Hello, Stacy!
"Maggie, could you put your finger here, please?"
The little girl sucked once on her pacifier and did what she was told, placing her tiny, chubby finger over the shiny ribbon. Lisa looped the fabric over it, and, humming a little to herself, finished the final knot. "You can take your finger out, Maggie," said Lisa, as she began to gather up the tape and remaining ribbon. Maggie struggled against the knot for a few moments, whining softly, before she pulled her finger out and crawled away, still sucking on her pacifier.
Lisa looked down at the present she had finished wrapping, satisfied as usual with a job well done. She hoped the school board wouldn't object that there were little green Christmas trees over the bright red wrapping. Perhaps she could convince them that decorating a Christmas tree was actually a pagan form of worship, not a Christian one. She looked up at the clock next to her bed. 6:20 pm. They would have to get going soon.
Lisa pulled on her winter gear, hefted up her present (which was quite large and bulky), and began the trek down the stairs. "Mom!" she called, as she reached the bottom. "Are we going now?"
"Just a minute, Lisa!" Marge called from the kitchen. Lisa could hear distant noises of protest and a gentler, reassuring tone. She walked into the kitchen and saw her mother struggling to run a comb through Bart's spiky hair.
"Geez, Mom, you want me to go bald?" Bart complained, wincing.
"Hold still for just a little while longer," Marge said patiently. "There! Don't you look handsome?"
"Sure he does," said Lisa softly to herself. It didn't matter how flat his hair was, in her opinion. Thinking of her stupid brother as handsome was just too weird. As Marge walked out of the room, she set the present on the table and rubbed her arms, trying to get the ache out.
Bart eyed it, with the familiar look of a kid realizing he's forgotten something. "What's that for?" he asked, his voice slightly nervous.
"For the gift exchange, Bart," Lisa answered. "Did you forget? We have to each wrap a gift and trade presents anonymously. Remember?"
"Uh…" Bart's eyes darted around nervously. "Sure. I didn't forget. Hold on." He looked around the kitchen, his movements furtive, before opening the pantry and fishing out an old gift bag from the mall. He then went to the cabinet under the sink, and, as Lisa watched, grabbed a mousetrap and dropped it into the bag, snickering to himself.
"Bart!" Lisa reprimanded, frowning. "Knock it off! The gift exchange is supposed to promote holiday cheer."
"It'll cheer me up," Bart answered briskly, folding the top of the bag over to hide its contents. "Besides, mousetraps are a great present. You don't want people to have pests in their house, do you?"
Lisa was about to open her mouth to say something about other sorts of pests in houses, but at that moment, her mother and father walked in, Marge holding Maggie and smiling, and Homer looking somewhat disgruntled.
"C'mon kids," Marge said. "We're running late."
In a few minutes, the entire family was sitting in the car as it whisked and swerved a little on the icy road. Lisa looked out the window, watching the snow-coated trees and flashing strings and bundles lights go by. The Flanders' house had been almost obnoxiously bright. Lisa hoped her father wouldn't try to outshine them again. Last year, they had blown the power to the whole block, and the electricity bill had been enormous.
"I still don't know why we have to go to this thing," Homer was complaining from the driver's seat. "Why do we have to give stuff to other people's kids?"
"Homer, this is for the children," Marge said, frowning. "And besides, Christmas is supposed to be about giving."
"Well, as long as they aren't giving anything too expensive. The last thing we need is something else to pay for," Homer mumbled as the car swerved widely around the corner, causing some hapless pedestrians to jump out of the way screaming, their scarves blowing behind them.
"Hey," said Bart, clutching onto his seatbelt as he was thrown slightly in his seat. "What are you giving them, Lis? Your present's huge!"
"It's the encyclopedia of Australian flora," said Lisa, proudly patting the package in her lap. "I thought I'd choose a book with pictures. You know, because it's Christmas!" She beamed.
Bart groaned. "Oh, that's great, Lees. Real great. 'Say Johnny!'" he proclaimed in a mocking cheery voice, cupping his hands together. "'What would you like for Christmas this year' 'Gee, Pop!'" he said, flipping his hands to the other side, 'I would really like the most boring thing in the world!'"
"Oh yeah?" said Lisa hotly. "Well, it's better than yours!"
"Kids! Knock it off!" shouted Homer irritably. "Lisa, leave Bart alone! Bart, quit making fun of your boring sister!"
Lisa crossed her arms and looked back out the window, fuming. Marge tried to come to the rescue. "Oh, come on Lisa. What's wrong with Bart's present?"
"He put a mousetrap in his gift bag," said Lisa, keeping her narrowed gaze outside.
"Oh, that's good!" said Marge cheerfully. "Now the kids can keep pests out of their house!"
Bart folded his arms and smirked at his sister. Lisa rolled her eyes and groaned.
