Dolls

  

            Carl had been sitting on his front porch for over an hour immersed in his latest novel. Though it was already eleven pm, he really wanted to finish the chapter. Turning the page, he was relieved to see the chapter’s end, as his eyes had begun to roll around in his head. Turning off the porch light, he started to go into the house when the starting of a car engine caught his attention. Closing the door without going inside, he stood motionless and scanned over the neighborhood. Most of his neighbors were elderly, so he was somewhat surprised that someone would be going out so late. Catching sight of now illumined taillights, he watched the four-door sedan pull out of the driveway and drive off in the opposite direction.

            With a shrug, he walked into the living room and caught his dad, looking rather sheepish, with a doughnut in his mouth.

            “Oh, hey, Carl, I didn’t know you were up,” his dad said through a mouthful.

            “Yeah, I was just reading. Really good book. I couldn’t put it down,” Carl answered. “Hey, do you know much about the old guy in 217? What is it, Mr. Holmes?”

            “No, it’s Mr. Hovel and I don’t know much about him. He pretty much keeps to himself. I think he's a war veteran though. I’ve never even spoken to him. Why do you ask?”

            “Oh, nothing really. I think I just saw him drive away though. Seems kinda late for an old guy to be out. Meh, who knows?”

            Turning out his bedroom light and crawling into bed, Carl almost immediately fell asleep. Woken up by the urge to pee, he glanced at the clock. “Ugh, three am, man, I should’ve gone before I laid down.” Forcing himself out of bed, he trudged across the hallway and into the bathroom. As he returned to his room, he heard a car door slam. Peeking out the window, he saw Mr. Hovel walking from his car to his front door, struggling with what appeared to be a quite large and heavy gym bag. 

            Now wide awake, Carl stood at the window and continued to watch the old man’s house. For a moment, nothing happened but then the light in a back room turned on, its luminescence peeking through a set of mostly closed curtains. “Ah, whatever,” he thought. “Who knows what old people do anyway?”

            Leaving the house the next morning, Carl kept an eye on Mr. Hovel’s home. The old man struggling with such a large bag continued to nag him throughout the day. The day crept by and finally he got home and found the old man’s house exactly as it had been when he had left that morning. Making a point to sit on the front porch again that evening, he focused more on the neighbor’s house than his book. Eleven o’clock came and went with no activity whatsoever.

            The pattern was the same for the next week. Carl would sit on the front porch until nearly midnight and hope for another chance to spy on the old man. Finally, on Friday night, immersed in his story, he heard a car door slam. Looking up, he saw the old man driving away, just as he had before. Waiting a full thirty minutes, Carl snuck out of his room and into Mr. Hovel’s yard. Carefully approaching the curtained window, he cupped his hands around his eyes and tried to see through the crack in the curtains. The light fixture in the room was not lit but a neighbor’s backyard light bled through a second window in the room, providing just enough light to reveal a rather surprising hobby.

            Slowly walking back to his own home, Carl shoved his hands in his pockets and felt rather disappointed. “Dolls? Really? What kind of old man collects dolls?” he thought. “That’s just weird.” Quietly sneaking through his own back door, he closed the door behind him only to be suddenly blinded by the kitchen light suddenly being illumined.

            “What’re you doing outside so late?” his dad asked.

            “Uh, nothing really,” Carl answered. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d take a little walk. But I’m feeling sleepy now. Good night.”

            As he expected, the slamming of a car door woke him from his light sleep, and he slid out of bed to peek out of the window. On one hand, he was surprised to see the old man moving across the yard with the same large duffle bag but this time dragging it.

            Struggling to get out of bed that next morning, he met his mother in the kitchen. “Hey Carl, we got an email yesterday about the school marching band selling chocolate bars to raise money for band camp,” she said. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

            “Oh, yeah, thanks for reminding me,” he answered. “They’re passing out the order forms and stuff today. I’ll need to get on that. Sounds like there are some pretty cool prizes for whoever sells the most.” As soon as he spoke those words, an idea popped into his head. 

            Getting off the bus that afternoon with candy bars and paperwork in hand, Carl glanced up and down the street at the somewhat neglected homes in his neighborhood. He never had much success with selling anything around his place, but this would give him a chance to peek into Mr. Hovel’s home.

            Stuffing the last bite of dinner into his mouth, he got up from the table. “Wow, you’re in a hurry,” his mom said. “What’s up?”

“I really want to get out and around the neighborhood before it gets any darker,” he said. “The grand prize for most candy bars sold is a new laptop. Definitely worth the effort.”

“Okay, then, good luck,” his dad said. “Don’t stay out too long.”

Taking the cautious approach, he started with his immediate next-door neighbor and worked his way around the block. By the time he had reached Mr. Hovel’s house, he had only sold one bar. Knocking on the door, he stepped back down a couple of steps and waited. He knew he was home, for his car was out front and he could hear shuffling sounds inside. In a moment, the door opened a crack and a wrinkled old face appeared in the crack. 

