I try to wait up for my mother to come home. For a while, I just sit there, staring at the book I checked out, a baseball bat beside me. When I yawn, I realize an hour has passed and I haven’t even flipped past the first page. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to be caught unawares. But another hour passes and there are no noises in the woods—no crunch of leaves as my mom walks home, no creepy giggles of a doll that should not exist. Finally, my adrenaline fades and I think that Mom has to be coming home soon, and she’ll ground me if I’m up when she’s home so late. I snuggle up in bed and promise myself I’ll stay awake.

I’ll just pretend to sleep. So she doesn’t know.

But she must be working later than usual. Or else I’m just too tired.

I close my eyes. I whisper to no one that I’m not tired.

I can’t help it.

I fall asleep.

*  *  *

The first thing I hear in the dream is music.

It drifts through my awareness, a string quartet playing some old-fashioned song I know I’ve never heard before. But it’s familiar. So familiar I find myself humming it as I walk down the wide stairs leading to the dance floor.

My family’s friends swirl and curtsy and promenade around me as I move across the glittering marble tile. Candles and lanterns glow brightly on every polished surface, casting a rich, golden light over the crowd. In their fancy dresses and coats and makeup, it is almost otherworldly. Like we are suddenly in the world of fairies. Like I am the Fairy Queen, and these are my loyal subjects.

I like that idea.

I hold on to it as I move across the dance floor, pretending that every bow is a bow to me, pretending that this is a grand ball in my honor, and not for my parents. I spy them on the other side of the ballroom, beside the quartet. They aren’t dancing. They are standing there, watching everyone dance, with drinks in their hands and sour expressions on their faces. When my mother catches sight of me, she frowns even more deeply. I wonder what I have done wrong. Is it my dress? She picked it out herself.

Or is it just me? It’s always me.

I turn away. Pretend that they aren’t my parents, but prisoners, here because of some terrible crime against my Fairy Court, and they must watch everyone dance and be merry while they sulk.

It makes me feel better. A little.

Music swells. The sea of people churns around me. But there is no one here my age to dance with, and although the adults smile at me, no one offers me a dance. I think it is time for me to leave. I have made my appearance, and that is enough to keep my parents happy. Or as happy as they will ever be. I don’t think anything I do really makes them happy.

I think the only thing that makes them happy is money. But they always want more.

I turn toward the stairwell to return to my room. Only, the stairwell isn’t there. I look around, wondering what is happening. I try to press my way through the dancing crowd, but they don’t give space. I try to make my way to the exit.

There are no exits.

I push my way through the crowd, ducking under skirts and past moving legs, and reach a wall.

No doors. Just glittering lights and tall, closed windows and a flickering glow outside. Warm, like firelight. How is it light outside, when it’s night?

The crowd presses closer. They aren’t dancing now. They are watching me. Laughing at me.

Their laughter grows louder and now I see their eyes are glittering.

Glass. Like doll eyes.

No, they are doll eyes. And their mouths are painted on, too. Just like the doll I threw out of my bed.

The dancing dolls laugh, and the music swells so loud my ears hurt.

The last thing I hear over their laughter and the cacophonous music is the sound of my own scream.