By the time the family pulled up to the school's parking lot, the sun had long been set, and the lot surrounding the auditorium was painted blue and yellow with darkness and lights. Quickly, and only with moderate difficulty, the Simpsons exited the car and entered the auditorium. Bart and Lisa set their presents among the pile forming on the stage and went straight to the snack table for cookies, Lisa carefully grabbing a fat-free one with peanuts and Bart grabbing three and shoving them into the flap of his jacket.
There were a few minutes were nobody really did anything except eat and mill about, talking about nothing at all. A lot of women were gathered around Helen Lovejoy as she described the tacky garden gnome that a neighbor put in their lawn while Marge tried in vain to keep Homer from staking out by the snack table. Lisa, who had never quite mastered the art of talking about nothing, contented herself with listening to Milhouse attempt the same.
"So… Nice, uh, weather… We're having…" he said, trying to seem casual.
"It's cold," said Lisa, shrugging.
"Yeah," said Milhouse, laughing a little. "So much for global warming, right?"
Lisa responded with such a fierce death glare that Milhouse suddenly remembered he left his dog in the wash and raced off.
At that moment, Principal Skinner stepped up to the podium on stage. "Seasons greetings to all the students and their families!" he said, smiling. The noise level died down somewhat. "I hope you're having a fun time tonight! And now it's time for the holiday gift exchange! As soon as I'm done talking, all the children can come up here and grab one holiday present. And any student caught using the word 'Christmas' will be given detention for a week."
Every kid in the room quickly raced on stage and dove into the present mound, while the surrounding parents and staffed backed away uneasily from the carnage. Soon a confetti of torn paper was flying through the air, as each child unwrapped the gift they had grabbed. Murmurs of appreciation and groans of disappointment sounded throughout the room. From somewhere in the back of the pile came a loud SNAP and a child's voice shouting, "Ow!" Bart snickered.
Separately, the two Simpson children chose their gifts. Remembering how Lisa's huge present had held an encyclopedia (An encyclopedia! Seriously?), Bart instead opted to go for something smaller. He found a small, round-shaped package and tore off the wrapper. Inside was a large plastic CD case, the kind that could hold up to twenty, with a stack of silver, unlabeled discs inside. The label on the lid read "Seasonal Mix Tapes." Bart stared down at it for a second before popping it open, grabbing all the discs, and throwing them out. Then he raced off to find Homer.
"Hey, Dad!" he said, as he found him by the snack table. "Look at what I got!"
Homer stared down around a mouthful of brownie. He swallowed. "What is it?" he asked, uncomprehendingly.
Bart opened the lid. "It's a donut-holder," he said, turning it in his hand. "See?"
Homer's eyes opened a little wider. "Ooh…" he said, entranced. "How convenient…"
"I'll sell it to you for twenty bucks."
"Deal!" Homer gleefully opened his wallet and handed Bart a twenty. Bart handed over the CD holder and fanned the twenty in the air in front of him, smirking. "Merry Christmas, one and all," he said softly.
"That's a week, Mr. Simpson!" shouted Principal Skinner, who was standing nearby.
Bart winced, his shoulders sagging. "Crap," he muttered.
Meanwhile, Lisa was looking carefully over the remaining parcels (there weren't many), trying to see which one had the nicest wrapping paper. Not that she thought that the nicest paper would hide the nicest paper; Lisa wasn't one to judge and label like that. Rather, she was hoping to reuse the paper on the present to wrap her own later, in order to conserve trees. As she was looking, Bart walked up behind her, placing the twenty in the pocket of his jacket.
"Geez, Lisa, just pick one already! All the good ones are probably taken by now."
"Don't rush me, Bart!" Lisa snapped. "You're not supposed to be looking for the 'good ones.' It's the thought that counts!"
"I'm thinking it's gonna be New Years before you pick a damn box already. You're not looking to reuse the wrapping paper or anything stupid like that, are you?"
Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Lisa quickly glanced over the presents in front of her. Her eye caught a reasonably sized box, tucked under a larger, flatter package. She reached for that one and tugged it out, not wanting to take any longer with her brother watching. It was the sparkles on this one that had caught her eye. The deep blue background of the paper was covered evenly throughout with sandy dots of bright pink sparkles, like sugary stars. Lisa uncovered it and held it out in front of Bart.
"See!" she said loudly. "I found one! Happy?"
"Well, open it!" said Bart. "What are you waiting for?"
What indeed. Scowling a little, Lisa unfolded the top corner carefully, trying to tear the paper as little as possible. Bart smirked and raised an eyebrow, but Lisa didn't notice, so intent she was as the paper fell neatly away and revealed…
"It's a… Malibu Stacy doll," said Lisa quietly.
Bart walked a little closer and crouched down over her shoulder. "Yeesh," he said. "No wonder you didn't want to open it."
Lisa didn't know what to say. The box she now held in her hands had once been bright pink, but the color had long since rotted to an ugly, splotchy red. The plastic over the front was somewhat opaque, and the box itself was so old Lisa could actually feel it softly rotting away under her fingertips. It had obviously been opened before, and thick yellow masking tape covered the boxes soft, flapping lid.
