A Ragdoll Lost in the Woods

Skellington Chronicle: Emily

Emily shook her doll violently, the loose head swinging about and long hairs falling from the toy's burlap head. When the doll did not respond to her, Emily suddenly shouted and threw it across the room so it hit the far wall with a thud and dropped to the floor. Immediately Sally turned and raised her eyebrows.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked, somewhat used to her daughter's outbursts. Though it couldn't be said that the girl was spoiled, she was violent--though her violence was usually vile and conniving, not outright angry.

Emily said nothing and merely sat on the ground, staring at where her doll lay across the floor of her mother's sewing room. Sally asked again, "Is this about your brother?" Emily sighed.

"I wish he would come back and see me," she said. Sally silently laughed at her use of "me" rather than "us."

"Don't worry, dear, he'll be here the day before Halloween," her mother consoled.

Of her five children, Emily was by far the most difficult for Sally to understand. Though young, the girl operated on levels that vaguely reminded the rag-doll of the scheming trick-or-treaters. Emily was calculating and sharp, who since she was very small could sit and sew her own flesh without blinking. Before her middle son Ripley had moved to Easter Land, the girl had always taken great pleasure in torturing her slightly older, jumpy brother; but now that he was gone, she had very little to do and it was beginning to worry Sally. Though she could often be seen outside playing with the werewolf boy, she seemed to have become more disturbed.

Of course, her mother naturally attributed this to the fact her closest sibling had moved away.

Emily was sitting on the steps practicing voodoo on her doll when her teenage twin siblings came out the front door and her brother nearly tripped over her.

"Hey, watch out," her sister Lise scolded and pushed past, hardly looking at the girl. However, a tall, lanky shadow still stood over her. Emily didn't move.

"Why aren't you out playing with Griff?" She looked up to see her oldest brother, Lise's twin, towering over her.

She scoffed and put a needle right through the doll's eye. "I don't feel like it, Morty," she growled.

"My name's not Morty anymore, Emily. It's either Mort or Mortimer." He was about to continue when Emily leaped to her feet and turned, staring up at him with wide, watery eyes.

"You are Morty!" she told him loudly, his eye sockets widening. "You are Morty!" She hit him once in his thin chest before picking up her doll--needles and all--and running off out the gate, past Lise and into the square. The oldest girl looked at her twin, who could only shrug quizzically.

When she finally stopped running, Emily found herself walking out of the square towards the path, a cobblestone one which led to the lake outside of town. She couldn't fathom why her brother was suddenly not "Morty" anymore; Morty was the nice, much older boy who always spoke kindly to her despite her completely evil antics towards everyone in her family. Morty was his name. Mort was what all his silly friends called him; Mortimer was what their parents called him. To Emily, he was Morty.

Why he would want to be any different made no sense to her.

I've got a pocket of snake eyes and scabs
That I stole from a man on the street.
I took them away
From his cold, dead fingers
Toys that they won't let me keep.

I've got three kinds of sweet insect candy
I made them with legs I pulled from a bee.
I've poisoned ten frogs
And fed them to dogs
And now they can't even see.

"Candy, hm," she heard a voice say from behind her. Her humming stopped abruptly. A short wolf-boy walked up beside her, stopping where she stopped on the little path leading away from the town. "I hear that stuff isn't as good as it's cracked up to be."

"Hi, Griff," she said without emotion. He looked over at her, ears neutral, his large nose sniffing the air.

"Hi, Emily," he replied, mimicking her tone. The wolf made a snorting noise that only Emily knew translated as a laugh--a mocking one, to be precise. She gave him a dirty look and he only laughed harder.

When Griff had finally calmed down they turned and continued walking towards the lake, not saying anything to one another. He took the limp doll from her hands in a way that appeared automatic and put it over his furry shoulder, Emily hardly noticing as he did so.

Emily always loved how the lake smelled like sulfur and rotting fish combined into one lovely, musky scent. As she and Griff slipped down the rocky slope to the tiny stretch of gravelly beach, she thought it odd that she never really noticed how clean the old lake really was. She thought perhaps that was because she was always watching Ripley splash in it. Emily didn't notice when her friend sat down, set the doll in his lap and began fiddling with its yarn hair.

Ripley had only been gone for a few months. He had visited routinely for the first few weeks, but then he stopped coming. Only a year younger than her brother, Emily had always been annoyed at how weak and pathetic he was, afraid of his own shadow and always making her wonder if they were really related by blood. But once he disappeared, she missed him.

And she was different. Perhaps crueler, perhaps she was lonesome; but she still had Griff. Griff, the big, stupid boy who played with her every day even though she never once showed anything but disdain for him. Stupid wolf boy, she thought again, looking at him.

But with Ripley gone any friend was better than none.

