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By Kay Hanifen
Kate sat straight back in her chair as she listened to Maven’s horrid little tale. She and Mildred seemed to be playing their stories off like they weren’t real, but Kate knew better. Mildred truly had made a pact with the devil while Maven was being pursued by her own personal demon. Even though she’d long rejected her so-called gift, she still had a certain sense about things, and that sixth sense had been screaming at her all night long. Something here was deeply wrong, and no one else seemed to see it, least of all Reverend Lane. She just sat there, smiling placidly, and occasionally throwing in her own jokes like this was just another choir practice.
Now, Kate knew better than to speak ill of the reverend—she was a woman of God, after all—but Carrie Lane was one of the least conventional preachers she had ever met. A lesbian—not that there was anything wrong with that—who seemed more interested in what culture says than the eternal Holy Word. They’d had their fair share of disputes over the years.
Her father would have been horrified to see her attending a church with a preacher who defied all that he considered holy. But this was the church Kate’s children preferred, and when she had to move in with her daughter, it was the only way to get everyone into service on Sundays. Souls brought to God through unconventional paths were still souls saved, after all.
“So, yeah, that’s why I hate the ‘Elf on the Shelf’ so much,” Maven said, finishing her story and tossing the elf carelessly aside.
That made Kate bristle. Someone had given that gift to Maven, and even though she didn’t like it, she still shouldn’t have thrown it away so callously. She grabbed a shortbread cookie and shoved it in her mouth, knowing that her manners would override her urge to snap at the girl, and she would not talk with her mouth full. Her father had thoroughly trained that out of her.
Contrary to popular belief, Kate did know when to hold her tongue, and as much as she bristled at the ingratitude Maven showed towards the gift, she understood the animosity. Never let it be said that she wasn’t the forgiving sort.
The Innkeeper was staring at her, his eyes piercing the way her father’s eyes used to. He always had a way of seeing right through her, right on down to the bone, and unearthing all the dark, sinful parts of her that she preferred to stay hidden. She found herself shrinking under the Innkeeper’s gaze too and forced herself to look away.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Reverend Lane said to Maven. “There are monsters out there, and when they come, not everyone survives. I’ve seen some things that you would never believe.” Her gaze seemed to drift to the Innkeeper when she said that.
There was some kind of familiarity between them. Kate could see it in the way they seemed to be silently communicating with each other. Was she somehow in on this? Did the reverend lure them out to the middle of nowhere? To what end?
She shivered at the thought. Even with the fire blazing, the chill ran deep in her aging bones. The idea of Carrie being in cahoots with the Innkeeper was patently absurd. And yet...and yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“I’m really sorry,” Carrie said. “You look very familiar, and I’ve been trying to place you all night. You weren’t one of the nurses in the AIDS wards, were you? Ramona and I used to volunteer there during the crisis.”
The Innkeeper (what was his name again? Kate couldn’t recall) simply smiled as he scratched his cat behind the ears. “I just have one of those faces. People seem to recognize me everywhere.”
Carrie’s brows furrowed as another look seemed to pass between them, each daring the other to do...something. Kate had no idea what, but she could sense the subtext of their conversation as surely as she could sense the animosity that the cat felt towards Erica, also for reasons yet unknown.
“So, what made you decide to run your own inn?” Kate asked, surprising herself with the question. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but she felt compelled to start fishing like Carrie.
The Innkeeper beamed at her. “I’ve always had a fondness for places like this, places built for the transient moments in people’s lives. Everyone deserves a chance to rest in comfort before moving on to their destination.” He turned to John. “I’m so sorry. I almost forgot to mention that the vegan cookies are on the sideboard. I hope they’re good.”
“No way,” Rachel said. “I tried one of those cookies, and I had no idea they were vegan. They’re amazing.”
Kate wasn’t sure what to make of Rachel. Though the choir group was rather unconventional, she seemed the most like an outsider. Sure, she’d whipped the band into shape, something that Ramona Lane—God rest her soul—never did successfully, but Kate sensed that Rachel hadn’t joined the congregation to find God through the Savior. Her presence felt oddly disingenuous, like she had something to hide from the rest of the group. Kate had no idea what it might be, though, but it still set her teeth on edge.
The Innkeeper beamed at Rachel. “Thank you. My niece certainly seems to like them.”
“You have a niece?” Bethany asked.
“Oh, yes. She’s a vegan,” he said, and did not elaborate beyond that even as silence stretched steadily in the air, waiting for him to describe her further.
Why was Kate so suspicious of him? He had been nothing but a gracious host, bringing in eleven people and sharing his home and food with them. And yet, something about him gave her the same feeling of awed terror she felt around her father.
He seemed to sense her eyes, because he turned his piercing gaze onto her. But instead of admonishing her for staring like her father would have done, he simply beamed. “Kate, I think I see a gift under the tree for you.”
He said it so brightly, so cheerfully, that it made her sick to her stomach. Between Maven and Mildred’s reactions to their own gifts, and the fact that no one truly fessed up to being the ones who gave it to them, the idea of it being her turn sent a wave of dread and nausea through her. But her legs seemed to move of their own accord.
Feeling like a marionette on strings, she got to her feet and walked to the tree. Hands shaking, she picked up the gift and carried it back to her seat. The rest of her friends sat quietly as she untied the ribbon and unwrapped the box. Removing the lid, she let out a groan of dismay.
“What is it?” Erica asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Kate did not want to touch it, but curiosity would send them crowding around her, and she couldn’t have that. So, with shaking fingers, she lifted it in the air.
“Well, a doll isn’t exactly the weirdest gift we’ve had so far,” Maven said. “I mean, it’s kinda creepy, but I don’t see why that would make you look like you just swallowed a lemon.”
Carrie cleared her throat. “Maven...”
Maven shrank into herself a little bit. “Sorry.”
“It’s not a doll. It’s a poppet,” Kate said quietly, stroking the simple dress and fabric body. She hadn’t seen this in years. Not since that night. “They’re used for witchcraft.”
“What, like a Voodoo doll?” Bethany asked.
Carrie shook her head. Her eyes had lit up at the sight of the poppet. Kate knew that expression well. During their many, many debates on the merits of her preaching, Kate would make the mistake of saying something, and suddenly, they were in the middle of a lesson on history and folklore with no end in sight. “Voodoo dolls aren’t really a thing. At least, not in the religious practices of Haitian and Louisiana Voodoo. It’s something largely made up by Hollywood to demonize Afro-Caribbean syncretic religions. Poppets, though, are what most people picture when they picture Voodoo dolls. They were frequently used, mostly in positive contexts by European cunning folk to perform sympathetic magic. Poppets were created for spells of love, prosperity, healing, and protection, and—”
“Thank you, Carrie,” Kate gritted out. She ignored the way that the others bristled at her perceived rudeness. Once Carrie got going, it was nearly impossible to get her to stop, and she wasn’t in the mood for yet another debate as to whether or not Voodoo was Satanic. “I know what a poppet is.”
The reverend’s mouth shut, her pale skin turning pink with embarrassment. “Sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to talk over you.”
“It’s fine.” She set the poppet in its box and nudged it under the chair with her foot.
With a sigh, she let herself relax for the first time that she could remember. All her life, she’d been wearing a mask, pretending to be something that she wasn’t. Normal. The perfect little doll sculpted by her father. Maybe it wasn’t worth it anymore. Or maybe she was too tired to care. Regardless, it felt good to finally lay down the millstone around her neck. “I’ve never told anyone this story before. But unlike Mildred and Maven, I won’t pretend that it didn’t happen to me. Who knows? Maybe some of you will be able to better understand me after you hear it.”
