Day 2: The Gift – by Amber Averay
My Uncle Maxie was always the black sheep of the family – he never really fit in, and revelled in it. My parents used to despair that he encouraged me to be unique, and a free thinker, and to own my differences. I laughed at them, because Uncle Maxie was my idol. He was a great person, a good man, and the best uncle.
He always gave me the most unusual gifts, which I simply loved – perhaps even more so because my parents complained that they were ‘unsuitable’ for a young girl. As I grew older, they were inappropriate for a pre-teen. Then they were improper for a teenager…you get the gist. But I truly loved his quirky outlook, the effort he put in to finding the gifts.
I’ve always had a fascination for history and miniatures – and have long harboured a grisly enthusiasm for true crime – so one year he gave me a small, fully functional, guillotine! It came with a doll that, when her head was lopped off, a tube would leak blood (fake, obviously) from her stumpy neck. He also provided spare bottles of blood, and the instructions on how to make more so I could refill and behead her again and again.
Another year he presented me with a tiny iron maiden with retractable spikes and doll. When she was inserted into the torture device and it was wound shut, the spikes would sink into her soft body and blood would seep from the spikes themselves to make it seem the doll was ruptured.
My collection of mini torture devices kept growing. I had to keep them all in a glass cupboard in my bedroom – reinforced glass, and a sturdy lock – so none of the children in the family could break them or hurt themselves.
Just last year Uncle Maxie gave me a hanging man with the gallows, a working lever and trap door. But the first gift he ever presented to me – and the most sentimental, for it began this whole tradition – was a small rack with a doll whose limbs stretched with each crank of the lever. When I’d finished using the rack the limbs would contract again and the doll would resemble his original self.
My uncle arrived on time, loaded with luggage that likely held more presents than clothing, and Dad and I helped him transport it all inside. My brothers and sisters swarmed around him, begging for gifts and treats, while Mama irritably told them to mind their manners and let their uncle settle in without being harassed.
So they turned to harassing me instead:
‘Can I play with your guillotine?’
‘Can I hang the man with the rope?’
‘I want to stick the chick in the spiky thing!’
‘Let me put dolly on the rack!’
‘Can I work the trapdoor when Ben-Ben hangs the boy-doll?’
I put my fingers to my lips and issued an ear-splitting whistle that quietened them down quickly. ‘Nobody is playing with any of my things,’ I said firmly. ‘They are not toys.’
‘Then why do you have spare blood?’
‘How come the doll’s arms and legs go back in place?’
‘Why does the head get back on the body?’
Pugnacious little brats! I glared warningly at them all. ‘They are my collectibles. Not. For. Playing. Savvy?’
Amellia giggled, slurring ‘savvy’ repeatedly in her childish imitation of Jack Sparrow, while Benny glared right back at me, his bottom lip puffed out and his jaw set stubbornly. ‘I’m telling Mama!’ he cried, shoving past me and leading the younger ones in a stream of squawking kids through the house.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah, you do that. Go tell Mama.’
Dad poked his head through the doorway and said Uncle Maxie wanted to see me. ‘Probably with another spooky toy for your collection,’ he said wickedly.
‘They’re not toys!’ I protested, and Dad laughed and went to help Mama with the monsters.
I tapped on my uncle’s door, knowing why he wanted me there. And sure enough, set upon the desk at the side of the room was a parcel topped with a red-and-green bow. He watched with quiet pride as I picked it open, careful as always in case it was fragile. And I gasped with delight.
He’d bought me a vertical glass case, in which stood a doll of male appearance. Beside it was a sack of soil – and a small shovel. I grinned. ‘He can be buried alive!’
‘Only his head remains uncovered. See?’
I gave him a fierce hug, and hastened off to my room to add this one to the cabinet. Stood back and admired my collection, only moving when Dad yelled for me to hurry up – I had to help him collect the gifts that Santa would leave under the tree later tonight. So off we went, and it was late when we got home. The lights were off, and there was no noise coming from anywhere.
Odd.
I helped Dad sneak everything into the garage and then grabbed a drink before hurrying to my bedroom. I froze in the doorway, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, eyes riveted to the smashed glass of my cabinet.
What have you done?
I might have shrieked it, or just thought the words – but tinny little voices squeaked at the edge of my hearing, and curiosity tempering some of my rage I crept toward the broken shelves.
Oh, my God…
I squinted, and nearly fell over my own feet as I recoiled over shattered glass and splintered wood. In place of the dolls were my family members – Mama, brothers Benny, Jackie, Griffin, and sisters Amellia, Stacey, Dorothy and Maude. They called for help, though none could move their doll-limbs or eyes, and their mouths were becoming stiffer and more immobile with each moment. Before my stunned eyes the newest doll’s image shimmered before taking on Dad’s face and body.
I screamed for Uncle Maxie, the only one I couldn’t see on the shelves, and quiet laughter drifted in through the open window. I hurried across to it, glass crunching underfoot, and there in the moonlight was Uncle Maxie.
‘What’s happened?’ I cried, wondering why his skin was so milky white and his eye sockets pools of darkness. ‘Uncle Maxie, what’s going on?’
His chuckle was so soft it barely stirred the air. ‘That was the last gift, Mallorie. You were supposed to have first pick of the dolls, but you weren’t home so you get what’s left.’
‘But…what? I don’t understand…’ My fingers twitched, my limbs going heavy as if filling with lead.
‘Once the last gift is given, the collection is almost complete. The only thing it requires are new dolls…’
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