Harrison Bad Dolls

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-80336-394-3
Verlag: Titan Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 208 Seiten

In this stunning new collection of four horror stories, award-winning author Rachel Harrison explores themes of body image, complicated female friendship, heartbreak and hauntings. In Reply Hazy, Try Again, an indecisive young woman finds a mysterious Magic 8 Ball that might just have the answers she's been looking for...or might lead her down a path of self-destruction. In Bachelorette, a bridesmaid attends her childhood best friend's bachelorette weekend only to discover the itinerary may demand more than she's willing to sacrifice. In Goblin, an unusually brutal dieting app wreaks havoc on the life of a timid, insecure woman preparing to attend her ex's wedding. In Bad Dolls, after the death of her younger sister, a wayward young woman comes into possession of a strange porcelain doll that could offer a connection to her lost sister, but could also just be pure evil. These dark tales navigate the complications of modern life with humour, insight and the odd blood sacrifice...

Rachel Harrison is the author of CACKLE, winner of the Ladies of Horror Award for Best Novel and THE RETURN, which was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. Her short fiction has appeared in Guernica, Electric Literature's Recommended Reading, and as an Audible Original. She lives in Western New York with her husband and their cat/overlord.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Harrison, Rachel

Leseproben

BACHELORETTE

IF I’D BEEN TOLD IN ADVANCE about the blood sacrifice, I would have made up an excuse not to attend the bachelorette party. I wasn’t too enthused about going in the first place. I resented group activities, especially ones where everyone else involved seemed delighted to participate. It made me wonder if I was just a miserly curmudgeon for not wanting to shell out my hard-earned income on someone else’s idea of a good time. Did no one else find it all ridiculous? The engagement party and the bridal shower and the bachelorette weekend and the wedding week.

“I’m going to end up dropping five K on someone else’s wedding,” I complained to my mother over the phone as I packed my suitcase in advance of Hailey’s Whimsical Woodland Weekend. “And why does everything have to have a theme now?”

“Not like you need the money for your own wedding,” my mother said.

“Well,” I said, contemplating a pair of shorts, “that’s your fault, not mine. You raised me to be fiercely independent.”

“Natalie.”

“I should send you the link to her registry. It’s unconscionable. They’ve lived together in that house for two years. They don’t need anything. They’ve got a frog statue on the registry. Ceramic frogs sitting on a log. I believe they’re fishing. It’s a hundred and fifty dollars. For fucking frogs.”

“Language,” my mother said. “Why are you so worked up about this?”

I folded the shorts and placed them in my suitcase, then collapsed onto my bed. “Why do we, as a society, reward people for getting married?”

“It’s a celebration,” my mother said. “We need to celebrate things in life. Otherwise . . .”

Her voice trailed off. I heard her sip what I knew was Diet Dr Pepper in a porcelain teacup. She liked things the way she liked them and never apologized for it, which was good and fine, but somehow it was a mystery to her how and why I turned out the way I did.

“Why don’t we celebrate other accomplishments?” I asked. “Why all the hoopla over forsaken freedom?”

“Natalie. This isn’t about you and your burning bra. This is about Hailey. This is for Hailey.”

My mother was right. Hailey was my oldest friend. We’d grown up together. Countless sleepovers watching dumb comedies and staying up past midnight, whispering secrets. Slipping notes into each other’s lockers, cutting class together. Swapping clothes and boys. We’d gossip about who was a good kisser, who used too much tongue. When we got our licenses, we’d drive around town for hours, listening to angsty emo rock and contemplating the future.

Now the future was here, and she was getting married to someone I barely knew. Mike seemed fine. In my eyes no one would ever be worthy; Hailey was the sweetest and most fun person I’d ever met. I had other friends, friends whom I loved and was close to, but they weren’t special to me the way that Hailey was. When you’re young with someone, when you share those formative years, the bond is specific and sincere.

“Nat?”

“I have to finish packing,” I said, my voice weirdly high. “Thanks for listening to me vent.”

“Anytime. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” When I hung up, I noticed I had a text from Hailey.

Can’t wait to see you this weekend!! it read. Miss you so much!

I plugged my phone in, and as it charged, I scrolled through old photos.

The two of us at our eighth-grade graduation, our smiles metallic, our dresses glittery, butterfly clips in our hair.

The two of us at sixteen sitting on the curb outside the mall, wearing tank tops and too much eyeliner, eating from the same bag of Swedish Fish.

A selfie of us in Hailey’s car, our eyebrows plucked thin, our lips pouty, the picture taken at a Myspace angle.

After a while, looking at the pictures stopped being fun and started to be painful. It was an icky feeling, a squirming in my chest. I patted away a few rogue tears and continued packing, busying myself in an attempt to escape the emotion.

