Stuffed Souls

By Janelle Evans

The Queen of bullies, Jessica, received her just punishment. Her soul was taken from her body and placed inside one of the Voodoo dolls adorning the tombstone of the girl she had tormented most. But Jessica is far too smart to remain there forever.
She tricks a sixteen-year-old girl into picking up her doll. Taking over the girl’s body comes with an unintended side-effect—the real girl’s soul is cast out and disappears. Jessica doesn’t have time to mourn. She needs to free the other trapped souls inside the other dolls around the grave.
The last trapped soul is Jessica’s best friend, Claire. She can’t bear the thought of Jessica killing the girl to escape the body so she asks to take it over, instead. With Claire now inside the body of the sixteen-year-old girl, Jessica’s spirit is finally free. Yet, she can’t seem to leave like the others did.
With nowhere else to go, Jessica’s ghostly form tags along with Claire in her new body. They find themselves having to repeat the high school experience, except this time, Claire’s new body is anything but popular. Tortured and demined by nearly every kid at school, Claire and Jessica gain a whole new perspective on what was wrong with how they acted to others back in high school.
They find out that Claire’s real body is on life support in the hospital, but neither Claire nor the ghostly Jessica is able to take over the body. Then the spirit of Jessica disappears for hours until flickering just enough for Claire to be able to follow. She discovers Jessica’s real body in a secret basement of the woman who trapped them inside the dolls in the first place.
Once they discover they must return to their bodies before the next full moon or forever remain in their mixed up state, time does not seem to be on their side—but a whole herd of nerds are. With their help, Jessica and Claire retrieve their rightful bodies and perform a ceremony that puts all souls back where they should be, including the sixteen-year-old girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NewLink Publishing
• Release date: Jun 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781941271384

Janelle Evans

A theatre major from Southern Utah University, Janelle Evans is a consummate drama queen. Though her days on the stage are far behind her now, she still enjoys live theatre and great books. Young adult novels are her favorite genre to write and read. She lives in Rock Springs, Wyoming with her husband and three children.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jessica

Jessica Cooper squeezed between the locked gates of the cemetery. Inside the grounds, willow trees lined the solitary road. Their barren branches drooped, reaching downward like dangling claws.

Seven years, and nothing’s changed. She chuckled and ran her fingers over the knots of her sweater, fighting off the morning’s chill. The place is still creepy.

Never stumbling in her stilettos, Jessica walked to the twisted oak at the end of the gravel lane. At the base of the oak, a prickly bush grew. She peeled back the branches, searching for the small shovel she and the other Exceptionals had left behind on the day they graduated from high school.

She didn’t love the sight of the damp ground at her feet, but with the kind of brag she held in her pocket, she would dig the plastic bin up with her bare hands if she had to. Thankfully, she found the shovel before her resolve, or manicured nails, had to be tested.

Behind the oak, Jessica dug where two wrought-iron fences converged into a corner. The soil had been easy to remove and the container surprisingly heavy.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and sighed. "What have they been doing, digging it up every week? I told them only real accomplishments—not the everyday look-I’m-still-pretty kind." She rolled her eyes at the pictures of new haircuts, receptionist jobs, and menus from fancy restaurants brought back from the city. Her brag easily outdid them all, but these girls had been the best a worthless town like Heinckle had to offer. None of them had ever aspired to taste the real success of life beyond the miles of isolated farmland but her.

At a wedding announcement left by Claire, she paused. She married a doctor? Well that’s something. Why had she not been invited? Of all the Exceptionals, she had been closest to Claire. Why should it matter that they had not seen each other since graduation? She had been busy. Making something of her life took a lot of work.

A thought occurred to her. He must have called off their engagement. It was the only logical answer. Embarrassed by the rejection and the lack of communication for the past few years, Claire probably felt like contacting her for comfort would just unnecessarily interrupt Jessica’s busy schedule.

Instead of replacing it, she folded the announcement, tucking it into the pocket of her sweater. She would Google him when she arrived in Chicago and give him a piece of her mind when she tracked him down. She might not have seen her in a while, but nobody hurt Claire—ever.

She smoothed out the copy of her promotion, the newest anchor for the CCBC network in Chicago, and placed it on top. None of you will ever beat that. She would never have to return. No need for a paper brag when your small-town friends would one day see her on a nationally syndicated broadcast.

Chicago… She kissed her fingers then rubbed the pink stain her lipstick left behind on the container’s lid. Just a stepping stone to greater things.