Jack Skellington was pondering a blueprint for some elaborate scare when he heard a familiar door slam. It had a whoosh of air and then a click-like thunk that told him Emily was on the move. By far the most reclusive of the family, Emily's behavior often disturbed even him. On Halloween she was known to make just about anyone lose their wits with anything from a rhyme to one of her monstrous toys. She concocted bizarre things that reminded Jack loosely of the Christmas fiasco so long ago: but hers seemed almost alive, latching onto mens' necks like aliens or attacking small children on the street in a way that their mothers would never believe them.

With Halloween only a few days away, Jack found himself overwhelmed with work. Finalizing plans for this, completing construction for this, organizing the main points to strike terror into the hearts of people everywhere... It was all quite the tiring process. But he could spare enough time to look up and watch with fascination as the thin, pale girl slipped by, wearing tattered black clothes and big black bows. This was her normal mode of transportation: without the door he never would have seen her there. When she momentarily locked eyes with him the Pumpkin King thought about how strongly Emily showed her slow advancement into early adulthood, advanced in her thought but still childish. As soon as she disappeared from his room and into the hall, Jack went back to whatever he was doing without thinking twice about the daughter he had come to be so proud of.

Ripley was due to be arriving the next day. Emily saw him every year, twice a year, and had done so since he moved away seven years before; however, the event still held as much if not more excitement for her than Halloween itself. Pondering, she nearly bumped into Griff where he stood on the porch. He held a doll by the hand as if it were a little girl and squinted his eyes against the morning sun.

"Hey," she said, hardly looking at him.

"Hey." The wolf stared at her. She was used to it; he was a little slow in the head, and often had to look at something for a while before he could think of anything to say. "Halloween's almost here."

Emily snorted at the statement and retorted snidely, "As if I don't know. Everyone talks about it. It's not a big deal." Griff's ears flopped.

"You just want to see Ripley."

"No I don't! I hate him," Emily immediately defended. He stared at her again and she sighed. "Okay, I want to see him just because it amuses me how lame he is."

"Sure," Griff replied without conviction. He turned and started walking; Emily unconsciously followed. Just like every other day in Halloween Town the pair went down the long stair outside the Skellington home, out the gate and to the fountain in the middle of the square, where they sat on the edge in silence. Emily kneeled on it, looking into the water, with her long black skirt nearly getting wet.

"I can't wait for Halloween," she said and rested her head in her palms.

Griff looked at her with a somewhat surprised expression. "That's unusual. You don't really look forward to anything." Emily shrugged. "Why?"

"Because this year I'm really going to scare them," she confessed, voice still monotone and face showing little emotion. The wolf raised his eyebrows.

"How?"

Emily turned to him, giving him a sly, nasty smile that vaguely reminded him of an unlucky black cat and replied, "You should ask the trick-or-treaters."

No more than ten minutes later Griff found himself outside the old Oogie Boogie tree, holding the mutilated doll Emily had given him years ago under one arm, and waiting for the wild noise inside to cease and the door to be opened. Emily stood beside him without a care in the world.

The door flung wide so suddenly the wolf-boy nearly toppled over. Lock stood in the doorway and in the background they could see Shock and Barrel in some sort of projectile battle involving large, blunt objects, toys and candy.

"What do you want?" asked the boy dressed as a demon. His tail twitched in annoyance.

Emily leaned forward--for he was somewhat shorter than she--and said nearly as a whisper but loud enough for Griff to hear, "I have some manpower for our operation." Her breath tickled his ear and his tail fell limp to the ground behind him. Lock snickered and looked up at the tall, broad-shouldered wolf.

"He'll do," the demon said and opened the door, stepping aside so Emily could enter with Griff following close behind. He glanced nervously around as he came in: the whole place was full of broken furniture, shattered pictures and mirrors, ripped toys, rotting things of all kinds, bugs, rats, candy, and trash. Noticing the two had entered Shock stopped running and put one hand on Barrel's forehead--who was lunging at her with arms outstretched--to keep him at bay. He eventually realized his barrier and stopped, snorting.

Emily nodded over to the giant, metal tube on the far wall, which led down into Oogie Boogie's old lair. "Are we nearly done?"

Lock, Shock, and Barrel all nodded. "We've got them all trained and frightening," Shock announced proudly.

"Good," Emily praised hollowly, "let's go look."

Griff, though confused, followed his friend anyway as the trick-or-treaters led them out to a cage. The wolf had to shrug his shoulders to fit inside, and even then it was a tight spot; luckily, the trip was short and they easily reached the lower door.

The old game room was still mostly intact when they entered--however, nearly two hundred toys, all either cute, fat baby dolls or large hero action figures lined the walls and littered the floors. They were all clones, all the same, but all sitting passively in their one foot stature with closed eyes. Emily, face beaming as much as one as pale and pasty as hers could, said, "Here they are, Griff. The perfect Halloween toy."

