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The bell-like tones of a calliope drifted into Winnie’s consciousness; another distraction was heading her way. She stared at the blank piece of paper on her drafting table. In just a few seconds, Peter would burst in, begging for money to buy ice cream. The music became familiar, but it wasn’t the tune the ice cream truck usually played. The repetitive melody got louder; hopefully, it would pass the house soon. Then she heard high-pitched voices singing: “When you sleep, just dream of me, I’m Queen Floradora—” Oh, God. That silly doll contest on TV. Some princess doll dancing and singing with elves, in front of a castle. The one Ella had wanted so badly. She must have won, although Winnie couldn’t fathom why her eleven-year-old daughter still loved dolls so much. Footsteps pounded against the parquet floor outside her office as Ella and Peter raced for the front door. Winnie went into the hall just in time to see them disappear. “And all your dreams will come to be, from Queen Floradora.” Winnie stepped through the open door. Four miniature white horses, hides flecked with silver stars, pranced into the cul-de-sac, pulling a miniature carriage. Music poured from the confection of gold filigree and crystal, which was round and open and filled with pink velvet cushions. A doll—or someone dressed as one—sat inside, surrounded by costumed midgets singing the annoying refrain. When you dream, just dream of me,Ella ran down the sidewalk, wearing a dark green velvet dress that Winnie had sewn for her. The heavy fabric was more appropriate for winter than a hot late summer afternoon. But Ella looked cool and poised, ginger-brown hair brushed into smooth shining waves, held back with a velvet ribbon that matched her dress. Somehow, Ella knew to dress up this day. “Ella—”she called, but the music stopped suddenly. Her voice sounded loud and caustic in the unexpected silence. Her daughter’s back stiffened, but Ella didn’t hesitate. She walked forward with deliberate steps to the carriage. A pair of midgets—with clown-white faces and red circles painted on their cheeks—helped Queen Floradora step out of the carriage. She wore a different dress than Winnie recalled in the commercial. This one was rose petal pink, festooned with satin ribbons and ivory lace, and a long train that flowed behind—guaranteed to make her daughter’s heart sing. The doll’s movements were jerky and stiff, but graceful. She could be a real girl, or a small woman painted up and wearing a costume. If not, then it was a product of amazing technology, something run on batteries by remote control. Queen Floradora let go of the helping hands and smiled, her sweetheart lips framing translucent pearl teeth. She made a deep curtsey, bowing her golden curls so low that her jeweled crown pointed to Ella. Ella executed a perfect curtsey in return, with wrists gracefully curved. Then they stood up and clasped hands; Queen Floradora was exactly the same height as Ella. “Oh Ella, I’m so happy we’re together at last!” Queen Floradora’s voice was high and lilting, a voice like a cartoon princess. She linked her arm through Ella’s, whose heart-shaped face was pink with emotion. “Come along, I’m yours today,” Queen Floradora said. “Won’t you take me to your room to play?” Peter, who had been paralyzed with awe, recovered himself. “Mom, can I see the carriage? Can I?” He scampered towards the carriage. Meanwhile, Ella led Queen Floradora inside the house, the doll rolling beside her, even as it went up the few steps. Winnie spent an agonizing moment debating if she should follow her daughter or her son. They’re harmless, they’re just toys. They were on television. Probably made by Disney or Mattel. They must have created these amazing lifelike dolls, and then put the prototype up in a contest for publicity. She wished David was home to see this. The smaller dolls stood perfectly still; they didn’t look like midgets now. Neighbors appeared on their lawns, watching. Winnie knew they’d soon come asking questions. She grabbed Peter and he yelped a protest. “We’re going inside,” she told him. “Now.” In the house, she said, “Peter, go to your room and play.” “Mom! I want to play with the little horses!” “Please, Peter. Don’t argue, maybe later. But only if you do what I say right now.” She didn’t want to argue with him, but she couldn’t keep an eye on him and Ella at the same time. He surprised her by trotting up the stairs without further protest. His bedroom door slammed. Winnie walked into the kitchen trying to decide how long she should leave Ella alone with Queen Floradora. Dolls. Useless and stupid, although she’d never say that to Ella. When Winnie was a child, she was far more interested in building blocks and erector sets. It was ironic that when she gave toys like that to Ella, she could read the disappointment in her eyes. Her