Page 36 of She’s a Doll

No, I replied. I want to do this now.

“OK,” she said. “Just don’t ejaculate at me if you move and I end up sticking an arm where the sun don’t shine, OK?”

Strangely, that made some of the tension in my stitches ease. No promises, I said.

13

Nicola didn’t just glue me back together. At my request, she also ripped my frilly white dress off, tossed my veil out, and cut my blonde ringlets down into spiky tufts. My stuffing she replaced with the Bubble Wrap from the glue gun’s box, shoving it through the tear in my side until I felt full and firm. She told me she wasn’t really a needlework sort of person, but that wasn’t a problem. The duct tape she wrapped around my torso did the job just fine.

She couldn’t find my missing eye or my right arm, so she made me an eye patch out of torn lace to cover up my gross gaping eyehole and retrofitted a random stick from her yard into a new arm. It was roughly the right size and shape as my other arm, which she liked, and the end was sharp, which I liked.

I’d been a little worried I wouldn’t be able to use it properly because it wasn’t part of my original doll body. But my essence/ectoplasm/immortal soul/whatever wasn’t fussy. I felt myself stretch out into my new and reattached pieces, prickling as I took root.

Ghost Lore Fact #4: When you possess an object, you don’t possess the molecules, or the material; you possess that object as a concept.

In other words, if bits broke off, they ceased to be me, and if bits got added, they became part of me. I was like Grandpa’s axe, Halloween edition. My parts didn’t have to be original, as long as they were attached.

It felt so good to have attached parts again.

My legs weren’t pretty. The glue made them lumpy and twisted, and my left foot was missing. Nicola capped my ankle off with a wad of glue, which functioned well enough, but balancing on it was a little hard and gave me a lurching, mismatched stride. I didn’t care. The pirate walk matched my eye patch, and my legs didn’t have to be pretty, just functional.

“You’re the creepiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” Nicola said as she watched me stagger around the workbench. “Seriously. You look like you’re from a horror movie, and not one of those artsy ones neither, but a gross weird one that only sickos watch.”

I preened. Thank you.

She sucked unhappily at her bottom lip as I made another lap, studying her handiwork. “You know, there’s a new mall being built in town. It’s not finished yet, but there will probably be a toy shop or something when it’s done. Maybe then we can get you some better legs.”

I like my legs.

“Or maybe I can get something online. Etsy probably has doll legs.”

I like my legs.

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

When have you ever known me to be nice?

That got a smirk. “OK. Fair point.”

Once I was a little better at walking, she picked me up and carried me out of the shed, across her tiny scrap of backyard, and into the house. It was the bottom floor of an old duplex apartment, original wooden floors and elaborate light fixtures made somewhat less illustrious by the cheap, naked light bulbs.

“Rent is two fifty a week,” Nicola said as she set me down. “I accept cash or direct deposit. No checks.”

I ignored her, enjoying the extra space to stretch my new legs. Walking was easier without my skirts or veil, but it still wasn’t easy. I lurched up the hallway, almost fell over as I turned, and kept one hand on the wall as I made my way back. Nicola watched, leaning in the doorframe.

“It’s terrifying when you do that,” she said.

Do what?

“Go super fast.”

Time must’ve slowed down while I was walking. I hadn’t even noticed. It’s scary when you do it too.

She frowned. “Explain that one. Slow. Like I’m stupid.”

I can’t, I admitted. I don’t know how it works. Not really. But time is screwy when you’re dead. Sometimes it goes fast, sometimes it goes slow. I can control it. A little. Mostly, it controlled me, but that was a detail I wasn’t quite ready to admit just yet.

“Time is screwy when you’re dead,” she repeated slowly.