The Nightwalkers, Part I

“They come for you at night.”

That’s what my oldest sister said to me when we first saw the doll. It had been abandoned in the middle of Woolworth, kicked to side of the canned goods aisle, where it lay propped against a shelf of Campbell’s Soup. It seemed invisible to everyone else in the store, not even drawing the attention of an elderly woman who reached past it to grab a can of chicken broth.

It was filthy.

A baggy dress, in a color that might once have passed for white, covered its porcelain body, barely concealing the ragged elbows that had poked holes in the thin material. Strands of plastic hair flowed in greasy clumps like sunflower oil down its shoulders, stopping just shy of the floor. A grubby shoe hung from its left foot, laces untied and curling across its leg. The bottoms of both the shoe and foot were coated with dirt.

I studied it. Where’s the right shoe?

Dead, brown eyes like marbles stared into mine, challenging me to ask the question aloud.

“That’s why the feet are dirty,” my sister said, breaking into my thoughts. “Because it’s been walking all night.”

My nose wrinkled. “Nuh-uh,” I said. “Dolls can’t walk.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so stupid. It’s a nightwalker.”

“Like a Cabbage Patch doll?” I asked. I looked again at the figure slouched on the floor. It didn’t look like any of the Cabbage Patches I’d seen in the other stores. I’d been begging my parents for one for almost a year. It might be time to reconsider.

“No,” my sister sighed. “Nightwalkers are creatures that look like regular dolls during the day, but as soon as it gets dark, they come alive. Don’t tell me you never heard about them?”

My head shook. I turned huge eyes to her. “It’s alive?”

She snorted. “Oh, not right now. But it will be, later. And then it’ll walk.”

“Walk where?”

“To find the first person who saw it as a doll that day.” Her eyes cast an evil glint my way. “Nightwalkers don’t like to be noticed. So if it catches anyone looking at it during the day, while it’s a doll, it’ll come for them at night. It doesn’t matter how far away that person is; it’ll walk for miles and miles, all night, to find them.”

“To do what?” I whispered.

“To kill them.” She smiled at my dumb expression. “Why do you think she’s missing a shoe? She must’ve lost it last night, during the walk. Or the killing.”

I had a sudden urge to cry.

“She probably came in here to rest before the sun came up,” my sister continued. Her expression became sad. “Then you went and noticed her.”

“I didn’t notice her!” The shriek ripped through Woolworth. I lowered my voice to a mild holler. “I didn’t notice her. You did; you saw her first!”

“Girl, be quiet,” my sister hissed. “Trying to lie about it isn’t going to change anything. She knows you were looking at her first. I was looking for some soup, when I saw you staring at the thing.”

Is that what happened? My mind tore through the past five minutes, racing to pinpoint the moment when I first saw the doll. Finding it, I then searched frantically for a picture of my sister’s face, trying to see if her eyes really had been on the soup instead of the doll. Her face was a blank puzzle.

Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“It’s too late to cry about it, now,” she said. “Maybe you should’ve stayed with Momma, like she told you to, instead of following me around. Now, you’re going to die.”

I stared at the loathsome doll. Its eyes seemed even darker, their hollow depths becoming an evil well of promised retribution. “It’s going to come for me?” I whimpered.

She nodded sagely. “Yep.”

“What if I say I’m sorry? Will that change its mind?”

A shake of the head. “Nope.”

My shoulders began to shake as I held back choking sobs. “What can I do to make it not come for me?”

She sneered. “Pray.” Snatching a can of cream of mushroom soup from the shelf, she twirled around and sauntered up the aisle. The faint melody of humming followed after her.

I turned back to the doll. It seemed larger than before…and more aware. I felt it dissecting me from behind those black orbs. Plotting. Why had I thought its eyes were brown? No, they were colorless and deadly, half-hidden under the sliding lids.

Only the grip of fear on my vocal cords kept me from howling. My body shook in jerking spasms, tears turning everything around me into a swirling haze.

I didn’t want to die. I was only six-years-old. I had at least thirty more years to go before I was old enough to be buried.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped to the doll. “I didn’t mean to look at you. Please don’t come kill me.”

It glared back at me.

We stared at each other in desperate combat. I silently pleaded for my life, apologies tumbling wordlessly from quivering lips. Condemnation rang from the doll’s hooded gaze.

When the hiccupping started, I knew it was time to go. Nothing more could be done. “I’m so sorry,” I managed one last time before fleeing up the aisle to find my mother.

It was time to go home. The day would be over soon, and I had a lot to do before the night came.

TO BE CONTINUED…