The Doll House Collection
Invitation
During a toy and doll expo, I noticed two people walking around the floor handing the flyers out, but they were not pushy like most people that usually handed them out. They were selective in who they approached. I was handed one of their flyers, about a special showing of dolls being held over the weekend. It sounded exclusive and too rich for my blood. Not giving it a second thought, I tucked it into my pocket.
When I reached my apartment, I intended to throw the flyer away. Instead, I laid it on the counter in the kitchen. Forgotten, it stayed there, waiting for me. I went about my night, finished my cleaning, and prepared for the coming week before bed. Thoughts of the day periodically came to me. They all led me back to the flyer and what the man said as he handed it to me.
“Come see the dollhouse, open to only the select few she deems worthy. Do not disappoint the mistress. You will not regret it.”
There was a map with an address below and a time and date. Something about it, as harmless as it seemed, made me desire to go check it out. I paused in that moment and took the flyer to the trash instead.
As I readied myself for bed that night, I remembered something a friend told me. She talked of seeing a place called the dollhouse once. She believed some eccentric woman with a fetish for dolls owned it. She said there were many rumors afloat about it but no one really knew for sure. This doll mistress and her collection started to sound like some urban legend.
This is the story my friend told me one night:
“There is a rare collection of dolls owned by a doll mistress. Over the many centuries, she has traveled across the world, and perhaps even across the universe, to get her special collection, her one-of-a-kind dolls. Some dolls even find her. No matter how she gets her dolls, she finds a special home for each and every one in her unique dollhouse. On very rare occasions, she is known to leave a doll as a gift for people she feels worthy of her special dolls. In some cases, she seeks out people to help her acquire them on her behalf. Her identity remains as mystery like her collection. Whispers of many names keep her identity shrouded to those unworthy of her or her dolls.
“On evenings when the moon is high and full, strange occurrences sometimes unfold in the city. Perhaps she is among us right now ... she is known by many names ... even names of those you know. So, be wary, for one day you could be in her presence.”
A few days later, as I was checking my mail, I noticed an invitation addressed to me-no return address that I could see. There was a special stamp with a wax seal pressed into it. I was not aware people still did that. It looked quite elegant and of the finest quality. I could smell the faint scent of my favorite rose as I opened it.
In gold lettering was an invitation to see the dollhouse collection. It reminded me of the flyer at the expo. I tried to think. I felt pleasantly foggy as the words from the man at the expo echoed in my mind as my fingers traced the paper. This was personal, someone took the time to do this and send it to me. Wondering and imagining for a moment, remembering my dolls and what they meant to me as a child, I shuddered as a small wave of pleasure coursed through me. Blinking, I dropped the invite as I came out of my memory. I picked it up and placed it on the counter.
I went to bed that night with it on my mind. In my dreams, I found myself in front of a store. Outside, a storm was crashing down around me. The rain and lightning shuttled me inside the open store. There were all sorts of dolls on display, and there was an empty display where one doll should be. As I drew near to it, I noticed a nameplate. In glossy gold lettering was my name. I let out a gasp and jumped when I felt a hand touch my shoulder and thunder clapped. I sat up in my bed in a sweat.
The next night, I went to the opening the flyer announced. I stood in a private home with a showcase of exotic and specialty dolls, mostly private collections. It should have been something seen in a toy museum or at a state fair exhibit, I thought, unsure why I made an appearance. As I turned to go, a voice called after me.
“Going so soon, dear? Please, you have not seen what I know you came to ... you must stay and quell your curiosity.”
Her suggestion made me stop. I pondered her words. I turned around, but no one was there. I blinked looking about to see where the owner of the voice had gone. I saw a figure disappear into a small room. Slowly, I moved to the room’s opening; it was draped with gold and silver tapestries hiding the doorframe and the treasure inside.
I was simply amazed at what I saw before me as I entered. The owner of the voice was forgotten as a doll caught my eye. The artisanship of it was breathtaking. The detail of the dress it wore was elegant and almost majestic. I could not look away, and the world I lived in no longer existed. The doll had a story to tell, and I strained to hear the faint whisper...