After rearranging the thorny branches that kept the shovel hidden, she inspected her dress-slacks, flicking away any specks. Maintaining perfection was one of the many keys to success, even if everyone watching at the moment was dead.

In the process of checking her acrylic nails for dirt and cracks, Jessica noticed a wide headstone nearby. Three half-gallon-sized ragdolls lay along the base. She ventured closer, her curiosity piqued.

Each crudely-stitched burlap doll sat in a different stage of decay, the one in the middle looking the least worn. They lacked any clothes, their arms and legs differing in length. They had frayed yarn for hair and oversized black buttons for eyes. But it was the mouths Jessica found most disturbing. Black yarn had been crisscrossed over a thin line in a row of Xs, like their lips had been sealed shut.

Good grief. She shook her head. At least city people have enough sense to just send flowers.

Curiosity drove her to know the name of the unfortunate person stuck with such atrocities adorning their grave. Jessica walked to the front of the tombstone and found three more mutant dolls even more weathered than those in the back.

When her eyes scrolled up to the name engraved there, she gasped. Hilde Larway? The name of the girl who had followed the Exceptionals everywhere they went, even when they came here to the cemetery. Could it really be her? Hilde had been in the same graduating class.

She checked the date of birth. 1986, it has to be. With an ugly name like Hilde, there could not be that many running around. Wow, she said, seeing the date of death, You’ve been dead for over two years. She could not imagine her life being cut so short. Well, that explains the dolls. Weirdo in life. Weirdo in death. Bending down, she reached out for the least worn doll on the end.

Before Jessica could touch the ugly thing, a woman’s voice barked beyond the headstone. What are you doing in here?

Oh, I didn’t realize— Jessica flinched, bringing her hands to her chest. Holy cow! Now that’s ugly.

Over the headstone, a plump, thirtyish-year-old woman glared at her—maybe older. Either the years had not been kind or genetics dealt her a harsh blow from birth. But Jessica, having spent a year as a field reporter, trained herself to never show disdain on her face. She slipped on her TV concerned-for-the-people mask with matching upturned lips and stood.

Sorry. I was just passing through. Saw the little dollies and couldn’t help myself. She inhaled deeply waiting for this woman’s menacing demeanor to soften—everyone else always did. It was one of the many advantages of being easy on the eyes.

The woman did not budge.

Anyway, Jessica said, flashing her 1000-watt smile to disguise her shock. You have a good day. I’ll be going now.

Did you know the gal buried there? the woman asked as Jessica took the widest path possible around her.

I’m not sure. She kept walking, feeling an urgency to get away. I haven’t lived here for a long time.

"And who might you be?"

Jessica’s carefully placed mask slipped. She faced the woman. You don’t know who I am? She brought her shoulder forward like she always did when closing one of her news reports, pretending to hold a microphone in her hand. This is Jessi Caplan, she said using her professional name. If there’s truth—I’ll go to the nitty-gritty to find it.

When the woman’s droopy eyelids blinked in confusion, Jessica could not stop her jaw from dropping. You know, she sang the theme song for the local nightly news. Channel thr-e-e, it’s where you want to b-e-e.

Jessica’s spiky heel dug into the gravel. She still saw no recognition in the woman’s eyes. Does she live under a rock? She touched her chest and spoke slowly. I’m a TV reporter.

Oh, a reporter. The woman bobbed her head, the bloated skin around her neck squeezed and released like an accordion.

As a TV personality, people normally fawned all over her. Jessica pursed her lips at her lack of enthusiasm.

Well Miss Caplan, the woman said, herding Jessica down the lane toward the iron gates, Heinckle cemetery doesn’t open for two more hours. So you’ll have to do your reporting somewhere else.

It’s Cooper. Caplan is my professional name. Jessica stared at the locked gates, wondering how the heavy woman had got in. And I’m not working right now.

Cooper? The woman toddled around, blocking the gap she had squeezed through before. Holding her hands together in a worshipful manner, the woman excitedly said. "Not the Jessica Cooper of the Exceptionals. I mean she’s legendary around here."

Why… Jessica touched her cheeks feigning embarrassment. I am. She would have preferred to see the woman gush over her professional successes, but at least she was acting properly now.

I’ve only lived here for a few years, but I’ve heard such stories. She pointed over Jessica’s shoulder at the mountain. I’m the caretaker here.

A house cut into the side of the mountain overlooked the cemetery. She had not noticed it before, but its green painted siding blended in with the surrounding foliage. Years ago, nothing had been up there.