The wolf furrowed his brow and she sighed in exasperation. "I'm going to put one toy at every child's door. When brought inside by their respective owner, they will come to life and wreak terrifying havoc until the next morning, when they will all shut down and remain so until next Halloween." She grinned an evil grin.

Griff glanced around at the numerous toys, which now all looked rather evil when he peered closely. The manufacturing trio, however, looked quite enamored with their handiwork. The wolf was somewhat disturbed by the thought of complete chaos, but he thought it might prove an interesting tactic for Halloweens to come.

As he turned to ask Emily when they could leave, he saw the oddly skeletal rag-doll bent over and whispering to Lock, whose tail was swishing back and forth at an oddly rapid pace. They snickered nasty snickers and whispered in a way that Griff wasn't sure if the tingle in his fingers was worry or jealousy. Though it did annoy him that his best friend seemed to have acquired other friends without his knowledge, he was slightly more disturbed by Emily's acquaintance with the trick-or-treaters, who even in Halloween Town were considered troublemakers. However, he neither said nor did anything and instead waited for Emily to inevitably tire of the chat and leave.

Ripley had never really liked the late Oogie Boogie's three children. Though they held little favor among citizens of Halloween Town as it was, they were respected for their brute ability in scheming and frightening. But when Ripley stepped into his old home, seven years older, and saw all three of them the same as they had ever been, he was disturbed. Though such agelessness was the nature of most of Halloween Town, he could not help but wonder how long they had been there and how much they had seen.

However, it disturbed him even more to see them up to something with his own little sister. Sadly Ripley was unable to investigate further by means of obligations to his family: sitting with his father and mother, bothering the twins, and taking a plump, rude Luke out for games at the lake. It was the day before Halloween and plans were finalized, positions mapped, and all construction was complete; but the town still seemed to be in a panic. Ripley dodged witches, zombies, and wolves--one of which he recognized but failed to place--as he passed through on his way to return his younger brother to the house. It was the house now: not his. His home was in a small round house, in the meadow, in a tree, somewhere in the Easter Land where it was always warm and bright.

He stopped very suddenly when he saw it. One of the trick-or-treaters, the little demon boy, was sitting on a fence surrounding the square; Emily sat beside him, taller and appearing older, but it was impossible to be so. They whispered, snickered, slapped one another, and Ripley wondered if all the world had gone mad.

When Griff followed Emily out to every closet, under every bed and on every doorstep, along with the rest of Halloween town, he was nearly afraid. His gut turned and wrenched and he could only sigh when he didn't see the three diabolical children anywhere in sight. He caught up to her and kept pace with the thin, quick-moving girl, pausing only when they reached the graveyard and she stopped to open the door to a burial chamber, white stone with a morbid statue at the point of the roof. They didn't say a word as they went inside, closed the door behind them and everything went dark.

Emily could already hear the sound of impending screams as she walked outside and onto the grass. She looked over as Griff walked up beside her. She knew the look on his face: it was strained, annoyed, but with a usual dose of confusion and inconclusiveness. He was quite easy to manipulate, she thought, glancing down at the old, ragged doll he held with three fingers of his right hand. She wondered what he would do if she ever took it away.

They followed an unusual course out of the graveyard and onto a street. Though most couldn't see them, either due to imaginative limitations or the dark, they wanted to be careful and stealthful until the opportune moment arrived. However, they had very little to do before Emily's plan finally come to fruition: the sound of a baby, crying a mechanical cry, echoed down the street and a child went running past, too terrified to scream.

And then suddenly Emily disappeared.

The wolf boy stood on the corner, staring about him in every direction for the pasty rag-doll girl with long lashes and empty sockets for eyes. He slowly lifted the yarn-haired toy in his hand and held it, watching as best he could as the chaos emerged. People were running, screaming--he could hear sirens blaring, tires screeching, and doors slamming. Around the corner rolled Barrel, the short, tubby trick-or-treater, his eyes large and his grin wide.

"Hey, hairy," he said, walking up to the wolf who was at least five times his size. "Your friend's with Lock. This Halloween is ours." The child giggled and squealed, then ran away with fingers stretched like claws and ran at someone at the end of the block.

Griff glanced around, the noise fading into the background. A car rolled past, white, with bright red and blue lights on top rotating about in a manner irritating to his eyes. But he didn't like it and knew he had to find Emily. There was no way this Halloween couldn't be a success, but he knew he had to find Emily.

Calmly Griff walked across the street, past the trees and rows of houses--where large hero toys attacked boys and zombie baby dolls screamed at girls--and stopped when he saw Lock standing just a few feet ahead. He was alone.

"Where's Emily?" Griff asked in his usual deep and chalky voice.

