Vicky blinked and stood up. She knew immediately that she was in the third-floor playroom. There was the tin rocking horse she always made the brother doll ride for hours. Its back looked very sharp and uncomfortable now that she could see it better. There were the “books” she had made for them, from little folded pieces of paper; but now they were like cardboard, covered with large grainy crayon blots.
And there was the music box, barely the size of her thumb the last time she had opened it, but now like a massive chest. It was made of ivory, and the carving, which had seemed so delicate, was actually rather crude and uneven. The little tinkling melody it played over and over again was her favorite song, and suddenly she wanted to hear it. She was frightened, of course, and the familiarity of the unchanging
tune might comfort her. She pushed open the box, and the music began.
But it was different now, clanging and blurred and painfully loud, like being on the inside of a ringing bell. And the tune was hardly recognizable, a raucous mockery of its former sweetness. She had to stop it! But the top was caught somehow; she couldn’t move it at all. Her hands on her ears, she backed away, then turned to run from the terrible sounds.
But she froze before taking even one step. Now she was facing the edge of the house, where the room simply ended and there was nothing but empty space plunging all the way down to the floor of her room. It was like being in a house that had been neatly sliced down the middle by a gigantic cleaver. She didn’t dare get any closer to the edge, but stood and stared off into her room, the horrible music banging and bonging behind her.
Everything was the same, but gigantic. The rug was a thick forest spread out far below her, her bed a steep plateau, and the doorway on the other side of the room was fuzzy with distance, rising up to a ceiling she could not even see.
This can’t be happening, she said to herself. It’s impossible! I must be dreaming. But it wasn’t vague like a dream. Everything was horribly clear, and all
the details were perfect. She tried to fight a growing panic, which was only made worse by the deep void just ahead of her. This can’t be happening, she thought again, uselessly. I’ve got to make it go away! How can I make it go away?
Behind her, the music stopped with a sudden crash and she spun around. Beside the music box stood the aunt doll, taller than Vicky now. In the abrupt silence, Vicky simply stared at her without speaking. The doll’s black hair, pulled back tightly in a knot at the back of her head, was now like thick rope. The stitches on her floor-length black dress were wide and uneven. Her painted features were chipped in places, giving her smile a strange twisted look. Her lashless eyes were amazingly large, almost circles, opened wide, a black pupil isolated in the center of each.
“Aha,” said the aunt doll softly, her smiling mouth not moving at all. “You are small and helpless now, I see.”