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Beautiful Beatrice

Glass dolls, I never really liked them. I've always felt like danger approached me when I was in a room with them. Their hollow, lifeless eyes staring at me with an expressionless face. They were always unpredictable to me. I wasn't sure if they would sit there, or they would suddenly stand up and attack me. Because of my phobia for glass dolls, I was upset when my mother started collecting glass dolls.

My mother started collecting the glass dolls when I was eight years old. The first doll she brought home was named Annie. She had braided ebony hair and was dressed in a 1920's flapper girl outfit. She looked the least creepy out of all of them. However, I still felt eerie around her. I used to complain endlessly, begging my mother to sell Annie immediately but to no avail. My mother would try to calm me down by reminding me that Annie would never hurt me.

"It's only a doll Bruce, it's only a doll." My mother would repeat that to me when we finish discussing my fear for glass dolls. My mother somehow found ways to cope with my fears briefly, but we never came to an agreement on a situation like this unlike most other discussions. We would argue about certain subjects like regular adults would and eventually come to an agreement. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. No matter how much I complained, she wouldn't take away the dolls. I decided to stop complaining and attempt to face my fears. It actually did work on the outside. I would act like nothing bothered me, making my mother relieved. On the inside, I was still terrified. I still shivered with fear whenever I walked into the living room, where Annie resides.

Every month, my mother would buy another doll for the house, each doll looking creepier than the last one. I remembered Teresa and Sarah wearing an excessively happy smile, putting me on edge after every glimpse of them passing through the living room. Antonia would have more of an angry expression, as if she wants you dead. Other glass dolls like Annabelle or Natasha would have broken glass appendages and were stained with dirt. The reason for my mother to keep them was to eventually sell them to kind of pawn shop that want old dolls, which at the time I never thought anyone would buy old busted up dolls so I thought that was a stupid idea. Even though I found all the glass dolls to be creepy, they weren't as creepy as the last doll my mother bought, Beatrice.

I was ten when my mother brought in Beatrice. I expected myself to be afraid of the doll, but I wasn't. I don't know why but something didn't make me fear her. She looked like she was in perfect condition, which is something I could not say about the other dolls. Beatrice also had a cheerful expression on her face, but not too cheerful in which it made her creepy. She had straight, long brunette hair that stretched half way down her back. She wore an outfit that looked like it was suited for a wealthy parent's daughter in the early 1900's. After getting her, my phobia for glass dolls slowly diminished. I actually began to smile when I saw them and telling people how beautiful the dolls looked to my mother or to guests. My mother started to notice my lack of tense expressions whenever I walked into the living room with the dolls, relieving her. For the next year, I proudly lived my fearless life.

When the last day of school ended, I ran home with excitement. Thoughts of summer vacation and finishing sixth grade flooded my mind on my way home. I couldn't wait to see the look on my mother's face when she saw my report card. I finished the year with high nineties in all my classes. Walking into the house, I was outraged to find that my mother wasn't around. Looking into the living room, I found a note on the small game chair that was placed in the middle of the room. Opening the note, I saw that the note was from my mother to tell me she was going to be late coming homes because she was going to work overtime. I was disappointed, but I shrugged it off and ran upstairs to my room. Before I did, I jokingly greeted the dolls.

Walking into my room, I stopped immediately as I saw a note on my bed. I unfolded the piece of paper to reveal three words that were just barely legible to read as if a toddler wrote this.

"I LOVE YOU!"

For a moment, I was frozen. Who wrote this? I wondered until I calmed down and passed it off as something my mother wrote. She often does things like this, where you will be gone but drop random notes for me to pick up. She finds it hilarious, but I find it obnoxious. I threw the note out in the garbage and walked downstairs watched television. An hour later, I walked back upstairs to find another note on my bed. Didn't I just throw the note out? I thought. Opening up the note again greeted me with the same message, 'I LOVE YOU.' Now, I was worried. My mother wasn't home yet, how did I get one of these letters again?

Afraid that someone was in the house, I called 911. When the police came, they contacted my mother to come home. A couple of police men searched the house to see if anyone was in there. When the police men returned to the front door step, they looked at me with disappointment. I was lectured by the police that 911 is used for emergencies only. As much as I wanted to defend myself, I didn't. Other than the second 'I LOVE YOU' note, I had no proof. When my mother came home, she too was disappointed. The rest of the day was quiet, just played video games until I went to bed like most kids in my school.

I fell asleep that night, only to be woken up by thumping outside my door. I got up wanting to know what was disturbing my sleep. Approaching the door, the thumping stopped. I thought whoever that was knew I was awake now. Opening the door wanting to know who woke me up, only to find... Nothing. I called out for my mother but there was no answer. Exhaustion overpowered my fear, so I lied back in my bed and eventually fell asleep from exhaustion.