daughter collected Barbie after Barbie, while the construction sets remained unopened. Until Peter came along. She heard muffled girls’ voices, laughing and giddy, coming from upstairs. That wasn’t really a doll, it was something else. She wanted to let Ella enjoy this moment, but a nagging voice inside told her she was being irresponsible. There was a stranger in her house. She climbed the stairs, planning to be casual. But when she pushed opened Ella’s door, she immediately felt like an interloper. Queen Floradora’s head rotated towards Winnie, her delicate porcelain features still smiling. Winnie sensed the doll’s expression change, even though her face didn’t move. The doll sat on Ella’s bed, her straight legs forming a V and holding her crown in her lap. Ella knelt next to her, running a brush through the doll’s spun-gold locks. Winnie wanted to be warm, accepting. And not piss Ella off. “So girls, what are you talking about?” It was hopeless, she sounded like a mom. Floradora and Ella giggled. Something rustled in Ella’s closet. Then a series of taps pounded against the bottom of the closed door. Winnie’s scalp prickled at a chorus of squeaky high voices. Before her hand reached the knob, Ella said, “Don’t open it, Mom. Don’t let them out.” “Let what out?” “My Barbies. They’re kind of mad right now. I really don’t want to deal with them.” Winnie shook her head and pulled the door open. A line-up of eleven-and-a-half-inch fashion dolls rushed her ankles. She jumped back, and the Barbies fell forward, writhing in a tangled mass of acrylic hair, plastic shoes, and fashionable outfits. They squealed words that Winnie couldn’t understand. She stared at the pale flesh-toned spider limbs flailing as the dolls struggled to stand. She didn’t dare move—though they seemed helpless—the little monsters might bite. But all they did was fall over and crawl about. Ella sighed and got off her bed. She gathered the dolls and tenderly set them back in the closet. “We’ll do something later,” she told them, like a mother speaking to her children. “I’m busy right now.” She closed the door and returned to her bed, where Queen Floradora sat with her elbows against her waist and palms faced out. “It’s Queen Floradora’s magic,” Ella said, sounding far more grown up than Winnie felt. “The dolls come to life when she’s this close to them. Except the Barbies can’t stand on those tiny little feet.” “Not to mention those silly big chests. The poor things are completely out of proportion,” said Floradora. “It makes us sad to see them struggle to stand.” It was too bizarre. “What are you, anyway? How did you do that to her dolls?” “I’m Floradora, Queen of the Dolls and Forever-Ever Land. A hundred years ago, I was a little girl, like Ella. Then I became the Doll Princess. Now it’s my turn to find a new Princess, the one who will become the next Doll Queen.” “This is crazy. Ella, I want this thing out of the house—” “She’s not a thing; she’s the Queen of the Dolls! And you don’t understand her. You’re trying to make her bad and ugly. You want me to feel stupid for liking her!” “Ella, please listen to me. I don’t know what she’s telling you, but she’s lying about whatever it is.” “I see, Mother. You know that without hearing what she says first.” “All right then, Ella. All right.” Winnie addressed Queen Floradora. “What do you want with my daughter?” “I want Ella to come to Forever-ever Land with me. To be my princess and someday, she’ll be Queen of the Dolls.” “I see,” said Winnie. Forever-Ever Land. This had to have something to do with Disney. She would stay calm and let her reasonable responses open Ella’s eyes to this madness. “So then, in a hundred years, Ella can come back and choose a new Doll Queen to take her place?” “That’s right.” The doll had dimples that Winnie hadn’t noticed before. “And what happens to you after that? What happens to Doll Queens after a hundred years is over, and all their family is gone?” “Why, we get to play with all the other Doll Queens, forever and ever. There are ever so many of us. We have tea parties and teddy bear picnics—” “Ella, this is so silly! You can’t believe her!” Winnie stopped, as tapping started again behind the closet door. But there were other sounds: rolling, scraping, dragging. They came from Peter’s room. Winnie burst out of Ella’s room. “Get out right now, do you hear me?” she shouted over her shoulder. Peter’s door was closed, when she pushed it, she heard plastic scrape against the floor. Peter sat on his bed, his eyes round, his mouth rounder. “Mom,” he whispered, “They’re getting ready to fight. I want to watch. But I’m scared.” The floor of Peter’s room was a roiling sea of plastic creatures. At first glance, they seemed to mill about aimlessly: mutated turtles, GI Joes in camouflage, muscle-bound humanoids and unidentifiable aliens from forgettable cartoon shows. But they appeared gathered into