A Living Doll
Every morning, Monday through Friday, Griffin Wardell dropped his five-year-old daughter, Ashlynne, off at the North Warren Elementary School where she attended the early session kindergarten. His sister, Lucy, then picked her niece up at noon, brought her back to her house and watched the child until the evening, at which time her brother stopped on his way home from the office to collect the little girl and take her home.
It was not easy being a single father, but Griffin thanked God every day for his daughter. A year earlier his wife and infant son had been killed in a tragic car accident. Ashlynne, who had been at a birthday party at the time of the fatal crash, was all that was left of his family.
As he pulled his Subaru Legacy into Lucy's driveway, Griffin spotted Ashlynne waving at him through the living room bay window. Before her father could get out of the car, the little girl bolted through the front door and ran toward him.
"Daddy!" she cried happily, throwing herself into his open arms.
"You seem awfully happy to see me today," he teased her.
"Did you forget what day it is?" she asked with disappointment.
"No, I didn't forget. It's Friday."
He laughed and hugged her when he saw the downcast expression on her face.
"Happy birthday, princess. What do you say we stop at Chuck E. Cheese for pizza on the way home? And since it's a special occasion, I'll even buy you a cotton candy."
Suddenly, Ashlynne was all smiles again.
"And can we stop at Toys 'R Us, too?" the little girl asked hopefully.
"But I already bought a present for you."
"I know. I have money of my own to spend."
"Where did you get money?"
"Uncle Dave gave me twenty dollars for my birthday."
"Well, we'd better let you spend it then before it burns a hole in your pocket," Griffin declared with an amused smile.
The little girl, who did not understand the joke, quickly checked to make sure her twenty-dollar bill had not caught on fire.
When father and daughter entered Toys 'R Us, Ashlynne quickly led her parent to the aisle where the dolls were located.
"Not another Barbie doll!" Griffin moaned dramatically. "You have so many of them now that I can probably claim Mattel as a dependent on my income tax return."
"No. I don't want a Barbie," Ashlynne explained as she carefully scanned the shelves. "I want a Living Doll."
"A what?" her father asked, showing his ignorance of the latest fad in toys.
"A Living Doll. 'They're the type of people little girls and boys want to be when they grow up,'" Ashlynne sang, loudly if somewhat off-key, but accurately repeating the Little Folks Toy Company's popular jingle. "Here they are!"
The Living Dolls were at the end of the aisle, past the Barbies, Kens, Disney princesses and the rest of Mattel's extensive doll line. In all, there were approximately four dozen different dolls representing a variety of occupations, from secretaries to astronauts. There was also a selection of ethnic backgrounds, body types and ages.
"Talk about a politically correct toy!" Griffin laughed. Then he asked his daughter, "Which one do you want, honey? There are certainly a lot to choose from."
Ashlynne's eyes carefully scanned the rows of dolls.
"I don't see her."
Suddenly, the little girl's face lit up, and she pointed to the top shelf.
"There she is, up there."
Griffin picked his daughter up so that she could reach the doll she wanted. She leaned over and grabbed one.
"This is it," she announced, hugging the box tightly to her chest.
"Let's see which one you got."
When Ashlynne turned the box for him to see, Griffin felt his throat constrict.
"It's Mommy, and she's holding Christopher," the little girl announced.
The widowed father had to admit the vinyl doll holding a tiny baby in its arms did bear a strong resemblance to his dead wife. It had her short red hair and green eyes. Ashlynne, like her father, had curly black hair.
"It does look a little like Mommy, doesn't it?" he asked softly.
"It is Mommy," she insisted, "and she's got Christopher in her arms, see."
* * *
"I don't know what to do," Griffin confided to his sister. "Ashlynne takes those dolls everywhere with her, and she talks to them as though they were Beth and Christopher."
"It's her way of dealing with her grief," Lucy theorized. "She needs to keep her memories of Beth and Christopher alive."
Unlike his daughter, Griffin felt only sadness and a heightened sense of loss when he saw the dolls. After months of unbearable sorrow, he was finally coming to terms with the death of his wife and son. He did not want to relive that pain every day.
Then one evening, about a month after his daughter's birthday, Griffin discovered Ashlynne taking her books and toys down from the shelf and placing them in cardboard boxes.
"What are you doing, pumpkin?" he asked.
"I want to leave my favorite things to my friends," she replied, placing her stuffed Snoopy and Woodstock figures into the box designated for Meredith O'Connor, the little girl who lived in the house next door.
Ashlynne's use of the word leave rather than give sent an eerie chill down her father's spine.
"That's very generous of you, but they're your toys. What will you play with if you give them to your friends?"
"I won't need them where I'm going."
Griffin's unease grew.
"Where are you going?"
"To live with Mommy and Christopher. They want you to come, too, so that we can all live together again like we used to."
Griffin picked his daughter up and placed her on his knee.
"Ashlynne, you know that both Mommy and Christopher are in heaven. You'll see them again someday, but not for a long time."
