you.”
∞∞∞
February 12, 2012
Anna sat in her lumpy bed and looked around at the other six kids in the room. Half were trying to fall asleep. Billy pretended not to watch Anna, while Tina only had eyes for Billy. And Eve, as always, was feverishly writing away in her leather-bound diary. Unable to rest, Anna ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. The two pieces of birthday cake she’d had earlier this evening had brought on a bit of a sugar rush. The sweet scent of the frosting struggled to mask the moldy odor in the air.
The seven children, a mix of ethnicities, were in a vast 1,000 square-foot room with a ceiling that soared twenty feet high. The stone walls lacked any artwork, contributing to the room’s drab prison-like esthetic. A single wood and iron chandelier hung ominously in the center of the room, acting as the only light source at night.
Seven beds, each with a rickety wooden nightstand beside them, lined the barren walls. Each bed was nothing more than a box-spring and mattress resting on a squeaky metal frame. The flannel blankets covering them were color-coordinated to the robes each child wore.
Three small windows, mounted high, allowed very little of the outside world to enter the room. During the day, you could barely get a clear view of the Berkshire Mountains off in the distance. A large radiator sat beneath the windows, its serpentine metallic coils struggling to heat such a large room. Every time the radiator clanked to life, it would fill the space with the scent of burnt dust.
A towering cedar-lined armoire stood near the only door to the room. The hand-carved cabinet, composed of black walnut, had huge clawed feet. A serpent’s head sat above the twin doors, flanked by intricately carved feathered wings. The purplish-black tone of the wood only added to the cabinet’s menacing appearance.
“Hey, Eve,” Anna said. “Why do you spend every night writing in that diary?”
“I want to remember everything about this stupid place.” Eve closed the tattered camel-colored book, wedging her pen inside. She brushed her curly copper-red hair from her sapphire eyes and added, “Worst. Camp. Ever.”
Anna flung the tattered garnet-colored blanket from her bed and crossed the floor, her camp-issued light-weight matching red gown dragging along the cold, dusty cobblestone. Her bare feet ached against the rough flooring. She sat beside Eve and curled her feet up against Eve’s ruby-red flannel blanket.
“Do you really hate it here?” Anna asked.
“It’s been six weeks.” Eve stared at the cover of her diary. “When will it end?”
“At least I had a birthday party today. I’m thirteen. A teenager!”
“But