loosely organized packs: the human-type figures against the mutants, the aliens still undecided. At the sound of the door and Peter’s voice, they slowed their movements. Some of them began to advance towards the door. Without hesitation, Winnie kicked them out of her path as she crossed to Peter and picked him up. Then she raced out and slammed the door. She hoped they were as dumb as the Barbies about escaping. Fabric swished behind her. Winnie swung around, still holding Peter, and faced Queen Floradora, now standing in the hall. Ella stood watching from her doorway. “You did this on purpose,” said Winnie, as shock gave way to fury. “What a horrible thing to do to a little boy!” “Who knew such dreadful toys were made for children these days? Who would dream that parents would buy them?” “Peter, go back—”Winnie cut herself off. She couldn’t send him to his room. “Go downstairs and watch TV.” “I don’t want to go alone.” He clutched at her. “Peter, please go downstairs.” Winnie whispered in his ear. “You can stay up as late as you want tonight. Just go to the family room and stay there. Please?” Peter streaked down the stairs. Queen Floradora stirred. “My time here is nearly at an end. When I leave, the toys will rest again. And it will be up to Ella. If when she sleeps, she dreams of me…” Winnie lunged towards the doll. But Floradora caught her hand in a cold—yet pliant—grip. “Don’t upset your daughter.” Winnie jerked her hand free. “You can’t do this. You can’t take her away. I won’t let you.” “I’ve already talked to Ella. It’s her choice now, if she wants to live in this world. Or she can come with me and be a little girl forever.” “But you’re not even a real girl. You’re something awful, a monster.” “I’m not a monster. I’m a doll. And what are you?” “I’m a woman. A mother, a wife. And an architect. All things that Ella would never be if she listens to you.” “You mean she should work the rest of her life. She should bury the little girl inside her, or risk being called foolish if she doesn’t. Where I am taking her, little girls are celebrated. Revered.” Winnie stretched a hand towards Ella. Her daughter stared back at her; the storm had deserted her face. Instead, her eyes held pity. “Ella, believe me. Becoming a woman is a wonderful thing, something to look forward to.” Queen Floradora’s jewel tone eyes rolled. “Yes, to bleed and give birth. Rather disgusting, but I suppose one gets used to it. Ella, my dear, it’s time for me to go.” She opened her arms and Ella stepped into her embrace. With a thin voice, she said, “I don’t want to leave my mother behind.” The doll’s face was immobile, but her eyes glistened. A tiny crystal appeared on her cheek. “I’m so sorry. It’s too late for your mother. Only girls can come. There are sacrifices involved in being a princess, after all. But there is one thing you can bring: your favorite doll.” She glided towards the stairs; Ella hung back. Winnie shouted, “Don’t do this to us!” Queen Floradora floated down the steps, her train billowing in her wake. “It will be as if she never was. You won’t remember.” “I want to remember! My god, would you take that away too?” Queen Floradora stopped. “Perhaps you will dream of me as well.” She disappeared into the early evening shadows in the hall below. The toys went silent. Ella tugged at Winnie’s arm. “Mom, I don’t want to lose you.” Winnie wrapped her arms around her; Ella hugged her hard. “Don’t go, sweetheart. Stay awake, that’s all. Just stay awake and she’ll give up. She’ll go away after awhile.” Ella shook her head. “Mom. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can stop this. I don’t want to. But I’ll miss you so much.” Winnie heard the garage door go up, and then go down again. A car door slammed; David was home from work. “I won’t leave you,” she said, wondering what she would tell David. “Don’t go to sleep tonight, not until I come to your room, promise?” “I promise.”  David had a hard time accepting the story of Queen Floradora. Not that he doubted she came to their house, but he came up with all the same theories that Winnie had. When he couldn’t explain it all away, he lapsed into silence. He didn’t get it. Winnie was tired of talking about it. When Peter cried that he was hungry, she told David to fix him something and retreated to her office. Ella stayed in her bedroom. I never understood her. I should have let her be herself. She still needs me. Little girls need their mothers. Ella could take her favorite doll. She’d need one to cuddle, not one of those awful Barbies. Winnie shuddered and took scissors from her drawer, then looked for her sewing kit. She took off her cotton work shirt and laid it on her drawing table. As best she could, she traced two gingerbread-style figures on the cloth, and then cut them out. She didn’t have time to make this pretty; she was afraid Ella might fall asleep first. Then she stitched the