"I don't have to wait until I go to heaven. Mommy said I could go and live with her very soon."
She held the mother doll up close for her father to see.
"Don't you want to be with Mommy again? She misses you very much."
"I miss her, too," he whispered, fighting back his tears. "Now, why don't you put your dolls away and get to bed? It's almost nine o'clock."
* * *
"Thank you for coming today, Mr. Wardell," Mrs. Brinkley, Ashlynne's kindergarten teacher, said. "I appreciate your taking the time out of your busy schedule."
"It's no problem, Mrs. Brinkley. I am very interested in my daughter's schoolwork."
"It's not her work I wanted to talk to you about," the teacher said and then hesitated before continuing. "I know how difficult it must be for you, after your recent loss. That's why I've tried to ignore the problem."
"What problem is that, Mrs. Brinkley?"
"Your daughter's dolls. Normally, I don't allow children to bring their toys into the classroom since they usually create too much of a distraction, but in Ashlynne's case, I ...."
"I wasn't aware she brought them to school with her."
"Yes, she does. At first, she only brought them out of her backpack at naptime, but soon she started putting them on her desk during activity time. Then she started talking to them. The other children have begun to tease her about it."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brinkley. I'll see that she doesn't bring them to school again."
When Griffin brought up the subject at dinner that evening, Ashlynne—much to his surprise—did not protest.
"If Mrs. Brinkley doesn't want Mommy and Christopher to come to school with me, that's okay. They won't mind staying home. Will you, Mommy?" she asked the doll that was sitting on the table next to her glass of milk. "Besides, I won't be going to school much longer."
"Summer vacation isn't until June. That's still a few months away."
"I'll be living with Mommy and Christopher way before then."
"Ashlynne," Griffin said, knowing he could not put the uncomfortable but necessary conversation off any longer. "That's not your mother and your brother; they're only dolls. They're toys made of vinyl. They can't talk to you or love you the way your mother did."
"No, no," the little girl screamed in denial as she ran from the room in tears. "It is Mommy; it is."
Griffin hated making his daughter cry, but how could he let her slip further and further into her fantasy world? He was afraid that if he did, she might slide down so far that he would never be able to bring her back to reality.
* * *
The following morning Ashlynne would not get up for school. When Griffin went into her room, he saw his daughter's eyes were red from crying. Apparently, she had not slept well.
"I don't want to go to school. I want to stay here with Mommy."
"You can't stay here alone," Griffin said soothingly. "If you don't feel well, I can take you to Aunt Lucy's."
"Can Mommy and Christopher come with me?" she asked, clutching her dolls to her chest.
"Of course, you can bring your dolls with you to Aunt Lucy's. You just can't take them to school anymore."
Lucy had no objections to watching her niece the entire day since the little girl never gave her any problems.
"What's the matter, baby?" Lucy asked as she took the child from Griffin's arms. "Don't you feel good? Come on, you can lie down on my bed and watch cartoons. Later, I'll make you a nice cup of hot chocolate and some pancakes for breakfast. Would you like that?"
Ashlynne nodded her head, rubbed her tired eyes and yawned.
When Griffin returned that evening to pick his daughter up, she was fast asleep.
"She's been sleeping all day," Lucy explained. "I tried waking her up several times to feed her, but she would only open her eyes, kiss her dolls and fall back to sleep. Of course, if she is coming down with something, sleep is the best thing for her. I only hope she doesn't stay awake all night now."
Lucy helped her brother put a sweater on the child. Then she took an afghan out of her closet and wrapped it around Ashlynne's legs to keep her warm.
"Thanks, Lucy."
Griffin took his sleeping daughter out to his car and laid her on the back seat, securing her with the seatbelts. After the short drive home, he carried her into the house, removed the sweater and put her to bed.
The following morning when Griffin went to wake her, Ashlynne was sitting up, wide awake, with no sign of illness.
The child smiled brightly and announced, "Daddy, I'm hungry."
Griffin kissed her on top of the head and playfully tugged at her black curls.
"I'm glad you're feeling better today, Sleeping Beauty. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to find a prince to wake you with a kiss."
Ashlynne giggled.
"I love you, Daddy."
"I love you, too, sweetheart. Now get up and get dressed while I make you a bowl of cereal."
While Griffin was pouring himself a cup of coffee, Ashlynne came out for breakfast, dressed in the blue velvet and lace dress she had gotten for Christmas. Griffin whistled at his daughter who was decked out in her finest, right down to her white stockings and black patent leather shoes.
"Is today the day of the kindergarten prom?" he asked.
"I want to look my best for Mommy."
Griffin's good humor instantly vanished.
"Okay, honey, now go to your room, take the dress off and put your school clothes on. Hurry up, or you'll be late."
"I'm not going to school today, and I'm not going to Aunt Lucy's either. I'm going to go with Mommy and Christopher."
"Enough is enough now. Go and get changed and come back here and eat your breakfast. We haven't got much time."
