It was two weeks until Christmas, and the toy store was a madhouse. Mergit had already fielded two prank phone calls while working the front register, and she was not in the mood for any more stupid remarks.

“You look whipped,” said her manager as he walked by. “Let me take over for a while. You go help people in the doll section.” Her boss moved behind the counter, grabbed the engineer’s cap off her head and slapped it on his crew cut. The owners of Hobby Galaxy took playtime seriously; Dan-the-Man-ager fit right in.

Glad for a chance to move her long legs, Mergit strode down the towering baby doll aisle, leading a frazzled dad to the princess Barbies and pointing out to a grandmother a bassinet complete with christening dress and Hispanic newborn. When she paused to hang a few sets of Barbie clothing back on pegs someone behind her said: “I need a special doll.”

“For what age child?” Mergit said, turning and dredging up a smile for the well-dressed, subdued woman.

“Oh, it’s not for a child. It’s for me. I collect doll houses.”

Mergit looked down (always down—she had her father’s height) and hoped her long, dark hair was neat. The client’s gold-streaked curls were perfect. Collectors meant good money, if you had what they wanted, and Mergit was trying to break into the custom doll market by making specialty figures. “Our miniature dolls are down this way.” Mergit gestured toward the west wall of the store.

“Not miniatures. This house is for Barbie Dolls. It’s a multi-story barn-roof colonial; I built it myself.” The woman spoke as if anyone could build a house scaled for Barbie dolls.

“I‘ve never seen a kit or blueprint for a barn-roof,” Mergit said as she moved down the corridor holding Barbie, Barbie’s friends, and Barbie’s frenemies. (Ken never quite recovered from Barbie throwing him over for GI Joe, or so one buyer told Mergit.)

“I designed it myself,” the woman answered, following Mergit to the foot-high dolls. “It’s modeled on the Amityville Horror house.”

Mergit blinked. Oh, boy, do I need sleep. “Is it a Halloween house?”

The woman gave her an odd look. “You mean with jack o’ lanterns and such? Of course not.”

Then why did you pick the Amityville House? Mergit decided not to volunteer this thought. “What kind of doll are you looking for?” she asked aloud.

“I need an exorcist doll.”

Mergit gave the woman a long look.

There was not a trace of humor in the customer’s face. Mergit wasn’t sure she knew how to smile, much less pull a leg. “An exorcist doll. Do you want a priest doll?”

“Not necessarily. I just need an exorcist. The dolls aren’t Catholic, and I have no idea yet what the ghost believes. I’ve always thought that you have to use the correct ritual for the type of spirits you have. Don’t you agree?” The lady looked up and down the row as she started digging in her purse. “Here’s the family—nice dolls, every one of them. They didn’t deserve this.”

Mergit looked at the picture of the dolls. “Did you make them?” If so, this woman was an artist. The workmanship was lovely, the faces unique. They might be Barbie-sized, but these weren’t retreads of a German sex toy.

On the other hand, the dolls had lousy taste in clothing. Mergit had seen better clothes on the Jerry Springer show, and the people who showed up there were always train wrecks waiting to happen. Perhaps the woman intended for them to look bland, to show off the house? Upscale bland—there was even a maid and gardener.

“Yes, I was the one to bring them into this world,” the lady replied, sounding much like a proud parent.

Oooookay. It was time to get this one moving. “I have a couple you might want to think about.” Mergit quickly unlocked the glass case full of dolls. “I have several TV investigator dolls here, including that old one who was a clean freak, or the brothers who solve supernatural crimes? They might be able to handle a doll pretending to be a ghost. And then—”

”I don’t think there’s any pretending going on,” the woman broke in. “I think a spirit has moved in—maybe more than one.”

Two beats of silence. “But you don’t want a priest doll. How about a…preacher doll? We could get one in a nice suit, and we have miniature Bibles…”

“I’m just not sure a regular minister is going to be able to handle the situation,” the woman said primly.

Her expression looked both evasive and as if she had the high moral ground. There were no other words for the look on her sculpted face. Except “Bags O’ Money,” of course. Part of the reason she had no expression on her face was an expensive facelift. Mergit looked hard, but couldn’t see any incision lines.

No regular ministers… Drat! Why hadn’t she gone ahead with the Marie Laveau doll? A voodoo priestess should be exotic enough for this woman. But there was no way Mergit could make that doll in one night: The plans for it were too elaborate, and she was not going to trash her future reputation on a poorly made figure.

“Well, if you want out-of-the-ordinary power, I could get you a Marie Laveau figure, but it would take a few days. She’s the voodoo priestess of New Orleans.”

“I must admit I’ve been wondering about the housemaid. She is from Louisiana, and you never know who might be into that sort of thing,” the woman confided. “Some protection spell might have gone wrong. Marie Laveau isn’t the current priestess of New Orleans, is she? I thought she was dead.”

“She’s been gone a while, but when you’re the big name in voodoo, dying is just a change of address.”

“Perhaps we could save her for a backup? I’d really like to try something tonight.”