Carefully, she cut through the tape with her finger and slid the doll out. Whoever had put it back in the box had saved the annoying plastic casing and the wires used to secure the doll in place. The wiring, though, had been redone rather poorly, the gnarled thin wires twisted around the doll's ankles, wrists, and throat looking more like they were trying to strangle the doll than secure it. Lisa felt a little sick, the effect reminding her of a murder she'd seen on TV, the twisting barbed wire curled around the dead girl's neck, but Bart laughed and tugged at the wire with his finger.
"Look!" he said. "They even tied it back up! What, are they afraid it's gonna escape or something?"
As for Stacy herself, well, she didn't look awful, but she had definitely seen better days. She was little grimy, and her hair looked like it hadn't been combed in a while. One of her shoes was missing, and her outfit had some sort of stain across the front, coffee or stew or something else brown and grody anyway. Lisa freed her from her crude binds and held her, the skin on her hands getting that familiar gritty feeling that came from touching something that you knew was dirty but that you couldn't see where the dirt was. As she was studying her, Lisa felt a plastic ring on her back.
"Hey! It's one of those talking ones!" Bart laughed again and stuck his finger through the loop. "It's even got a pull string! How old is this thing anyway?" He pulled back his hand to let the string out. Lisa noticed that at some point, someone had tied a small knot in the string, and the sight made something in her throat catch. The string lay limply over Lisa's hand for a moment before slowly retreating into the dark, round hole in the doll's back.
"Hi! I'm Stacy!" it chimed in a clearly failing voice. Bart gave Lisa a sympathetic pat on the back. "Tough luck, Lis. Maybe you'll do better later."
Lisa hadn't said a word since she'd opened the box. She continued to stare at the doll, feeling something prickling in her shoulders. Finally, she swallowed. "Well, it's the thought that counts," she repeated quietly.
But she couldn't stop staring.
Later that evening, in the car, Lisa was still holding the doll limply in her lap. She tried to remind herself how pretty it was, how cute its outfit was in the dark when it was harder to see the stain, how it was the holidays, and you were supposed to be happy to receive whatever it was that others could give…
But…
"So, kids?" asked Marge cheerfully. "What did you all get?"
"I got a donut-holder!" announced Homer, waving it in Marge's face.
"Homer! Eyes on the road!" she said, frowning. "And I was asking the kids."
"I got a sucker!" said Bart, fingering the twenty in his pocket.
"Oh, that's neat," said Marge obliviously.
"And Lisa got a Malibu Stacy doll!" Bart added, pointing across the car seat where Maggie sat sleeping.
"Oh, that's great, Lisa!" said Marge. "You love Malibu Stacy, don't you?"
"Yeah," Lisa muttered. "Yeah."
That night in her room, Lisa sat with the doll, feeling torn. It's the thought that counts. It's the thought that counts. But had anybody really thought about this? Absently, Lisa pulled out the ring on Stacy's back.
"Hi! I'm Stacy!" it chimed again.
"Is that really all you can say?" Lisa asked. She pulled out the string again.
"Hi! I'm Stacy!"
Maybe it was randomized. Once more…
"Hi! I'm Stacy!"
Sighing, Lisa placed the doll on her nightstand, then in a drawer, out of sight. She shut off the light and lay back on her bed, on top of the covers, eyes wide. She thought she could feel the doll in the darkness, smoldering in her drawer like a pile of clothes. She felt a wave of bile rise in her throat. This, she knew, was ridiculous. It was just a toy. It was a little dirty, that's all. It probably just needed to be cleaned up. It's a gift!
Lisa lay there for a few more minutes before getting up and flicking the lights back on. She swiftly slid open the drawer and pulled out the doll, grabbing it by a fistful of its grimy hair. Feeling the skin on her palm crawl as if with maggots, she stood by the waste bin in her room, dangling the doll over it like a fishing line. Just one drop, just one unclench of her fingers, and it would be out of sight.
Except no it wouldn't. Suddenly, the thought of the doll lying on top of the pile in the waste bin, staring with its wide, painted eyes, utterly repulsed her. She found that she could not go to sleep with the doll beside her at the foot of her bed all night. Hastily, she pulled in her hand and stuffed the doll into her backpack. Then she carried the backpack into the closet and carefully shut the door. Only then did she feel separated enough to finally turn off the lights and fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning found Lisa outside the school building, her boots crunching softly in the bright morning snow. The sky was overcast, and the steely sun gleamed off the slush that blanketed the town, making it seem as though the whole world had been soaked in bleach. The whole effect was garish, pressing sharply on the eyes, brighter than if the sun had been out in a blue sky.
It was early, a little before class was to start, and most of the students were already inside. Lisa stepped quietly into the lot behind the school, whitewashed like all the rest, the doll clutched in her mittened hand. She hesitated a little before each step, crouching slightly, her eyes shifting back and forth. In this way she stepped cautiously up to the green, rusted dumpsters behind the building, their normal odor muted by the clean, bleached air. Cautiously, she opened the lid of one of the dumpsters and raised the doll over the rim.