The emotion that was, in retrospect, a warning.

*   *   *

I admired the constellations on the ceiling of Grand Central while sipping tepid coffee and eating a cranberry muffin, killing time before my train departed. Brianna would be picking me up from the station in Cold Spring. The house itself wasn’t in Cold Spring, and I didn’t know where it was exactly, because I couldn’t be bothered to read Brianna’s extensive emails. She was Hailey’s maid of honor, and she approached each task with such intensity you’d have thought she was defusing a bomb. At the bottom of every email she would write, in bold, Please get back to me by 4:30 PM today at the latest. I would often purposely wait until a few minutes past her deadline to spite her, but then she began emailing me reminders, so I surrendered my passive-aggressive game.

Hailey had met Brianna in college, and they stayed close postgraduation. They had a lot in common, lived within walking distance, had regular wine nights and gym dates, vacationed together. Still, whenever I was around, Brianna was hostile toward me—as if I was a threat to their friendship. She liked to assert her position as the best friend. I thought her attachment to Hailey a little strange, verging on obsessive. But at the same time, I absolutely did not want to be the one negotiating necklines of bridesmaid’s dresses and ordering custom aprons as shower favors. I was grateful that she was doing all the heavy lifting, and all I had to do was show up.

Though even showing up felt like a lot for me.

I headed toward the train, realizing if I continued to dawdle, I might miss it. My phone buzzed with a text from Brianna asking if I would be arriving on schedule. While distracted, responding with a simple yep, I accidentally bumped shoulders with a man in a business suit.

“Fucking bitch,” he spat.

Stellar way to start the weekend, I thought, stepping onto the train just as the doors closed behind me.

I found a seat, and as I watched New York City blur into the Hudson Valley, I tried to will away my cynicism. Though most of the bridesmaids were, like Brianna, Hailey’s friends from college whom I didn’t know that well because I’d gone away to school while Hailey stayed in Jersey, there was one other exception. Hailey’s sister-in-law-to-be, Jaqueline. Jacqueline wasn’t part of the friend group either. She was a few years older than the rest of us and lived in Philly with her wife and their two kids. I’d met her only once before, at the bridal shower, but I liked her vibe. We sat next to each other while Hailey opened her gifts, and whispered our predictions.

“A crossbow,” Jaqueline deadpanned when Hailey held up a petite box tied with a frilly pink ribbon, which ended up containing a crystal soap dish.

“A burner phone,” I’d said before Hailey flung back some tissue paper and pulled out a cake stand.

Maybe the bachelorette weekend wouldn’t be so bad. At least it wasn’t a bar crawl wearing penis crowns. I had initially suggested a night out in the city, because then I wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by travel. I envisioned something fun and classy. Beauty & Essex, followed by a speakeasy like Please Don’t Tell. Brunch at Balthazar the next morning. But I wasn’t specific in my email, and as soon as I sent it, I worried that my NYC Bachelorette? proposal could easily result in a Times Square nightmare, navigating around the Broadway crowds, bumping elbows with Hoboken bros. No, thank you.

Hailey wants to do something more low-key, Brianna replied all of two minutes later. I’m looking into renting us this dreamy Airbnb in NY. She wants to go for more of a woodland theme. Will keep you posted! Xo, Bri.

Bri was waiting for me when I stepped off the train, standing beside her neon green Ford Fiesta, waving violently. She was smiling so widely her lips curled over her unnervingly white teeth.

I gave her a quick salute. “Hey there.”

“Hey, you!” she said. She popped the trunk, and when I went to put my suitcase inside, I noticed a small wooden box and some rope, but didn’t think much of it. “Wait till you see the place. You’re going to die!”

“Great,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. Her car smelled like a piña colada.

“The house was built in 1790. It’s so, so cute,” she said. “Gum?”

I held out my palm and she tapped a piece into it. It was blue and tasted like cotton candy.

“It’s been renovated, obviously. Has all the amenities.”

“No outhouse?”

“God, no,” she said. “We will have to share rooms. I have you in with Jacqueline.”

I wasn’t thrilled about having to bunk with someone like it was summer camp, especially since I had paid five hundred dollars for the two nights, but at least I was with Jacqueline.

“So, I emailed you the itinerary, but I didn’t hear back, so I’ll just tell you now really quick, so you know what the plan is,” she said.

I fought the urge to immediately tune her out.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

“When we get back, we’ll kick it off with a champagne happy hour. I’ve got all the stuff for a champagne-bar situation. We’ll toast and mix champagne cocktails. Then we’re going to dinner in town tonight. I’ve got reservations at, like, a pub-type place. Burgers and stuff. After, we’ll come back here, movie night. Popcorn, candy, et cetera. Hailey wants to watch...