Mergit searched the shelves for anything that might count when trying to exorcize a dollhouse. Noticing the Disney section, she had an idea. “How about this doll?” Mergit lifted the heroine of the “Hunchback of Notre Dame” animated movie. “A gypsy might be able to communicate with the gh—spirit world.”

The woman considered the doll. “Too young,” she announced. “Although I like the idea.”

Setting down the animation figure, Mergit walked two steps and lifted a beautiful, limited edition fortuneteller. Her costume was a riot of color and texture. The seated Romani woman wore enough jewelry to jingle, and came with a crystal ball on a parlor table and a deck of tarot cards. Most importantly, she looked attractive but mature. “I’ll bet this lady has the maturity to face The Other Side.”

The customer nodded her streaked curls. “I agree; she can at least communicate with them. I’ll take her.”

Score! It was an expensive figure, and if the store did well there were bonuses to be had. Since the woman didn’t need gift-wrapping, Mergit boxed the doll, wished the lady the best and left her to pay for the card reader. Part of Mergit wanted to tell this tale in the break room, and part of her felt really odd about things. Her mind accepted the split decision, and she held her tongue.

Mergit told her roommate Beth about it that night, though, while Beth studied law and Mergit carefully finished the stitching on a yeti figure’s pelt. “And that’s where it stands right now.”

“Do you think she’s doing it for attention?” Beth asked from her perch on the futon.

“Maybe,” Mergit replied. “It didn’t feel like a con, though. She could be certifiable, enjoying a good fantasy, or dealing with a haunted dollhouse.”

“Yeah, right.” Beth moved her brown hair out of her face, a sure sign of skepticism.

“Maybe her family is pulling her leg,” Mergit offered, standing the yeti up next to his associate, the sasquatch.

“She’ll be back,” Beth warned. “If her kids are pulling a prank, it’s too good a joke to let go of yet.”

“What do you think?” Mergit asked, gesturing to the two figurines.

“I like the sasquatch better,” Beth decided. “He looks friendlier.”

“That’s a thought. Maybe I’ll make a family for each of them.”

Beth sighed. “Are you ever going to sell any of these things? They’re beautiful, they take time and money to make, and they’re filling up your workroom.”

“I’m going to take them in next week to show a buyer from a specialty house,” Mergit said. “After I make Marie Laveau.”

“Sell them online,” Beth advised and headed for the kitchen. “Higher profit margin.”

The next day at work, Mergit kept an eagle eye out for the nicely dressed Mrs. Bags O’ Money. Sure enough, the woman arrived about an hour after opening, carrying the store bag.

Great, Mergit thought. I hope she didn’t damage the doll.

The lady set the sack down on the counter, and carefully slid out the large box. “It wasn’t successful, but we made contact.” Opening the lid, she gently lifted out the fortuneteller.

The doll was still sitting on a stool, her crystal ball in the center of the table. But she was no longer laying out tarot cards. Tarot cards were scattered over the table and wooden platform, and the doll had her hands on either side of the crystal ball. The lovely face now looked stunned.

Her black hair was now snow white.

Mergit blinked. The face was the same; only the expression had changed. If this woman is thinking far enough ahead to have made a duplicate head to switch out, she really wants a witness to something. “The lady looks shocked.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” the customer agreed. “I think there are at least two ghosts. She got one of them to communicate, but the second kept trying to scare her, poor thing. She’s tough. If I give her B stress drops for a few months, I’ll bet her hair will grow back in dark.”

“Ah, right,” Mergit replied, still staring at the doll. How did she do that? No. It couldn’t really be haunted… “Maybe you need brute force. How about good old GI Joe?”

The next morning, the lady was back. “They trashed the dollhouse rec room, and the ghosts are still there,” she announced. “Joe said something about needing reinforcements.”

Mergit decided a few questions were in order. The woman, whose credit card had revealed her to be Mrs. Ellen North, looked troubled. Mergit wondered why her family was playing such an elaborate trick on her. “Mrs. North, have you ever seen the ghosts? Or seen them in action?”

“I have never seen them, but I’ve felt them, plus they leave tiny beer cans everywhere, especially the dolls’ rec room.” She pulled the evidence out of her purse, packed in a spice bag.

Mergit peered at it. I didn’t know they made Lone Star miniature cans.

Mrs. North turned and looked around to make sure no one was near, and then whispered: “One of them pinches me! The other cries a lot.”

“And you don’t think…there isn’t anyone who would like to play a prank on you, is there?”

“Pinching me in broad daylight? My dear, you’re imagining things. Since my husband’s death, I have lived alone, and my children all live out of town. No, this is a ghost problem. The strange part is haunting the dollhouse.”

Right. In for a penny… “What did the fortuneteller find out about them?”

“It’s a young couple, she thinks. The boy likes playing all these tricks and making trouble, without anyone to stop him, and the girl seems to be clinging to Earth because she’s afraid Heaven will be strange and boring.”

