Page 5 of Little Doll

I didn’t see our carriage, or any carriage, anywhere.

But I did see a little boy. A wee pauper: he couldn’t have been over five years old. I couldn’t imagine what on earth he would be doing out so late, and without an adult to look after him.Although, the hour had grown so late that perhaps it was nearly morning. It may have been early for this little child, not late.

The dirty and disheveled little boy walked toward us even as our carriage turned a corner and rolled our way. The horses cantered and the big spindly wheels of the carriage turned fast.

The boy reached us, and the carriage was almost there. It was like they were racing.

He reached up and pulled on Fane’s coat tails. “Pardon me, good sir,” said the little boy in a tiny little voice, as the carriage reached us.

Before Fane could reply, the boy stumbled and flew into the path of the wheels of our carriage.

I gasped and shut my eyes, diving to hide behind Fane.

But I heard the crunch of the little boy’s bones beneath the big wooden wheels.

And I felt the warm splatter of his blood across my face.

I tasted the metallic substance inside my mouth.

I screamed.

Fane was grabbing me roughly and shaking me when my knees grew weak, and I fell.

As I crumpled into my brother’s arms, the last I recalled was thinking that Fane pushed that little boy. And then everything went dark.

Chapter 3

Nova

I had noidea how I got home or into my bed, but I woke up in pain.

I gasped and shot upright, feeling as though every nerve ending under my skin was activated.

My throat constricted as a vice grip lodged around my heart, squeezing the life out of it.

I clawed at my collar, desperate to get my clothes off, to let myself breathe. When I did, I noticed the pale skin of my long, thin fingers. Deathly white but riddled with an intricate web of black jagged veins, rising and pulsing beneath my flesh. It was like a thousand living cracks had blemished me, writhing and ruining my skin. I scrambled out of my bed and clamored to the floor. I crawled across my bedroom, wanting to look into the mirror, but having to battle against agonizing pain with every slight move my body made.

I made it to the wall, and I dragged myself up to peer into the looking glass.

Black jagged veins covered my face too, and they clawed down my neck. I ripped away my collar and tore open my bodice. The gruesome marks covered all of me. All the whites of my eyes were gone and now black. A pitch, bottomless, soulless black.

It felt as though a fire lit inside me, just beneath my skin, and I dropped to the floor. As my knees hit the hard floor, the cracking sound of my bones was drowned out by the intense burning sensation, which was unbearable.

I thought of the masked man then, of his skeleton mask pressing into my face.

Fane’s voice, whispering, calling me Little Doll, haunted me in my fever dreams.

I tipped my head back. My own screaming consumed me.

In seconds, my mother dashed into the room, with my father following close behind. My vision had blurred, but I could make her out as she caught sight of me and doubled over, bursting into explosive wailing sobs. Father darted into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. I saw him clap his hands over his eyes and turn his back to me.

It took all that I had to half crawl; half drag myself to Mother. I lunged for her and caught a weak hold on her nightgown’s skirt. The flimsymaterial tore and my body flung to the floor. A renewed wail emanated from some burning pit in my belly. I held fast to the hem of her nightgown.

“MOTHER!” I shrieked. “HELP ME!”

Her cries matched my own in intensity and volume. She sunk down next to me, scooped me into her arms, and crushed me against her. She stroked my hair frantically even as I squirmed and writhed, being driven mad by her touch. “Mother,” I wept. “Please, please, please, I need help. I need a doctor. I need to go to the hospital. Please, Mother.” I clawed at her, shaking her and caressing her cheeks, trying to get her to open her eyes. “Mother, PLEASE!”

A tortured moan escaped Father, and he raked his hands through his wild, black hair. He paced for one agitated second and then he left the room, slamming the door shut as he went.

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