A Calming Quiet and an Unknown Excitement

I kept the mannequin in my field of view as I glanced repeatedly at the photos I had taken of it. Its face was visible in both pictures, staring into the camera with those deep, hungry eyes. They were like portholes beyond which awaited a dark and mysterious world—they terrified me, but they also intrigued me.

"What did you mean...?" I muttered to the mannequin, but it didn't respond. I had managed to muster up enough strength to clamber over and replace the talisman for a third time and had been keeping watch without issue for about a half-hour, but as the night dragged on I became restless. The pain in my hip and shoulder had dissipated some, but standing was still difficult. I guessed that I had bruised the bone but prayed that it had not been broken; another trip to the hospital was not something I could manage.

I rolled over slightly on the dirt floor, taking care not to put weight on my injured side, and put my phone away. I wanted to conserve some battery for the morning. I adjusted my position to try and obtain some slight level of comfort and returned to gazing at the mannequin and contemplating its words. I was sure it was trying to trick me or to somehow possess or consume me, but it was strange; its voice had seemed timid and kind, even concerned, and like its serene smile, it was hard for me to honestly say I detected any malice in it. No, rather than malice, its voice had been rife with longing. It even said it wanted me. I shuddered recalling the way its head had moved when it said that. Its motions were unnatural, like a puppet whose strings frayed and tore as they were pulled by some unseen force.

It seemed difficult for it to control its porcelain body. Quick motions were beyond its ability, and even at a snail's pace it seemed like it couldn't maintain its energy for long. The thought crossed my mind to remove the talisman myself and ask the mannequin some questions. After all, I had so many, and the thing's limited movement would keep me safe. There was still a chance that it was all a trick, though. It wasn't uncommon for animals to hide their real strength, to appear weak to lure in an unsuspecting creature only to turn the tables in an instant—really, it wasn't uncommon for people to do this either. But, the mannequin hadn't struck the last time I had fixed the talisman...

I shook my head; I shook away all my thoughts and bad ideas. I told myself that logic had no meaning in the world of the supernatural, and that I ought to just stay put and avoid getting involved with things I didn't understand.

The minutes slipped by as I sat there with my gaze fixed on the talisman. Though an air of dread lingered in the room, the passing time had allowed my stress to diminish, and it had become strangely peaceful. The door groaned as a powerful gust whistled against the building outside, and a sheet of cold air was pushed through a gap in the door's seal. I felt the coolness of the ground in my hand and brushed a tiny ant off my leg. A moth landed on my shoulder, and I allowed her to remain. The light flickered. My eyelid twitched. I scratched my chest. My hip throbbed. I tried to fold down the edge of my jeans to get a look at it, but my belt stopped me, so I undid it and began to unbutton my pants before I stopped, suddenly remembering that I was being watched.

My face became warm, and I brought a hand up, gingerly feeling my cheek, as if that would do anything to measure my redness. It's true that I embarrass easily, which, annoyingly, is in itself a point of embarrassment—even so, I was confused at my having blushed then, and I even became slightly angry with myself for having dared to think of the mannequin as a woman. I mean, it had claimed to have been a girl, and its appearance was alluring in a way, but ultimately it was a mannequin.

*   *   *

The talisman always seemed to fall when I wasn't looking. This time I had been dozing, and just as I caught my head drooping and stiffened back to an alert position I saw the small rectangle of cloth fluttering down. I shifted my gaze to the mannequin. It twitched once or twice before becoming still again, and it made a sound like a sigh.

"Dammit," I snarled under my breath. I readied myself to crawl over to the chair.

"Please..." said the mannequin in a weak voice. "Please don't put that thing on me again." I opened my mouth, thinking of something to say in reply, but the mannequin spoke again. "Why do you keep putting it back?" I chewed my lip. It didn't know why? The mannequin's head clicked to the side, and it asked again. I wondered if it would be OK to tell it the truth, or if lying might make things worse. My subconscious was yelling at me to just fix the talisman, but the burgeoning curiosity in my heart fought back.

Finally, I answered. "That's what I was told to do. I'm just doing a job." I hoped that would be enough of an explanation.

There was a pause where it seemed like the mannequin was thinking over my answer before it said, "Please quit that job." I snorted reflexively at the bluntness of the request.

"Sorry," I said, only half meaning it, "but I need the money."

"Someone is... paying you?" said the mannequin, sounding genuinely confused. "Then, every night—" It stopped speaking, and a sound like a sharp inhalation of air emanated from its head. I wondered how it could make such sounds, or talk for that matter, without lungs or a mouth, but I reminded myself again that there was never any logic to these things. At this point I was resigned to accept whatever I saw in that room as reality, though I hoped that when I returned to the outside I could leave behind ghosts and ghouls and let this all become a distant memory. The mannequin twitched, and its voice dropped to a shaky whisper. "You should leave." My heart jumped. Was that a threat? I shifted my weight back in preparation to make a break for the talisman, but the mannequin was still.

"Why?" I asked, my voice cracking despite my best attempts to mask my apprehension.

"Everyone that comes here... they never come back," said the mannequin. "Every night, someone comes here—someone like you. Well, they aren't like you, not really. But, I've never seen the same person twice. The person who's paying you... do you think they might actually be a killer?"

The job had indeed seemed suspicious, but the mannequin was by far the most suspicious part of the whole thing. "Aren't people just not coming back because they're freaked out?" I said. It seemed like a much simpler and more reasonable explanation considering that a bunch of people getting murdered or going missing on a nightly basis would have certainly made the news.

"Am I that frightening?" said the mannequin. "Although, you don't seem frightened anymore." There was a hopeful tone to its voice.

"I was just a little curious," I said. In response, the mannequin's upper body lurched forward, and I recoiled in distress.

"You... wanted to talk to me?" the mannequin said. It sounded excited, and at that moment, staring into its invisible eyes, I was struck by how discomforting it was to be faced with this thing's emotions. They were, to me, incomplete; I could hear them, and I could see them expressed in the erratic motions of the mannequin's body, but without the subtlety of the face they were impossible to gauge perfectly. All that I had was a blurry picture of something I could call "excitement," but whether that was innocent joy, amusement, or something wicked, I couldn't tell. Nonetheless, there was something cute about the way it spoke then, and I felt a bizarre mix of fear and fascination.

"Hey, will you tell me your name?" asked the mannequin.

"Will you tell me yours?" I asked hesitantly.

"I don't remember," it answered, its head tilting down. To my surprise, I found myself feeling bad for the thing. It didn't know why people were coming and keeping watch over it, it didn't remember how it got here, and it didn't even remember its own name. There was a battle in my heart and mind; there were fear, logic and caution, but against them stood empathy, curiosity, and...

I wanted so badly to tell the mannequin my name, but I feared that doing so would somehow sign my soul over to be cast into the void, leaving my body a pale, limp shell. But, I wanted to tell it—but, I didn't want to tell it—but I did—no, I really didn't—but, I told her. 

"I'm Dorian."

The mannequin's head lifted, and her sweet, soft voice drifted into my ears. "Dorian... I'm glad."