Content Note: This story explores themes of psychological distress, dissociation, social isolation, and suicide, presented through allegory. Some readers may find this disturbing. Please take care while reading.
Lacey still lived in her grandmother's house. Everyone else had grown old enough to leave it. They were married, had children, had careers. They lived far away, and they rarely visited.
The house was big, and old, and drafty. Always in disrepair. When her grandmother died, she stayed there. The house was her home. She couldn't imagine leaving it.
That afternoon Lacey sat cross-legged on the floor of the attic—pink skirt hitched, feet encased in frilly bobby socks. Her hair was curled and tied up into a pink ribbon. She was alone that day, like most days, playing in the attic.
In her hand she held little embroidery shears. The pretty ones, shaped like a golden stork. She had stolen them from her grandmother's sewing kit years ago, and hidden them in the attic with the rest of her treasures.
Sunlight streamed in from the widow’s walk outside, giving the attic a golden glow as the dust motes floated like little fairies in the light. Lacey never went out to the widow's walk. It was too bright. Too visible. Besides, no one needed her out there.
A lavender dress with little tabs fluttered from her fingers to the floor. She held up one of her paper dolls. Sadie, she had named her. She was so elegant. Like a Gibson Girl. She squeezed the tabs of the gown around her.
There. Beautiful Sadie. All dressed.
She taped her up on the rafter, then glanced around. The attic’s gnarled wooden beams were covered in paper dolls. Dolls cut from books, dolls Lacey had drawn herself—some were even rather avant-garde—faceless, surreal. The floor, as well, was littered with them. A tumultuous sea of paper fashion waiting to be donned. Hordes of undressed dollies waiting for her loving guidance.
Lacey used to go out into town. She'd dress in sensible clothes—her brown sweater, a pair of old cords. The library was often her destination. Or maybe the post office.
But lately she didn't want to leave. Didn't want to make herself presentable.
“You all understand, don't you?” she said to her army of paper companions.
Their silence felt like agreement.
Night fell. She only knew because the light no longer beamed from the widow's walk. She was hard at work.
From the scraps of her many creations she was crafting a queen. Her masterpiece. She layered the Queen like a paper snowflake, three-dimensional, a white ruff around her neck like a Tudor countess. She had no face—Lacey had colored pencils but she knew she couldn't do her justice.
Better to leave her a blank slate. Then she could fill it in with her mind. Lacey often left her homemade dolls without faces. She felt closer to them somehow. Like they understood.
The Queen was finished. She was perfect. Her dress didn't need tabs—she was the dress.
Lacey placed her in a place of honor atop the scattered piles of paper dresses and paper dolls, admiring her handiwork.
The lantern light flickered rhythmically. Suddenly, she heard the gentle strains of a solo violin. An aching melody. And the Queen began to dance.
She had no feet but she lifted into the air and twirled, like a spinning jenny from a high branch. As she spun, the other dolls lifted into the air as well. Lacey looked around. They were so elegant, so pure—soft around the edges as if gently filtered. None of them had faces.
The music intensified. Cello and viola joined the violin. They danced a slow waltz, circling the attic.
Lacey longed to join.
She stood. The Queen flew to her and danced upon her palm, flitting this way and that, graceful and fae-like. When she flew off again, Lacey ached with loneliness. She wanted to be with them. To be one of them.
The Queen returned holding the stork shears. She said nothing but dropped them into Lacey's hand and returned to the attic ball.
The sound of a thousand pages rustling in their reveries punctuated the strains of the music, which grew more urgent. More desperate.
They wanted her to join them. They needed her to.
She looked down at the scissors, tracing the etched feathers of the beautiful golden bird. She looked to the cracked vanity in the corner.
She would join them. She just needed to be like them, and she could stay with them forever.
She looked in the mirror.
She set the scissors down.
Faceless, she looked at her hands. She was paper. The Queen brought her a gown of gleaming white—the prettiest she’d ever seen. The other dolls fluttered around her in a swarm, crimping the tabs around her until she was dressed.
The Queen then removed her crown, bowed to her, and placed it upon her head.
She could hear them cheering—not voices, but rustling paper echoing in applause. The Queen—no, she was now the Queen—the former Queen bowed to her and took her hand.
The attic felt larger than it had any right to be. Paper lanterns drifted where rafters had been.
Below her—she was certain of it now—her people waited.
She opened the attic door and stepped into the night.
The widow’s walk stretched before her, pale in the moonlight.
She was in a castle made entirely of paper. They led her, cheering, out onto the balcony.
Below her, her paper kingdom waited.
A paper carriage drew up before her, its sides gleaming softly.
She waved, smiling. At long last, she was needed. At long last, she was home.
She stepped into the carriage.
They found her the next morning below the widow’s walk, grass and paper dolls scattered like snow around her stillness.
"But lately she didn't want to leave. Didn't want to make herself presentable. “You all understand, don't you?” she said to her army of paper companions." This hit so hard. The support of the dolls is both comforting and sinister. I've read this a few times now and it reaches different parts of me each time. Heartbreaking, beautiful, and important. Thank you.
This gave me goosebumps for how hard it hit me! Dolls as comfort and disquiet is just brilliant. I find them terrifying in the best possible way as a lover of the gothic genre and horror movies. Also, the last line is just too good. You are so talented, and I always look forward to reading your pieces, and this is another one I will cherish for quite some time!!