"What are you doing?"
Lisa started and turned around, clutching the doll as if caught in a crime. It was Bart, standing a few feet away with his arms folded, an expression of deep amusement on his face. Lisa tried to stammer out a reply. "I was-! I was just-! You know…" But nothing coherent came out.
Bart was clearly enjoying himself. "Were you about to throw that away?" he asked, grinning.
"No!" Lisa protested. "I wasn't! I was just… I mean, I…"
Bart raised an eyebrow.
"Alright," Lisa sighed, her shoulders slumped. "Yes, I was going to throw it away."
Bart snickered. "Woooooow," he said dramatically, drawing out the word. "Lisa Simpson, throwing away a Christmas present." He shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day."
Lisa's cheeks burned. "Sh-Shut up," she said rather lamely. She clutched the doll tighter in her fist and turned her back to Bart, raising her arm again over the mouth of the dumpster.
"What happened to 'the season of giving?'" Bart went on, "What happened to, 'It's the thought that counts?'"
Lisa bit her lip. "I know," she said, "I know. But I-! But I just can't help it!" It was true. She couldn't. Her arm continued to linger over the side of the dumpster, hesitant.
Bart shook his head again. "Tsk, tsk, Lisa," he mock-scolded. He clutched his hands under his jaw, making doe eyes. "What would Santa say?" he jeered in a high-pitched voice.
"Oh, stop that," said Lisa, "It doesn't have to be a big deal. We don't even know whose it was. It's not like we have to tell anybody. If they don't know, then their feelings won't be hurt."
"What's with the way you're talking?" Bart asked, his arms folded. "You'd think you were committing a crime? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were scared of that doll."
"Scared?" repeated Lisa, baffled. Her expression quickly became indignant. "Scared of what? Don't be ridiculous. It's just a toy." As though to prove her point, she finally dropped the doll, her wrist flicking slightly with contempt. It fell onto the pile of sodden, black trash bags below, out of site. "There," she said, "It's done. It's over. Let's just forget about it."
Bart shrugged. "Suit yourself, Lis," he said.
"Don't use that tone with me," snapped Lisa. "And don't you dare tell anyone about this!"
"Sure," said Bart. "Whatever you say."
Bart didn't tell anyone. At least, not as far as Lisa could tell. Not that she was exactly expecting him to. No, the nature of Lisa's crime was such that it could not be made a weapon of public humiliation. Who would care, and who could Bart tell that wouldn't make him sound utterly pathetic? "You know, my sister threw a doll she got for Christmas away." No, no, Lisa's punishment must be more private.
But no torment of the quiet jeering arose either, and Lisa supposed that Bart must've gotten bored of the game. It was, after all, a rather minor offense, as Lisa tried insistently to convince herself. She'd thrown something she didn't want away. That was what trashcans were for. Surely he'd been distracted by other pursuits. There was nothing to worry about. It was over. It was done. Out of sight, out of mind.
If not quite yet, then almost.
That evening, after school, Lisa sat on the couch opposite the TV beside Homer, quietly gazing at the screen. A series of saccharine Christmas specials had been playing for the past few hours, one brightly colored tale after the other. Neither Homer nor Lisa reacted much to the cheer being projected at them from the screen. Homer had the familiar dull, sleepy-eyed look he usually got when unwinding in front of the TV. Lisa, for her part, was breaking routine. Normally, she'd be upstairs in her room by now, or else somewhere else trying her best to be productive, but for the first time in a long time, she was filled with the desire to do something mindless. Something distracting. Something to ease the guilt.
At this moment, Marge walked in. "Lisa!" she said, her eyes widening, "What are you doing in here?"
"Nothing, Mom," said Lisa. Her eyes didn't move from the screen.
Marge looked troubled but didn't press the issue any further. "Well, okay," she said. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
"Okay, Mom," said Lisa. Homer absently grunted something as well.
It happened then, after a musical number on the importance of sharing, with talking animals and uncannily jerking elves that sang and skipped merrily, when Lisa's cell phone rang. Lisa jerked out of her stupor and stared at her backpack, where she'd left her phone. Her phone never rang. Nobody ever called her. The phone, as a rule, was rarely used. The phone blaring, its pealing call ringing throughout the room, was a totally unexpected occurrence. Wondering who on earth it could be, Lisa reached out, pulled it out of her backpack. The caller ID only read, "Unknown." After a moment's hesitation, she answered it.
"Hello?" she said uncertainly.
The answer came immediately. "Hi!" the voice on the other end chirped. "I'm Stacy!"
Lisa jumped and looked wildly around the room, though why, she could not say. There was no mistaking that voice. She'd heard it possibly a million times, from hundreds of different sources. The voice crackled, sounding almost strangled, but Lisa couldn't tell if that was because of the phone or because… because…
"Wh-What?" was all she could manage.
