Riley wakes up in a strange house. Dimly lit. Her memory is absent of how she came to be here. Dust coats her hand as she pushes off the ground, the floor squeaking under her weight as she stands.
Her surroundings: a gaudy purple rug, a cheap chandelier, and wooden stairs. This thought confuses her. She doesn’t understand why she thinks the chandelier looks cheap. It just seems wrong from where she stands.
She turns to see a door. The front door. She reaches for the doorknob, but when she twists, it doesn't move with her hand.
It's plastic. Fake.
She takes a deep breath. 'Okay. That’s fine. There’s another way out,' she thinks to herself. She does not believe this. Not really.
Her eyes move towards the stairs. They look old and wooden. When she touches the banister, she finds it as plastic as the doorknob. A knot the size of a gumball forms in her throat.
There are no photos or anything to make the house seem owned by anyone. There seems to be a layer of dust coating everything. Everything looks oddly familiar, yet brand new at the same time. She thinks she’s been here, but not like this. She’s unsure what this means, what part of the house was not like this.
Riley takes a step forward, pausing at a boy's voice.
"Who's there?" the voice says. It comes from the top of the stairs.
She wants to answer, but the words won't come out. She’s frozen as she waits for the owner of the voice to show himself.
"I'm kind of freaked out, so if you could answer me, that would really help." The voice pauses before rambling some more, "Unless you're a crazy killer or something. If you’re a crazy killer, we could part ways here. Call it a difference in hobbies."
Riley's pretty sure she'd laugh at his words if it weren't for the current heat building in her chest, rising up her neck to her face.
Then she hears it. A whisper that sounds like someone standing right next to her.
"Riley," it calls for her.
"Hello," she calls out without thinking about it. Her hand flies up to her mouth, but there is no stopping the words that have already left.
"Hey," the voice says, and now he's standing at the top of the stairs. At first they just stare at each other. He contains the same familiarity as the house, yet remains a stranger to her.
He seems about her age, seventeen or eighteen years old. His black hair is in perfect little ringlets. His eyes are a glassy, soft brown matching his skin. His skin, so perfect that she absentmindedly starts to pick at an acne scar.
Every time he takes a step, it sounds like the plastic steps are going to collapse under him. As he approaches, her heart continues to race. Backing away, her head hits the front door.
"You. Stay away from me, okay?" she says; her voice comes out in a quick and hurried shout.
He holds his hands up in surrender.
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm scared, too," he says.
Her body refuses to let her calm down. Her breathing begins to speed up, and her heart beats faster. Tears fall down her face as she sinks to the ground, holding her knees to her chest.
"Oh no. Don't cry. Please. I hate crying," he says.
She laughs at this, an incredulous laugh.
"How about you tell me your name and I'l tell you mine. Do you want to start?" He asks.
She stares up at him, like he is the stupidest creature in existence.
"No? Alright, take your time. I'll start. My name is Gabe."
The name bounces off her eardrums, like a memory. Her breathing slows down a little.
"I'm... Riley," she manages to vaguely recollect her name.
She squints at his smile. There is not a single flaw on him. His eyelashes are long and almost fake-looking. His cheeks are a light shade of pink. His brown eyes aren’t glassy. They look like actual glass. It's like someone hand-painted his face. He's too perfect. It's eerie.
He holds a hand out to her, and she hesitates before allowing him to help her off the floor. Her jeans are covered in dust.
When he places his foot on the steps, ready to mount them, she ask, "Why are we going upstairs? If there are any doors out of this place, then they are going to be downstairs, not upstairs.”
He shrugs. "Maybe there is a window we can jump out. Who knows?" he says, continuing to go up the stairs. She's frustrated by his answer. She can’t seem to ignore the compulsion to follow.
As they enter the upstairs hallways, Gabe rambles on about how this could be an adventure. He stops mid-sentence when his foot hits something. He reaches down to pick it up.
"What is it?" Riley asks. He flips the thing over in his hands.
"I think it's a piece of porcelain. That's odd." He puts the piece in his pocket. "Shall we continue?" Gabe asks, as if they were just touring the house and the porcelain was a minute detour.
Riley follows to what looks like a nursery. Riley stands in the doorway while Gabe looks around the room. There's a window right above a crib. Gabe tries to open it; it doesn't budge. It’s frosted over, so they can’t see out of it. Gabe slides his hand across a dresser and blows the dust off his hand. "Come on, Gabriel, the window doesn't open. Let's go try another one," Riley says.
Gabe rolls his eyes. "You need to learn to have a little fun." He picks up the porcelain baby doll from the crib. "Who puts porcelain dolls in a plastic house? It's kind of tacky if you ask me." Gabe starts to rock the doll in his arms and pretends to soothe it. He hums to the tune of a lullaby that once more is familiar and strange. He dances around the room and chuckles to himself.