The demon boy was silent, then said, "I don't know, she was supposed to meet me here." Lock looked at him, and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

But it did, and without acknowledging the boy at all Griff turned around and walked back the other way. He thought of finding Jack, tracking him through closets or seeking Sally in bathtub drains, but that would only waste time. Griff had a slow mind but his body could easily catch it up.

He was running, holding the doll in his teeth and using hands and feet. Emily was never good here, she had a terrible sense of direction and would always get lost--but his nose would always get them home. It saddened him that she had walked without him, disappeared so he couldn't find her. But he knew what she had thought:

Emily remembered--down that street, up this one, and then right. She would meet Lock there, the little demon boy who gave her something new and interested her, as she interested him (for they were both interested she was sure) and they would go around and see all the terror their beautiful toys had created. Her beautiful toys.

So following his directions Emily found herself walking, walking out of the town and onto a dark road, in a dark field where she had suddenly realized she was lost. Emily was never lost; her father would always find her, the great Pumpking King, he had found her so often when she was small sitting in a house sewing up girls' dolls like frightening linen or breaking arms off little army men. So Jack had sent Griff out with her, to watch her and always help her find her way home. Even still, her father had never yet said it was all right to wander off without him.

And she did regret it, sitting alone in a dark field with a disappointingly flat moon. Emily didn't know if Griff would find her, or even look for her; she had left him and she wouldn't want to find her either.

Lock didn't look for her. If he did, she knew he would find her--he was one of those people with abilities like that. Or a mind quick like his could deduct that she had merely followed his directions backwards. It saddened Emily that he didn't and she pulled up her knees. She was never afraid, children of Halloween Town were never afraid: she only hated being lost.

When she heard a sniffing Emily pulled her knees tighter. Though it didn't frighten her, it bothered her--what obnoxious creature was hiding in the dark? She hated everything outside her world, everything strange she hadn't yet seen and everything that Griff couldn't scare off. Without the wolf she could only sit, wait, and watch, wishing she had a rock-stuffed rat she could swat whatever it was with. The sniffing grew louder, and Emily could see the shadow in the faint moonlight, huge and hairy--when suddenly it stopped.

"Emily?"

Griff's voice. He stood up and she could only stare at him with wide eyes, paralyzed. He moved towards her and with relief she fell forward onto him to latch her arms around him. Exhaling the wolf put his hands around her and lifted her up, carrying her as easily as paper up and out of the field in which she had found herself. Emily didn't say a word and held his fur tightly in her fingers.

It was only midnight when Griff sat down on Emily's bed. She had fallen asleep, holding his doll tightly, and he placed her ever so delicately down with her head on her soft, mangy pillow. He sighed and pushed some black hair from her eyes.

He thought few things, but one thing he did think was, he really did like her. He was happy he found her. He was sad she didn't like him.

Griff began to stand up when a hand suddenly latched onto his wrist. His ears twitched and he glanced down at the girl lying on the bed, who was looking at him with intention. She pulled slightly and without an ounce of resistance he complied, being pulled closer and closer to her until he lay down just to one side. Without a single word she leaned over his arm, set her head on his chest and curled her hands at her chin--and faded out like a light.

He pulled his hand around her and closed his eyes, not thinking anything as he drifted off to sleep.

Jack heard his daughter walk by that morning as he looked over plans for next Halloween. She was noticeable, he didn't have to look for her.

"Good morning," he greeted. Emily paused and looked at him annoyedly. At least she wasn't ill. "Where are you off to?"

"Walking," she replied evasively. He peered over the blueprints and furrowed his empty eye sockets.

"Strange," he said, almost to himself but loud enough that she could hear, "I heard quite a commotion last night. Some odd toys seemed to have gotten loose and were terrorizing people everywhere." Jack saw her freeze from the corner of his eye. "Couldn't have been my daughter, who I found sleeping at home with a," he began to mumble, "quite handsome werewolf in her bed."

"Wasn't me," was all she said before she rushed out the door. As it slammed shut he could only laugh to himself and wonder why it had taken so long.

Emily sat at the bottom of the steps, silent, with her head propped in her palms and listening to the pleasant tune floating to her ears from the band across the square. She noticed when the gate opened and Griff walked inside, but paid no notice. He sat down beside her. He didn't have his doll, for it was still inside her house, on her other pillow. He looked over and said, "Want to walk to the lake? There's big fish there."

Emily only nodded and they stood up and left. They walked across the square and walked down the path, and picked up their rods as they walked to the lake. It was still early in the day and the sun was out--but no one else was. The wolf and the rag-doll sat down on the edge of the lake and cast their rods, setting them down with the bottoms held under rocks but far enough back that a good tug wouldn't pull them in.

They sat back in silence and watched the ripples on the water. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, it was natural for him to place a comforting hand around her. And they watched the ripples on the water.