"Hi, I'm Stacy!" the voice said again. Was this some kind of advertisement?
Then: "I'm in the dumpster!"
"What the?" exclaimed Lisa.
The doll couldn't say that. She knew that for a fact. It could only say, "Hi, I'm Stacy!" over and over again. Like a broken record. Or a rite. But here she'd heard the words, clear as day. I'm in the dumpster.
Then, it occurred to her: "Bart," she muttered, her teeth clenched.
Of course. Of course it was Bart. This was his idea of a joke, was it? She didn't know how he did it, but of course it had to be him. Who else knew where the doll was? Growling in annoyance, she pressed the button labeled, "End," and slapped the phone shut. Stupid Bart.
"Who was that, honey?" asked Homer, his eyes still on the screen.
"No one, Dad," said Lisa.
It happened again in the morning, jarring Lisa out from a foggy, troubling dream of grime and plastic eyes. The phone shrieked loudly from the nightstand, pealing throughout the room. Lisa leaned over and flicked it open, rubbing the crumbs from her eyes.
"Hi, I'm Stacy!" the voice at the other end announced. "I'm at the church!"
"That's it," Lisa growled.
She padded rapidly down the stairs and skidded to a halt at the kitchen. She had slept in; Bart was already there.
"Bart, I know it's you!" she snapped. "So knock it off!"
Bart swallowed the mouthful of pancake he had been chewing. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his eyes cocked.
"Don't play dumb!" Lisa persisted. "I know you're the one who's been calling me, so stop it!"
"Why the hell would I call you?" Bart asked. Not angrily. Marge was out of the room, so he felt safe using such language.
Lisa rolled her eyes. "Well, someone has been calling my cellphone, and it sure isn't Stacy!"
Bart blinked. "Stacy?" he repeated. His face broke into a bemused grin. "Don't tell me you're still thinking about that stupid doll?"
"She called me last night," Lisa persisted, "And again this morning. She said, 'I'm in the dumpster.' Nobody saw me throw her away but you! I don't know how you're doing it but knock it off!" And then she stormed out, before Bart could get another word in edgewise.
Stupid Bart, she kept thinking, as she stomped back up the stairs. How had he done it anyway? Maybe he'd learned to somehow imitate the voice. Probably he had the doll in the house somewhere. Had he fished it out of the trash? The thought made her shudder. Maybe she should have thrown that doll into the river.
She sat sullenly at the breakfast table that morning. No matter how much Marge coaxed, she couldn't get her to eat.
Lisa tiredly pulled her books out of her backpack, sliding them into her desk. The bell hadn't rung yet. It had occurred to her to head to the dumpster again, to check if the doll was still there, but when the time came she couldn't bear to do it. She had also considered leaving her cellphone at home, just for today, but had found that she couldn't bear that either. The winter sunlight was too bright for her sleep-deprived eyes, and she yawned.
At that moment, a classmate came up behind her, with light brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. "Hi, Lisa!" she said, her eyes shining bright.
"Oh, hello, Katy," said Lisa tiredly. She looked up only briefly looking back down toward her backpack.
Katy cocked her head to the side. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
Lisa sighed. "No, not really," she said, "It's just this stupid my prank my brother is pulling."
"Prank?" repeated Katy.
"Yeah," said Lisa. "You see-"
At that moment, Lisa's cellphone rang.
"Augh, that's him now," said Lisa, irritably. The phone continued its cry, like a baby trapped in a crib.
Katy stepped forward, looking interested. "Why, what does he do?" she asked.
"Well, it's not exactly him," Lisa tried to explain. "It's like… This doll I got."
"Doll?"
"Here, listen." Lisa flipped open her phone and pressed, "Speaker." "See what you make of it," she said and held it out toward the girl beside her.
Katy stepped forward and turned her head, so her ear was up closer to the phone.
"Hello," said Lisa, loud enough for the phone to hear.
"Hi, I'm Stacy!" the phone announced cheerily.
"Stacy? Like Malibu Stacy?" asked Katy. Her face was still puzzled, her eyes shifting up toward the ceiling.
"Yeah," said Lisa, "Listen."
"I'm at the thrift store!" the voice continued.
"The thrift store?" Katy repeated.
"Yeah," said Lisa, "It's a different location every time. Last night it was the dumpster. This morning it was the church. And now…" Suddenly, something dawned on Lisa's face. "Say… the way she's going…" she said slowly, "It's almost like…"
"It's still going," said Katy, cutting her off.
Lisa listened. The voice, in fact, was still chiming happily. Lisa realized that she'd never let the voice continue for this long before.
"I'm at the thrift store!" the voice continued, "I'm at the thrift store!"
Katy giggled. "This is weird," she said. "Your brother's doing that?"
"Yeah," said Lisa, "I don't know how, but it's got to be him."
"Wow," said Katy. "How does he get his voice to sound like-?"