“Yeah, whaddya need?” said the old man.

“Hi, my name is Carl and I’m a sophomore at the high school. We’re selling chocolate bars to raise money for band camp. I was wondering if you would be interested in buying any.”

“Band camp? What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s a special one-week camp for students who are part of the marching band,” Carl answered. “Can I come in and show you what we’re selling?”

The door opened about halfway and the old man stood for a moment looking at Carl. “Young man, I don’t have any teeth so I don’t think I could do much with a chocolate bar. Besides, I’ve got diabetes as well. So, no thanks.”

Dropping his head and holding up his paperwork, as if studying it, Carl looked out the tops of his eyes and scanned the living room. “Do you live here all alone?” he asked, trying to buy more time.

“Yeah, I’ve been here for thirty years by myself. But if you don’t mind, I’m busy. Goodbye.” Having the door abruptly closed in his face, Carl stood for a moment and then returned home.

“Hey, there you are,” his dad said as he walked in the front door. “How’d sales go?”

“Nah, not so great,” Carl answered. “I only sold one. I did have a short talk with Mr. Hovel though. Kind of a grumpy old man. I saw into his living room and it’s kind of weird. He had a bunch of dolls sitting all around on the furniture. Almost life size but like kid life size. Kind of creepy.”

“Dolls, huh?” his dad answered. “Hard to say, son. Who knows what has happened to people? Maybe he could never have kids or something. Seems like a harmless enough hobby.”

Lying in bed that night, the images of life size dolls wouldn’t go away. Standing up, he walked to his window and stared out across the street to the old man’s house. Looking at his clock, he saw that it was 10:55. “I wonder if he’s going out again,” he thought. Sitting at his desk, he thumbed through his chemistry book and waited. As the clock clicked over to exactly eleven, he heard the car door slam and the engine start. Leaning forward, he saw the car pull away.

Letting out a quick breath, he slipped on his shoes and grabbed a screwdriver and a penlight from his drawer. “Alright, Carl, I hope you know what you’re doing.” Creeping down the stairs, he slipped out the back door and across the street. Sticking to the shadows, he pushed through the row of bushes on the edge of Mr. Hovel’s yard. “Man, I hope he doesn’t have a dog or anything,” he thought.

Climbing up the steps to the back door, he checked the knob and found it unlocked. “Wow, that’s a bonus I didn’t expect,” he thought. Stepping into the kitchen, the house had an odd smell to it, a weird combination of flatulence and some sort of sharp chemical. He stood still and listened for any sound. Hearing nothing, he also saw no motion sensor lights or cameras. Slipping into the living room, he saw the same dolls on the couches as he had seen earlier that day. 

Getting his bearings, he found the room that he had peeked into the week before. As he stepped in, the smell became much stronger. Clicking on the penlight, he slowly looked through the room. Seeing several more dolls, he came across one that was completely naked and seemingly anatomically correct. “Wow, that’s really weird,” he thought. Reaching out with one finger, he just about touched it but then remembered fingerprints. Slipping on his weightlifting gloves, he touched the doll and found it soft.

“Oh, man, ugh, what the heck is that!” he said under his breath. Shining his light into its face, he leaned in to look closer and realized that this was no doll.”

Bolting out of the room, he quickly shut the back door behind him and ran home, a feeling of nausea rising up to his throat. Slipping into his own backdoor, he hurried to his parent’s room. Gently shaking his father but being careful not to wake his mother, he whispered his dad’s name.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m awake. Carl, what’s up?” he mumbled, “is something wrong?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he answered. “Please come downstairs so we don’t bother mom. There is something I need to tell you.”

Retelling the whole story, Carl leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. “I know I shouldn’t have snuck into his house, but something just didn’t seem right. Now I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Damn, son, that is really messed up,” his dad said. “Are you sure that it wasn’t a doll?”

“Yes, Dad, absolutely, one hundred percent sure,” he answered. “What are we going to do?”

His father sat for a moment, clearly as bothered as Carl. “Okay, here’s what we do. Since you’re a minor, I’ll call 911 and we’ll tell them that we’ve been seeing weird activity over there and that you heard someone calling for help while you were out on a walk just now. I know it’s not exactly true, but this is really, really wrong. Something needs to be done.”

Hanging up the phone, his dad sat back down at the table. “They said they would send someone over and that we should just wait here. We can watch out the front window, if you want.” Within about ten minutes, multiple police cars pulled up in front of the old man’s house and they could see multiple officers surrounding the house. 

Walking out of the police station the next day, Carl and his father returned home. “So, what happened?” his mother asked.

“Well, it turns out that Mr. Hovel was in Vietnam and was involved in some pretty horrible stuff over there,” his father said. “I guess he’s been kidnapping little kids for several years now and turning them into dolls. That’s what Carl saw when he was over there the other day.”

“They’re saying that he’s not mentally fit to stand trial and will probably just go into a mental institution,” Carl added. “He claims that he was helping these little kids who were being neglected by their parents. Pretty sad, actually.”