Mergit smiled. “Then I have an idea.” First she went over to the limited edition dolls, and pulled out a great Elvis doll. This was the ’50’s Elvis, in jeans and T-shirt, leather jacket, and blue suede shoes. The sneer was perfect. Mergit wasn’t a huge Elvis fan, but she had a low number ’50s Elvis herself.

“You need two things. First, you need someone to assure them that there are good things about Heaven, too. Of the dolls we have on hand, I think Elvis—young Elvis—would be perfect. He’s handsome and fun enough to reassure her, and cool enough to get the boy to listen. And just in case the boy ghost still wants to make trouble…” Mergit dove under the counter, digging in the older stock. Ah, ha! Still there! She should have known the store wouldn’t send it back, not after the guy was elected governor of California.

“This guy will be backup for GI Joe.” Mergit placed a picture box on the counter. Inside it, armed to the teeth, was the big guy himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger, ready to take on another Predator movie.

The woman looked pleased. “The Elvis doll is an inspiration, my dear. But I don’t know about Arnold. He is impressive, but the rec room is not huge…”

Mergit reached for the miniatures chest, opened a tiny drawer and took out a handmade, leather-bound complete New Testament, worth more than both dolls. “If you arm him with this, all the bases are covered.”

“Genius!” A big smile (but no smile lines) was Mergit’s reward. “Let’s try it.”

Mrs. North didn’t return the next day, much to Mergit’s relief, but Mergit couldn’t help but wonder what happened to her, and whether her dolls were still being haunted. Still, there were the holiday shoppers to deal with, and the specialty buyer admiring her fantastic creatures. The woman had mentioned a limited edition. Yes! The little beer cans had given Mergit an idea. A Bubba doll—it was a natural.

Maybe Mrs. North was gone for good. After all, there couldn’t be ghosts in the dollhouse. Even if ghosts existed, they wouldn’t haunt a dollhouse.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve that Mergit saw the haunted dollhouse lady again. Mergit still hadn’t told the story to the rest of the staff, other than to say she’d sold the Bible miniature to someone who needed to exorcise a dollhouse. Mrs. North seemed like a perfectly nice lady, and making fun of her made Mergit think about who might, at that very moment, be making fun of her own mother.

Mom knit fairies out of fine wool yarn.

As the saying went, different strokes for different folks.

“Mergit! There you are!” Mrs. North had a broad smile on her face. “Thank you so much for all your help! Apparently the combination was a good one, because I haven’t seen or felt any sign of the ghosts in over a week.”

“I’m glad for you, Mrs. North. You want to have a nice Christmas without any restless spirits troubling you.”

“Well, yes,” the woman agreed. “Although Christmas is the time for ghosts. Dickens, you know. And my son’s family arrives this afternoon. So I thought I’d ask you about one more little problem before they arrive.”

Mergit braced herself. “What’s happened?”

Mrs. North set down her bag, and drew out of it something wrapped in tissue paper. Unfolding it, Mergit found the remains of a deer statue. “Remains” was the correct word. The carved wood figure had what looked like teeth marks in it, and one haunch was missing.

“Since there is so much left, it can’t be a wolf pack, and wouldn’t a werewolf eat more than this? I’ve heard dog packs will kill just for fun, but none of my dog statues show any signs of blood.”

Mergit thought she had resisted temptation long enough. She didn’t make much more than minimum wage, and she knew how to keep a customer happy. “Mrs. North, is this deer from a winter scene you have set up somewhere?”

“Yes, I have several deer and pine cones on the mantel in my rec room.”

“Do you use artificial snow?”

“No, that’s so messy. I use cotton batting around the legs.”

Mergit reached under the counter where her sack of dolls still waited. “I think you have a yeti problem, Mrs. North, and the best thing to do is take back another yeti to explain that it’s his territory.” She whipped out the doll and placed him on the counter. Standing next to heaped snow, the hulking creature had a face between a human and a gorilla, its expression both stern and wise.

“A yet tee? Oh!” She stared at the doll. “A bigfoot?”

Mergit pulled out the second doll, his pelt shaggy brown, his expression gentle. “No, I’ve got those, too, but I think with the snow it’s yeti trouble.” She leaned over and whispered something to the woman.

“Oh, thank you, my dear! This is an excellent solution!”

Mergit carefully packed up the yeti, took the woman’s cash, handed her a private business card, and sent her on her way.

“A yeti exorcist?” It was Dan-the-Man-ager, a big smile on his face. “I won’t mention you just sold your own work if you don’t do it again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mergit replied. “No, the Bible and the dolls I sold her before apparently took care of the exorcism of the dollhouse. Now she has something preying on her reindeer.”

Dan just stared.

“I pointed out that a yeti was big enough to scare off wolves and lesser yetis,” Mergit continued. “And he’s handsome enough to charm a lady yeti.”

“Big sale?” he asked, looking pleased for her. Dan was a great guy, and probably hoping her dolls would be a success, so he could arrange a deal with the owners of Hobby Galaxy.

“Let’s just say that if she comes back here and asks for baby yeti dolls, I think I’ve found a muse.”