two pieces of fabric together, leaving an opening. Winnie rustled through drawers, looking for something to put inside the homemade doll. She found some sketches on tracing paper, dress designs that she and Ella had worked on together long ago. She crumpled them and stuffed them inside the doll, then sewed it shut. Buttons for the eyes and nose, she drew a mouth with a felt tip marker. The hair was hardest. She didn’t mind cutting off her dark brown locks, but it took some time to figure out how to sew clumps of it to the doll’s head. By the time she finished, it was very late. Peter and David were asleep. She padded up the stairs to Ella’s room and opened the door. “Ella. You’re still awake.” “Yes.” Winnie went over to the bed; Ella moved over to make room. She lay down and rolled to her side so they were face to face. “I made you something.” She pushed the crudely stitched doll towards Ella. Ella pulled the doll close. “Thank you, mom,” she whispered. “It’s my favorite doll.” “Do you really want to turn into what she is?” asked Winnie. Ella smiled. “She’s beautiful. And she’s magic. She’s a Queen.” Winnie put an arm over Ella and they both fell asleep. Peter’s shriek pierced the night. Winnie sat up, her heart pounding. She wasn’t in her own bed. Then she remembered: she had fallen asleep in the guestroom. “Mom! Mom!” Peter cried in unmistakable fear. She heard David call out, “Coming, Peter. Daddy will be right there.” She was sluggish, slow to react. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and met David in the hall. They went into Peter’s room together. “Did you have a bad dream, Petey?” David asked. “Not a dream!” Peter’s voice was muffled; his head was under his pillow. “It’s still here. In my room!” “Ok, let’s check it out,” said David. “I’ll turn on the light and check every single corner, ok? And if there’s a monster hiding in here, I’ll take care of it. I promise.” “Not a monster,” sobbed Peter. “It’s a doll.” “A doll?” Winnie repeated, looking around the room. That seems important, but I don’t remember why. “I want to see it.” And there it was. A doll sat on Peter’s toy chest, bathed in silver moonlight, her legs and arms spread open. She was smiling, the loveliest doll that Winnie had ever seen. David stepped around Winnie and went closer to the doll; he picked it up gently in his hands. It looked old-fashioned, like something in an antique shop. Her fingers itched to take the doll from David. Then she remembered. “That’s my doll,” she said. “What’s it doing in your room?” She snapped on the light. “I don’t know. I didn’t touch it!” Peter was crying again. “I don’t want it in my room.”  “Get back to bed, Peter,” David said. “I’ll put the doll back where it belongs. You shouldn’t have brought it in here. ” He stroked the doll’s light brown curls, then ran a finger over its heart-shaped face. “I’ll bet your mother bought you this doll because it looks just like you.” Winnie took the doll. “I don’t remember who gave it to me,” she said, fingering the green velvet skirt. “But I don’t want it to get wrecked. I’ve kept it perfect all these years.” Peter pulled his head out from the pillow as Winnie left, cradling the doll. David reassured him, “You’re safe now. Ok, Petey-boy?” Winnie carried the doll into the guest room and set it on the bookshelf. No wonder she had felt disoriented when she woke up. The doll had been missing. David came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulders. “We should get a glass case for her,” he said. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry. She’ll stay like this forever.” Winnie leaned back against his warm chest; she should have thought of that before. He ruffled her hair. “By the way, I like the new haircut. I meant to tell you earlier.” Ella sat next to Queen Floradora, their hands entwined. Floradora’s hand felt smooth, almost slippery, and cool. In her other arm, she cradled a creamy-skinned doll with silky brown hair. From time to time, she cuddled it against her cheek, then kissed the top of its head. A powdery flowered scent filled the air as the carriage bounced and jostled along. Blue Grass, her mother’s favorite cologne. Floradora squeezed her hand. “We’ll live in a castle, you know. The one you saw on television. You’ll have a suite of rooms.” Ella’s stomach fluttered and she kissed her doll again. “And you’ll have to decide which you want more, a pony or a miniature horse. Perhaps a unicorn, although you can never saddle them.” Ella said, “I’ll wait and see. I’m sure I’ll love them all.” “Indeed. Do you like kittens?” Ella nodded. “There are kittens everywhere. The sweetest little kittens and they never grow into cats.” “You like kittens?” Ella asked her doll. The doll smiled. “Yes, I do. Very much.” “You’re going to be very happy, aren’t you, Mommy?” “Of course, darling,” the doll replied.
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