At this moment, suddenly, the phone emitted a cracking sound, a sound that brought to mind wires frying and bolts surging. Katy gasped and her question died in her mouth. The crackling died down.
Then: "Lisa?"
Lisa's jolted up, her chair scraping on the floor. She and Katy exchanged a quick glance before Lisa slowly lowered her head closer to the phone. "Um… yes?" she said.
"Lisa," the voice repeated.
"It's saying your name," said Katy.
"This hasn't ever happened," said Lisa, nervously. But why should she be nervous? Of course Bart would know her name.
"Lisa?" it said again.
"Yeah?" said Lisa, not quite knowing what to do. "What is it?"
"Lisa…" it said, "Do you know...? Do you know what happened on August 15th?"
Lisa blinked, her brow furrowed. The question seemed inane to her, utterly random. "Um, I don't know…" she said slowly, searching her memory, "Wasn't there a traffic accident or something?"
But the question had had an immediate effect on Katy. The girl flinched, as if she had been slapped, and stepped back several inches, her hands clasped together over her chest. She began shaking, staring at the phone as if it were some sort of weapon, something to inspire desperate fear.
"Katy?" said Lisa, noticing the sudden change. She sprung herself out of her desk, the phone still clutched in her hand. "Katy, what's wrong?"
Katy continued to back up until she pushed against a chair behind her. Then, alarmingly, she crouched herself down on the floor and pressed her fists against her ears.
"Hang up," she said.
"What?" asked Lisa, startled.
"I said hang up!" she cried, "Just hang up!"
Lisa hadn't realized that the phone was still chanting away in her hand. Hastily, she slapped it closed.
"There," she said. "Look, I hung up. See? It's gone."
Katy screwed her eyes shut and shook her head rapidly. Lisa stared down at her, at an utter loss for what to do.
"What is it?" Lisa asked. "What's the matter?"
Katy stayed crouched near the floor, still shaking. She opened her eyes and began staring hard at the floor in front of her, rocking back and forth on her heels.
"Lisa," she said. Her tone was pleading, pitiable. "Don't answer the phone anymore."
"What?" exclaimed Lisa. She looked down at the phone in her hands. "But…"
"Just don't, Lisa," Katy interrupted. She stopped rocking and became still, her fingers tangling in her hair. "It's bad. Don't answer it. Turn it off."
Lisa stared down at her for a moment before flipping open her phone and holding down the "End" button. The screen powered down, going blank.
"There," she said, in what she attempted to make a coaxing tone. "It's off. It's okay now."
She looked down at her own hands, and she realized she was shaking, too.
"BART!" Lisa snarled later that afternoon, as she slammed her backpack onto the kitchen floor. "You've gone too far!"
Bart looked up from where he had been rummaging through the lower shelves of the pantry, several boxes under his arms, a cracker in his mouth. "Hmmph?" he mumbled, through the cookie.
"Don't play dumb with me!" Lisa went on, "You've had your fun; now stop it! Oh, I guess you decided your little joke wasn't quite enough, huh? So, you had to kick it up a notch!"
Bart swallowed his mouthful of cookie and stared at Lisa as though she'd lost her mind. "Is this still about that stupid doll?" he asked. "Why don't you give it a rest? I told you, I didn't do anything!"
"You really expect me to believe that?" Lisa snapped, pointing at Bart.
"Well, yeah! Seeing as it's true." Bart pulled out a chair and sat himself down at the kitchen table, staring down at Lisa over the tops of his interlaced fingers. "It's not my fault you're totally insane."
"Oh, stop that!" Lisa shouted. "You know, it's not cool what you pulled today! I don't know what exactly you said, but you really scared Katy!"
Bart's face went blank. "Who?" he said.
Lisa growled in frustration. "Someone in my class. You should know! You're the one who freaked her out!"
Bart pressed his fingers to his temple, sighing. Lisa's accusations had stopped being funny. Now, they were just tiring. "Let me get this straight," he said, "You think that I called you this morning on your cellphone, imitated your doll, and also somehow knew exactly who you were talking to and said something that I knew would scare her but not you?"
Lisa's scowl fell, and her arm dropped several inches. "Um," she stuttered. "Well… I… Yes?" The last was said almost sheepishly.
Bart groaned and rolled his eyes. "Later, Lis," he said flatly. He pushed out his chair to go.
"Wait!" protested Lisa, "But what about my phone?" But something was dawning in her mind. Something, she realized, that had been wishing down without knowing it. She had thought it was Bart. No, she had wanted it to be Bart. Better that, better something to be angry at, than…
"Look, Lis," said Bart crossly, "Ever since you got that doll, you've been acting even kookier than usual. I don't know what you're problem is, but-"
At that moment, an alarm sounded from within Lisa's backpack. Bart froze, midsentence. Lisa jumped. Both children stared at her backpack, wide-eyed, while the sound crept out from the bag, like a voice being smothered.
"Wha… What's that?" Bart asked.
