What a Doll! by P.J. Night Page B

had no idea how to make the spell go away.
    â€œWe’ll call Dr. Lewis today,” her mom reassured her. Dr. Lewis was her pediatrician. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for what’s happening to your hair.”
    Emmy knew that there was. But how could she explain this to her parents? She imagined trying to tell the doctor what had happened: Well, see, I bought this doll from an old woman in a store, and it’s like a voodoo doll. And I used it to do terrible things to my friend. And it’s been controlling me and making me do terrible things. And now the woman who sold it to me has put me under the doll’s spell, and that’s why my hair keeps falling out, but not in clumps, just one strand at a time.
    Her dad tried to change the subject. “What do you kids have going on today? It’s beautiful outside. Maybe we should go for a walk in the park.”
    â€œI’m going to stay home and read,” Sam said.
    â€œI’m going to take a nap,” Emmy said.
    A nap would be the only escape from the horror of reality. Emmy’s eyes filled with tears. Again.
    â€œLet me call the doctor right now, honey,” her mom said sympathetically, pushing her chair away from the table. “He’ll be able to figure out what’s going on with your hair.”
    â€œDefinitely,” her dad added reassuringly.
    Emmy went upstairs to her room and looked out her window into Lizzy’s room. Lizzy was still asleep in her bed.
    She never knew anything, Emmy thought, jealous of the peacefulness with which Lizzy rested. And I know everything. And now it’s my turn.

The babysitter checked the clock again. Past eleven. They’d promised to be home by ten thirty. She shifted sleepily in the deep leather chair and glanced back at the TV. She had it turned down low, to an old black-and-white movie, which was quaintly spooky. Practically every scene included ominous music, sinister characters wearing hats and trench coats, and lots of fog and shadows. But she wasn’t the sort of girl that got scared easily.
    Outside, the wind howled, rattling the old doors and window frames. The draft caused the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes to billow, as though someone were hiding behind them. The rain streamed down the windows in rivulets.
    Lightning flashed. For a brief instant, through the gap in the drapery, the girl could see the dark landscape illuminated outside—black trees bending, empty swings bobbing crazily in the wind. There was a loud crack of thunder.
    And then the power went out.
    With a blip the TV powered off. The reading lamp next to her went black. The girl was plunged into darkness, not complete blackness, but pretty close. With an exasperated sigh she stood up from the chair and groped her way toward the kitchen, shuffling with baby steps so as not to trip over any toys. Now she wished she’d done a better job of picking up after the twin girls, who’d been playing with their wooden food and plastic oven earlier that evening.
    The kitchen was full of gray shadows and devoid of noise, except for the howling wind and pattering rain outside. There was no hum of the refrigerator. No whooshing of the dishwasher, which she’d actually remembered to turn on. Opening the drawer near the stove, she felt around for a flashlight. She came up with the next best thing—a candle, with a little holder attached. Luckily the gas stove worked, so she didn’t have to search for matches and could light the candle. The weak flame flickered, shedding a wan light around her. And then she saw them:
    A pair of green, glowing eyes, staring at her from the shadowy corner of the kitchen.
    She gasped. Took a step backward, almost dropping the candle.
    Then she exhaled.
    â€œNero! You dumb cat. You scared the life out of me.”
    She heard the orange-and-white tabby cat jump down from the counter and pad over to her, twining itself around her feet,