Family Ties

We found a locked metal box in the basement of my grandmother’s house. I’m sure grandma probably forgot it was even there. Neither of us had ever seen this box before, which was strange since she took pride in displaying her extensive collection of random items throughout her house. Why did grandma keep this locked box hidden away in the basement? We had no clue. There were so many questions, but unfortunately, she was no longer around to answer them.

Of course, when we first found the box, my sister and I had no idea what was in it. We searched every drawer, cupboard, closet, and jewelry box, looking for the key. Eventually, I found it under grandma’s mattress. Now we had another mystery. Why would she hide the key in the first place? We joked about deeds to gold mines, or a map leading to buried treasure, but we knew those scenarios were just fantasy.

Key in hand, we raced from the bedroom to the kitchen, where the box sat on the countertop. The lock was rusty, but after a couple of squirts of WD-40 in the keyhole and on the hinges, the box gave up its contents. I must admit, I was secretly disappointed to see a doll instead of a treasure map, but it was logical. What didn’t make sense was why keep this doll locked away in the basement? Neither of us was in a hurry to pick up this relic from another era.

The doll, a replica of a young girl, was dressed in clothes similar to those popular in the late 50s or early 60s. Her face and hands were made from a tufted felt and her hair was nylon strands dyed blond. Whoever constructed this doll took great care in detailing the facial features. She had puffy cheeks, a button nose, and painted lips, exhibiting a pucker of disapproval. Some people might consider her cute until they looked into her eyes.

This doll possessed the most human-looking eyes I had ever seen. The more I stared at them, I could swear they were looking directly into my soul, and I could tell by my sister’s reaction she was getting the same vibe. After taking a minute to recover, I removed it from the box. Lying underneath the doll were folded sheets of paper, which my sister grabbed and laid flat on the countertop.

We knew our grandmother’s hobbies included genealogy and investigating dark magic. The papers described her research and why she connected the two fields. Through extensive research, grandma traced our family’s history from the dark ages to the present. She found that many of our ancestors had been involved in the practice of dark magic and were labeled witches and warlocks. One was even executed during the Salem Witch Trials. My sister laughed as she turned to me and said, “Poof, you’re a toad.” When I didn’t hop off going, Ribbit Ribbit, she shrugged and said, “I guess we’ve run out of juice.

When we read the last page of grandma’s notes, all the joking quickly stopped. She wrote:

Thank you for freeing me! I have been locked away for many years, waiting for my turn to be free. Now that I have died, my spirit can now inhabit an object of its choosing. I’ve always loved this doll and now claim it as my new body. Much like Chucky in the movie “Childs Play,” I will be free to live forever. Unfortunately for you, my rescuers, every spell involving the dark arts requires a sacrifice to complete it. You are that sacrifice!

I reached for the doll to return it to the box, but it was no longer there. When I looked at my sister, she was standing against the far wall, mouth agape, too terrified to scream. The fuzzy-faced demon was charging at her with a pair of scissors that had been on the countertop.

There was no time for hesitation. I scooped up the metal box, leaped across the kitchen floor, and slammed the box over the top of the creature that used to be our grandmother. We closed the lid on the doll demon and relocked it. All the while, we heard a muffled voice call out to us, pleading to be released from her prison. Instead, we dug a deep hole and buried the box. After all, a deep hole is where all bodies belong.