"It's my cellphone," said Lisa. "But, it can't be! I turned it off!"
The sound continued. It sounded like screaming. Hesitantly, as though about to reach her hand into an animal's den, Lisa pulled the phone from her backpack. It was switched on, the sound blaring in her hand. Slowly, she flipped open the lid and answered it. "H-Hello?" she said.
"Wrong guess," the voice on the other end answered.
Lisa looked over at Bart, who was staring at her, his eyes wide, then slowly lowered the phone away from her ear. She snapped her phone shut.
There was deathly quiet in the room.
Bart swallowed, then laughed nervously. "Well," he said, "I guess I'm off the hook, then." But the laughter quickly died down. Part of him had assumed that Lisa had made the whole thing up.
Lisa didn't answer right away. She seemed to be drooping on the spot, her arms swinging lifelessly down at her sides, her head down. Then, abruptly, she straightened up, marched over to the cabinet, and pulled it open to reveal the trashcan. She held out her arm and dropped her cellphone into it.
"Hey, what are you doing?" asked Bart, swiveling his head over his shoulder.
"Katy told me not to answer the phone anymore," said Lisa, "So that's what I'm going to do." With this, she slammed the cabinet door shut. "Out of sight, out of mind."
"Yeah," said Bart, propping his head on his arm, "Because that worked so well the first time."
Bart hadn't meant much by that comment, but Lisa jolted in place and threw her hands against her head. "Oh my God, you're right!" she cried, "She won't stop just because I threw my phone away!"
"Why do you keep saying 'she?'" asked Bart, "It's just a doll!"
A sound of ringing pealed throughout the house.
Lisa and Bart looked at each other, startled. It wasn't Lisa's cellphone this time; it was the house phone, and the sound was everywhere and there was no getting away from it.
"Don't answer it," hissed Bart.
Lisa didn't need to be told twice. The two children lingered in the kitchen, watching the phone as it cried, shaking slightly with the effort. One ring. Two. Three.
At this moment, Marge came rushing in.
"Honestly, didn't you kids hear the phone?" she asked, exasperated. "It's not like I can do everything around here."
Both children immediately jumped up. "No, Mom, don't answer it!" they both cried at once, their different protestations overlapping each other.
Marge made a perplexed face. "Now, I can't just ignore it," she said earnestly. "What if it's important?" With this, she pulled the receiver to her ear, twirling her finger through the cord. "Hello?" she said, smiling.
Bart and Lisa were frozen, watching her. There was a pause. Then Marge's face fell a little. "Hello?" she repeated. "Is someone there?" She lifted the phone in front of her face, shrugged, and replaced it on the wall. "No answer," she said simply. She made a puzzled sound, as if to say, Isn't that just the way of the world? and walked out.
Bart and Lisa looked at each other, waiting for their mother's footsteps to die down. As soon as their mother was out of earshot, the phone rang again.
There was only a second's hesitation before Bart got behind Lisa and began shunting her toward the phone. Lisa shot him a dirty look before reaching up and pulling down the receiver. Bart stepped closer to her, to listen. "He… Hello?" Lisa managed.
"Don't ignore me, Lisa."
It wasn't a command, not really. Nor was it a threat. It sounded almost like a plea, pathetic, pitiable. Tragic, even. Lisa felt something stinging behind her eyes.
"I… I didn't mean to," said Lisa.
Silence.
"Hello?" Lisa said again.
There was a pause. Then: "I'm at the park."
Lisa hung up.
Later, she fished her cellphone out of the trashcan as her brother watched.
The calls continued. Throughout the rest of that day and the next. Each time, the greeting, followed by a location. "I'm at the corner!" "I'm at the video store!" "I'm at the butcher shop!"
Lisa found a map of the town, stashed in one of the old family albums in the sitting room. She opened it and made a note of each location, marked in red with a little dot, nodding grimly as each place became colored in. She showed it to Bart when she came home the next day.
"She's heading for our house," she said. "See? She's getting closer all the time."
Bart was twiddling his fingers nervously. Whether he was unnerved more by the voice's approach or by his sister's sudden change in attitude, he could not have said. There seemed to be a kind of dead, glazed look in Lisa's eyes as she looked down at the freshly dotted map.
"You can't really say that," he said, laughing nervously. "It's not coming straight here. It's just kind of wandering around."
It was true. The dots did not form a straight line to the house. They seemed to be heading in a more southerly direction. But Lisa shook her head.
"No," she said firmly, "She's coming here. She probably just doesn't know where to go. But she'll get here. She'll get here soon." And Bart shrunk away from his sister.
That night found Lisa once again in front of the TV, staring at the flickering screen without moving her eyes. She seemed wide-awake, her eyelids did not droop or sag, but it was seriously doubtful whether she could see anything on the screen. Or, indeed, anything at all.
She was resigned. She was waiting quietly. She was in shock. Any one of these things would explain it. None are quite adequate.
