She reached the landing and turned to the left, staring at the door to her room.
But what if I wasn’t dreaming? Sarah did not want to risk going in there until she knew for certain. She sidled up to the door, knelt down and peered through the keyhole.
The doll sat in the rocking chair, looking much as it had when Sarah went to bed. Its golden curls gleamed in the early morning sunshine, not a lock out of place to indicate it had even moved, much less eaten her toys. Sarah sighed and stood up.
See? You just dreamed it, she thought, reaching for the doorknob and giving it a twist. The door creaked open. Sarah pushed it wide and stepped into the room. The dresser stood by the opposite wall, next to the window over the rocking chair. She glanced at the doll out of the corner of her eye, and then marched across the room.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she neared the rocker. Don’t look at it, she thought, just get your clothes. You can get dressed in the bathroom. Eyes on the floor, Sarah continued past the chair and opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. She pulled out a pink tee shirt and a pair of shorts, and turned to leave.
A silvery glint caught her eye as she hurried past the rocker. Sarah paused and looked directly at the doll for the first time since she entered the room. The shimmer seemed to be coming from somewhere near the doll’s right side, peeking out from between the satiny folds of the dress. Sarah took a step back and tilted her head.
There appeared to be something in the doll’s grasp.
Chills snaked across Sarah’s shoulders. With a quivering hand, she reached down and quickly flipped back a fold of pink material. The shorts and tee shirt fell from her grasp, forgotten, her eyes widening as she gazed at the object clasped in the doll’s fist.
Amanda’s hairbrush.
The doll’s mouth clacked open. Sarah jumped, her wild-eyed gaze swinging from the brush to the cracked, wooden face. Bits of cotton batting and flesh-colored plastic spilled over the doll’s lower lip and rolled down the front of the satin dress.
Sarah backed away from the rocker, the tightening of her throat reducing her shriek to an inaudible gasp. Not waiting to see if the doll would move again, she turned on her heels and ran out the door.
“Momma!”
Sarah barreled into the kitchen and threw her arms around her mother’s waist, nearly knocking the woman over. The plate of waffles fell from Momma’s hand, crashing to the floor and startling the toddler in the highchair. The baby jumped and began to whimper.
“Sarah! What the hell is wrong with you, child? I—”
Sarah began to babble, the words tumbling from her lips in an incoherent stream of sobs and sniffles. Trembling, she told Momma everything: about the Amanda dream and the doll’s glowing eyes; about Mr. Roar and the silver hairbrush. All of it.
Momma pried Sarah’s arms from around her waist and held her by the shoulders. “Calm down,” she snapped, giving her a little shake. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
Sarah sniffled and explained it again, trying to keep the hiccups and hitches out of her voice with little success. Momma’s brow arched higher and higher as Sarah went on, the look on her face shifting from concern, to incredulity, to one of annoyance. With an upraised hand, Momma cut her off. “Okay, Sarah, that’s enough,” she said, her tone as grim as her expression. She gestured at the teary-eyed baby and the stacks of boxes strewn about the room. “I have a lot of work to do today. I don’t have time to play games right now.”
“It’s not a game!”
Momma sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Look, hon,” she said, massaging her forehead with the tips of her fingers, “I know things have been crazy with Daddy’s new job and the move and all, but you can’t act out like this. I—”
Sarah shook her head, her blonde hair whipping about her face. “I’m not making it up,” she shouted, stomping her foot. She hitched the sleeve of her nightshirt up, revealing the purple bruise on her shoulder. “See? That’s where she bit me!”
Momma peered at the bruise and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “It looks like a normal bruise, hon. You were digging around the attic all day yesterday. You probably just bumped into something and—”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sarah—”
“Go upstairs and look if you don’t believe me!” Sarah yelled, slamming a clenched fist against her thigh.
Momma gaped at her, as if shocked by the vehemence of her outburst. Sarah wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks and fixed her mother with a pleading look. “Please, just go look.”
Laurie shrieked and slammed her fists against the tray. Momma turned and pulled the baby from the highchair, shushing the child with a series of half-hearted coos. She turned back to Sarah and scowled. “Alright,” she said, settling the baby on her hip. “Show me the doll.”
Sarah sighed with relief and led the way up the stairs. Momma would see she was not lying once she saw Mr. Roar’s tattered mane and the chewed bits of Barbie doll. She bounded up the last few steps and opened the door to her room.
“Over there,” Sarah said, pointing to the rocker.
Momma brushed past her and strode across the room. She stopped in front of the rocking chair and looked down at the doll, a confused frown creasing her haggard face. She turned to Sarah and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”
Sarah hesitated. Even with Momma at her side, she didn’t want to go in there.
“Now, Sarah.”
Sarah gulped and took a tentative step into the room.
Momma’s patience must have reached its limit for she stalked across the room, grabbed Sarah by the upper arm and marched her to the rocker. With a small shove, Momma released her and pointed to the doll. “What am I supposed to be looking at, exactly?”
Sarah looked at the doll and blanched. Its mouth was closed, the plastic fragments and bits of fluff nowhere to be found. She flipped the pink material covering the doll’s hand.
The hairbrush was gone.
“Well?”
Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. “I… it was just here,” she said, dropping to her hands and knees. She tilted her head and peered beneath the rocker, her hand sweeping the floor under the seat.
Nothing there.
Standing up, she plucked the toy from the chair and shook it, half-expecting the evidence to fall from the folds of the satin dress. Setting the doll back in the chair, Sarah looked up at her mother, her expression pleading for the woman to understand.
Momma sighed and swung Laurie around to her other hip. “Sarah, you’ve got a wonderful imagination—and that’s a good thing to have—but you’re really taking it too far this time. Honestly, girl. A doll that eats toys?” Momma shook her head.
“It’s not my imagination!”
“Look, sweetheart, I’ve really got to get those boxes unpacked,” Momma said, turning to leave. She paused at the threshold and fixed Sarah with a stern look. “No more games.”
Sarah did not trust herself to answer, so she said nothing. She looked at the floor, tears of frustration coursing down her face.
“I’ll call you when lunch is ready, okay?”
Sarah cast a sullen glance in her mother’s direction and nodded.
Momma turned and exited the room, her footsteps growing fainter as she made her way down the staircase. Sarah sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m not making it up,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She turned her head and glared at the doll.