"Quit goofing off," Riley says, ripping the doll out of his hands. A small cry comes from the doll. She throws it across the room, and it shatters when it hits the wall. Gabe's eyes widen as he stares at her.
"Wow, remind me to never let you babysit," Gabe says.
Riley looks at him. "You didn't hear that?" she asks.
Gabe grins, trying his best not to laugh at her. "Hear what?" he ask.
"The doll. It was just crying," she says.
Gabe laughs, and shakes his head. "It's a porcelain doll, Riley. It doesn't make noise," Pushing past Riley, he walks out the door. "Let's go back downstairs."
Riley's brow furrows as she follows him.
"You know, you're an-" Riley stops mid-sentence when she runs into Gabe. "Hey, move."
Gabe continues to stand frozen in a doorway. "Maybe we should check out another room.”
Riley pushes past him when he turns around. She sees what stopped Gabe.
"Riley's" is scribbled onto the wall. It looks like a giant child wrote it. She walks forward. It looks like crayon. Her hand reaches out to touch it.
"Come home, Riley," she hears in her ear. She rips her hand away from the wall. "Let's leave. Now.”
Gabe walks out of the room. She follows behind him for a few minutes, but pushes past him to head into what looks like a kitchen.
There's a big table in the center of the room with eight chairs surrounding it. In seven of the chairs, there's a life-size doll. The dolls are all dirty and dusty, with paint chipped off. A few of them have eyes missing, and some have a missing limb or two. A lot of them have bald spots. Their clothes are all tattered. They all look like a child played a little too roughly with them.
The creepiest of all is the one sitting at the head of the table facing them. Its blonde hair is a tangled mess, as if someone brushed it too hard. Its face is missing a large piece of porcelain, leaving it with no eye socket and half a smile.
"Well, now we know where that piece of porcelain came from," Riley says, pointing to the head of the table. Right when she does, she hears the whisper again, "You're one of us, Riley." Her scream rips through the air.
"What the hell, Riley?" Gabe yells. She points frantically at the doll.
"It talked, Gabriel, she talked," Riley spits out. Gabe rolls his eyes.
"Quit playing games, Riley." He picks up a piece of food off one of the plates.
"I'm not lying," Riley says.
He laughs. "Yeah, very funny. Now look at this, it’s plastic. Who builds their whole house out of plastic?"
A splitting pain in her head muffles Gabe's reply. "Riley...Oh Riley," the voice calls out to her, louder and louder with every mention of her name.
"What is it?" Gabe says. She can hardly hear him over the screaming in her head.
"She's calling for me," Riley yells. Gabe shakes his head.
"Enough alrea-"
Riley interrupts him, "We got to get out of here now." She grabs his hand and pulls him along with her.
"Don't leave us," the doll with the missing piece says.
“Wait,” Gabe says, seemingly hearing the doll.
One by one, the dolls begin to stand up like dominoes.
"Stay," they say in unison. Then they all turn and face Riley.
"Run," Riley says, pulling at Gabe's hand. They run out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
"Come back, Riley," they all say in a singsong voice. Their footsteps are getting louder and closer. Their bodies creak as they move. They toddle down the hall like toddlers who just learned how to walk.
"Riley, play with us."
"We miss you."
"Don't leave us."
Riley continues to yank Gabe down the hall. She runs and runs. Her chest burning. Tears run down her face and blur her vision.
"In here," she says, pulling Gabe into a coat closet. They both sit in the empty closet with a small light hanging above their heads. Riley holds her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.
Gabe grips her hand so tight she feels like he is going to crush it. She feels his hand grow cold.
"Riley, I lied to you. I didn't want to, but they made me. They didn't know what to do. You stopped playing with us. They missed you. I missed you. This isn't what I wanted for you. They made me do it," Gabe whispers quickly.
Riley turns to look at him and lets out a scream.
He's a doll. A porcelain version of the boy she met less than an hour ago. His neck creaks as he slowly turns his head to look at her. His once flexible movements are now stiff.
"Riley plays with dolls," he begins to sing over and over again.
She tries to let go of his hand, but his grip is too tight. She tries to pull his hand off hers, but she can’t loosen his vice grip.
"Please let go," she pleads, "Please."
It's too late. Her body grows cold. Her hand starts to turn into porcelain. It spreads across her whole body, leaving her head for last. She lets out a loud, piercing scream.
Then it's over.
Her eyes wide and her mouth open mid-scream, frozen in porcelain.
Originally published by Walter State Community College’s 27th annual HS Creative Writing Anthology, Among These Hills, 2016
Saianne Bryant is a writer. Her poetry can be found in About Place Journal.