I woke up the next morning to see Beatrice at the end of my bed. I was a little scared to see a piece of paper in her left hand. I opened up the piece of paper to find another 'I LOVE YOU' message in it. This was a little different though, there was a signature at the bottom. The signature read:

"~Beautiful Beatrice~"

I called for my mother. She walked into my room just as shocked as I was, but for another reason.

"Bruce, why did you take Beatrice?"

"I didn't mom. I wanted to know how she got in here!" I exclaimed with fear and showed her the note. She sighed.

"Well, I don't know. Whatever might have happened, I'm going to put her back downstairs. I really hope it wasn't you who did it." As my mother put Beatrice back into the living room, I was petrified with fear. If my mom didn't do it, who did?

That night I feel asleep from exhaustion again. Sometime in the middle of the night, I felt something in my hand waking me up. I was holding a crumpled up piece of paper. I opened it up to see the same message, 'I LOVE YOU! ~Beautiful Beatrice~'. I ripped up the paper up and panicked. I looked around the room briefly, to find Beatrice sitting at the end of my bed of my bed again. She was staring at me with her hollow, lifeless eyes. I called out to my mother, hoping she could hear me. After what felt like an eternity in the room with Beatrice, my mother ran in scared.

"What is it!?" My mother exclaimed, sound as if she thought I was being kidnapped.

"Beatrice is at the end of my bed again," I replied. My mother's fear turned into irritation. She scolded me for stealing Beatrice. I tried to convince her I didn't do anything, but of course she was unconvinced. She told me that she was going to put Beatrice in the attic so I couldn't retrieve it anymore. She knew I wouldn't dare go up into the attic, I was too scared to go up there. When she went to bed, I lied in my bed for the rest of the night. I was too scared to fall asleep.

The next morning, my mother woke me up, telling me that we were going to move to a house across town. I asked her why but she wouldn't answer. Throughout the day, we quickly packed our belongings and placed them in the moving van. Before we were about to leave, I had to get my last box upstairs. Upon getting it, I heard a thumping noise. It sounded a lot like the thumping from the other night. I dropped the box and followed the thumping noise. It was coming from the attic. I was scared since I knew Beatrice was up there. What did Beatrice do to make my mother want to move? I remembered my mother taking Beatrice to the attic. I had to get the courage to get myself up into the attic. It took me a few minutes, but I pulled the ladder down and climbed up into the attic.

At first, the attic looked very empty. It looked like an empty attic with a horrible wood stench. It was until I looked around, I saw a dim light. The source of the light was from a monitor of a computer that rested in the middle of the room. Behind the computer, multiple photos of myself covered the walls. Some photos showed me in the living room watching television, while others were of me sleeping in my bed. Next to the monitor, there was a close up photo of me in a heart shaped frame. On the office chair was a man. I used to convince myself that the attic had monsters or giant animals that would eat me, but this whole time it was a man. The man looked like he was in his fifties. He was bald with pale, wrinkly skin. His eyes were sunken deep into his face. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, clearly he hardly slept. In his hands, he was holding Beatrice.

On the screen of the monitor, I could see myself. It was from the point of view of the floor, where Beatrice was. I was terrified, I noticed a camera lens in Beatrice's left eye. I was about to run but I was frozen with fear. When the man turned his head, he stared at me for a few seconds before he smiled. His smile was huge, monstrous. The smile stretched from ear to ear. I became hypnotized by his smile, I couldn't look away no matter how hard I tried. After what felt like hours staring at this monster of a man, he spoke.

"Have fun! I'm going to miss you and remember, I love you."

I jumped off the ladder, falling to the floor. I picked myself back up immediately and ran downstairs, forgetting about the last box. My mother and I left that house and eventually settled into the new house across town. I noticed that my mother left the house without taking her dolls. I was relieved. I thought moving into the new house was a good idea. Now that we didn't have those glass dolls, I've been more social with my mother, I've been hanging out with my friends more often, and I haven't been as tired. Eventually, I have forgotten about Beatrice and the other dolls.

Two months later, I said goodbye to my mother before going to a friend's house. I left the house only to see a box on the front steps. I looked at the box and realized it was the box I left at the old house. I brought the box back inside and opened it up. I was relieved that someone brought this box back. It had some games in the box. Taking out the games, I noticed there was something at the bottom. Digging through, I saw Beatrice at the bottom holding a piece of paper in her hand. Opening the piece of paper, I saw a message that sent shivers up my spine.

"I love your new house! ~Beautiful Beatrice~"