The calls were coming faster, now. More frequently. Was the voice hurrying? Or was it simply getting closer to its destination. Perhaps there were more landmarks to call out. I'm at the liquor store. I'm at the Kwik-E-Mart. I'm walking down Highland Avenue. Each time, Lisa would answer politely: "Hello?" then nod and mark another dot on the map.
The sun set. The night came on. The voice was in Pressboard Estates. Then, it was on Evergreen Terrace.
The voice called again. It was five houses down.
Bart walked into the room. "Lisa?" he said nervously.
Lisa didn't look away from the screen. "What?" she said.
"You've…" Bart's eyes darted nervously to the screen and back to his sister's impassive face. "You've been here all night. What exactly are you doing?"
"I'm waiting for her to get here," said Lisa flatly.
Bart stepped back, startled. The phone range. Three houses down.
"Look, Lisa," he said, "Maybe we should get out of here. I could call Milhouse! We could…"
"No," said Lisa, "She'll be here tonight. Running won't do any good. She'll just follow us. But…" and here, for the first time possibly in hours, Lisa's gaze dropped down, "I'll be ready for her."
The phone rang again. Two houses down.
"Ready for her?" Bart repeated. "Just what the hell do you think you can do?"
"Bart," said Lisa, looking over at him. Bart recoiled. The expression was so unlike anything he had seen on his sister's face. Lisa went on: "Bart, my problem was that I ignored her. But no more. No more. You can leave if you want. Out of sight, out of mind."
"Lisa, you're freaking me out!" cried Bart. "Maybe we should call the police."
"What could they do?" asked Lisa.
The phone rang. "Hello?" said Lisa, answering it.
"I'm next door!" announced the phone.
Lisa nodded. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Here she comes," she said.
Bart noticed it then. The dull haze in Lisa's eyes, suddenly, seemed to lightly burn away. Her hand that was coiled around the phone clenched. She was waiting, her whole body tensed. Bart watched, unsure of whether to stay or run. Whatever was coming was coming. Did he really want to miss it?
The phone rang.
"Hello," said Lisa.
"Hi, I'm Stacy!" announced the voice.
Lisa waited, tensed. It seemed that if she clenched the phone any tighter it would break in half.
"I'm at the front door!" said the voice.
Lisa snapped her phone shut. And waited. Her brow furrowed, her nails scratched against the casing of her phone. Bart had no idea what she could be waiting for.
And then, at that moment, the doorbell rang.
Lisa immediately bolted off the couch and ran. Not for the front door, for the kitchen. She bolted through the doorway, across the flat kitchen tiles, and snatched a pair of scissors, the huge kind, the heavy-duty kind, the kind that children are told to never ever play with. Bart, utterly bewildered, ran after her. "Lisa, wait!" he called. "Just what are you planning to do?" But Lisa didn't wait. She circled back around through the house. Kitchen, living room, parlor, until she vaulted herself past the staircase. And to the front door. Not pausing for breath or for Bart or anything else, she seized the doorknob and opened it.
Outside, the snow gleamed in the cool, dark night. The wind blew, stirring the snowdrifts into winter cyclones. That was all there was.
Lisa blinked, staring out into the empty night. "What?" she exclaimed, all the death gone from her eyes. "But… how? I thought…"
Bart came panting up behind her. "Well?" he said, "Where is it?"
Both children stared out the door. There was nobody there.
And then, clutched within Lisa's sweating palm, the phone rang.
Lisa blinked and raised it to her ear. "Hello?" she said.
"Hi, I'm Stacy!
"I'm right behind you now..."
Both children whirled around.
And they screamed.
AN:
Happy Halloween, costumed fools.
Holy crap, this story was even longer than the last one. I'm sorry. There's nobody to blame except me. And I make it a habit not to blame me. And the next story is probably going to be even longer. Arrrgh.
This story wasn't an original idea. It was actually based off a Japanese urban legend, which are always fun. The story goes that a young boy received a doll named "Merry-san" as a gift. Maybe because dolls are for girls, I guess, he threw the doll away. Later, he received a series of phone calls, apparently from the doll. "Hi, I'm Merry-san! I'm at the corner!" "Hi, I'm Merry-san! I'm at the park!" Like that, getting closer and closer all the time. And, well, you can guess how it ends. I actually first heard about that urban legend through a Vocaloid song making this two out of two Treehouse of Horror stories inspired by Vocaloid songs. Goody, goody.
I actually meant to post this story last October, along with the other one, but I sort of didn't. Which means it's time for another round of "Guess Which Part of This Story I Wrote a Year After the Other Parts!" Anyone who guesses right will receive absolutely nothing, except maybe the self-satisfaction that they guessed right.
Don't remember what happened on August 15th? Then check out the previous story, "Summer Days," to remind yourself. I'll wait.
Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next story out before the end of the month. And that one won't be based on a Vocaloid song! Yay, original ideas! Happy Halloween, again folks!
"Hi, I'm Stacy!
"I'm right behind you now..."