Ignoring her father's instructions, Ashlynne sat down at the table, picked up a spoon and started to eat her Honey Nut Cheerios.
"Young lady, I told you to put your school clothes on, now go and do it."
"Mommy said I don't have to. She likes the dress I'm wearing," the child argued, looking at the two dolls that were once again placed near her glass of milk. "Besides, I'm not going to school today or ever again."
For the first time since the accident took away his wife and son, Griffin was losing his patience with his daughter. As much as it pained him to discipline her, he had to make her listen.
"Okay, then," he said sternly, as he reached across the table and snatched the two dolls away from their place of honor. "Until you learn to do what you're told, I'll hold on to the dolls."
Ashlynne, who had always been such a well-behaved child, took her father by surprise when she had what could only be described as a full-blown temper tantrum. She threw her bowl of cereal against the wall, shattering the stoneware and sending Cheerios and skimmed milk raining down on the kitchen floor.
"You get a towel and clean up that mess, young lady!" her father yelled.
"No. I don't want to."
Griffin was perplexed. What should he do now? He had no experience with outright defiance. He knew what his parents would have done, of course. They would have given him a good paddling for such bad behavior, but in today's world spanking a child was considered inappropriate and abusive action on the part of the parent.
While he pondered the problem of how to discipline his daughter, he got a roll of paper towels and began cleaning up the mess himself. Ashlynne took the opportunity to recover the dolls that her father had left sitting on the kitchen table. Griffin caught her movement out of the corner of his eye.
"Ashlynne! Put those dolls down."
"Please, Daddy!" the girl cried, all signs of rebelliousness gone. "Come with me now. We can both be with Mommy and Christopher."
"Stop it, Ashlynne!"
"We can all be together again—a family. We'll be so happy!"
"Mommy and Christopher are gone!" he yelled. "Can't you understand that? They're dead. We can never be with them again."
"I love you, Daddy," she said, crying hysterically.
Then she walked toward him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Goodbye, Daddy. I'll miss you."
Ashlynne took the dolls and ran toward her room. Griffin, who had been kneeling down to clean the kitchen floor, tried to run after her, but he slipped on the spilled milk. He regained his balance quickly, but his misstep had given the little girl the time she needed to make it to her room. When Griffin got there, the door was locked.
"Ashlynne, open this door at once," he ordered, futilely turning the handle. "You know you're not allowed to lock it."
There was no answer to his command or to his firm knocking on the door.
"Where did I put that damned key?" he asked himself.
After searching the kitchen drawers and various cups and canisters in the cabinet that held everything from paper clips and safety pins to elastic bands and an assortment of screws and nails, Griffin gave up the search for the missing key. Frustrated, he went to the garage, got a slot screwdriver from his toolbox and started to remove the doorknob. Twenty minutes later, he had the door open.
"Ashlynne!" he called angrily, giving serious consideration to administering a good, old-fashioned spanking, inappropriate though it may be in today's world of child psychology. "Ashlynne, where are you? I'm in no mood for any more of your shenanigans, young lady!"
When he did not immediately see the little girl, Griffin crossed the room and opened the closet door, suspecting she was hiding inside.
"Ashlynne, I'm getting very angry. Come out of there now."
Except for clothes, shoes and the board games and puzzles stored on the top shelf, the bedroom closet was empty.
"Ashlynne, I don't have time for this. I'm late for work already."
He walked to the bed, bent over and lifted the dust ruffle. The little girl was not hiding under the bed either.
Oh, no, he thought, beginning to panic. Don't tell me she went out the window!
However, the window was shut and locked. There was no way his daughter could have sneaked out and locked the window behind her.
"Ashlynne? Where are you? Please, baby, just come out. I promise I won't be mad at you or punish you in any way."
Griffin left the empty bedroom and began searching the rest of the house. His daughter was nowhere to be found. Shaking with guilt and worry, he returned to the kitchen and made three phone calls: the first to his sister, Lucy, the second to his office and the third to the North Warren Police Department.
While he waited for the squad car to arrive, Griffin went back to his daughter's bedroom and sat down on the canopied bed. There his mind searched for a reasonable explanation for the child's mysterious disappearance. How did a little girl vanish from a locked room without a trace?
Bitter tears slid down his cheeks as Griffin realized he was in danger of losing all that remained of his family.
"Ashlynne," he cried, as he remembered the little girl's last words to him. "I love you, too, princess."
He lay back on the bed and sobbed like a baby. Then he rolled over onto his side intending to bury his face in his daughter's pillow. What he saw destroyed what was left of his sanity. The Living Doll with short red hair and green eyes was holding the tiny baby in her right arm, as usual. But now, her left arm was at her side, holding the hand of a new doll: a little girl with black curls, wearing a blue velvet and lace dress, white stockings and black patent leather shoes.
There are definite advantages to having a cat doll instead of a living cat: a doll doesn't shed, meow or steal your chocolate.