Jessica directed her gaze back to the woman and found a hand extended, encroaching on her personal space. She recoiled as though a spider dangled there.

The name’s Beatrice. The woman kept her hand out, undeterred by Jessica’s reaction. Why don’t you come up to the house? I can feed you some breakfast. Or make you coffee.

Oh no. Jessica waved her off. She had to drive back to the city for tonight’s flight to Chicago.

It’d sure be an honor to talk to you.

Honor? Jessica gave a genuine smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. I guess I could squeeze in some time for coffee. She kept her fingers limp, but allowed Beatrice to touch them. How could she deny such a loyal subject one last opportunity to be in her presence?

Following Beatrice, she weaved between headstones to an open gate. Beyond lay an unpaved path of steep switchbacks, leading to the green house above. Jessica sighed. She should have worn more sensible shoes. Wanting to look her best just in case she bumped into any of the other Exceptionals had overruled such logic.

I know. Beatrice hooked her arm over the top of the gate and sighed as well. I feel the same way when I think about Hilde Larway. When I came to work here, she was the first person I buried. But you probably knew her even better, being one of the Exceptionals and all.

Right. Jessica lied, lowering her gaze until she slipped her concerned-for-the-people mask back on. Telling Beatrice she feared more for her expensive shoes than a dead girl would not go over very well. How did Hilde die? At least in death Hilde had managed to do the one thing she never could in life—get Jessica to say her name without a mocking tone.

That’s the saddest part, Beatrice said, closing the gate after Jessica entered. She hung herself.

Jessica covered her mouth and gasped.

I know. Beatrice trudged up the steep slope. What a terrible thing it must be to get to a point where you think so little of your life. At the first turn on the trail, she frowned at Jessica who still stood by the gate. A beautiful young woman like yourself probably doesn’t know much about that.

A derisive snort escaped her, she had heard many ugly people make that same argument. Trust me. Being beautiful isn’t easy. There are standards to be maintained, and the ever-rising expectations are grueling.

How does justifying your life make her any less dead? Beatrice raised her fists onto her more than ample hips.

Ashamed, Jessica hung her head. Not for what she said, she meant it, but for having lost control. Great reporters kept their opinions to themselves. Objectivity is what made you credible in the news world. You’re right. I’m sorry. She had to accept the blame to ease the tension.

When Beatrice lowered her arms with a flabbergasted expression on her face, Jessica pretended to concentrate on the trail to hide her smirk. Psych 101—gets ‘em every time.

Beatrice did not move when Jessica reached her but intently studied her face. She looked away. The plump, yet wrinkled skin of her host’s face, almost like a bulldog, was difficult to stomach this close.

What do you remember of Hilde? Beatrice turned to climb higher.

Since no one was watching, Jessica wrinkled her nose. They were supposed to be talking about her. Not much. She didn’t move here until high school. She chuckled, thinking about the black eyeliner and fishnet stockings Hilde wore the first time they crossed paths.

Why do you laugh? Beatrice said, reaching the low wooden porch that wrapped around the green house. Was she fun to be around?

Oh…she was a snappy dresser, for a hooker. Unfortunately, with Hilde’s plain features, she probably would have starved in that profession.

Let’s get you that coffee. Beatrice opened the French doors overlooking the cemetery and stepped back. Jessica crossed the threshold, and the creases on Beatrice’s cheeks pulled back like a curtain on a stage, revealing jagged yellow teeth.

Jessica clenched inside, wishing she had followed her first inclination to run when they met. She tapped the dainty watch on her wrist. Oh! I didn’t realize how late it was. I really have to be going.

It won’t take but a few minutes. Beatrice blocked the exit. I insist.

Giving in, Jessica eased into the armchair Beatrice indicated, but did not relax until the woman walked into the kitchen without locking the French doors.

Just a sip and then I’m gone.

Her reporter instincts kicked in as she cased her surroundings. From trinkets covering the mantel to the doily under the glass candy dish on the coffee table, the décor seemed more appropriate for a grandmotherly type of person. Odd, since Beatrice could not be that old, but she did care for a graveyard. Maybe eccentricities—and bad teeth—were part of the job description.

True to her word, only a few minutes passed before Beatrice returned balancing a ceramic pot with two matching cups on a silver tray. I can’t wait for you to try this. It’s my own recipe. Many have told me it’s the best they’ve ever had.

Jessica took a sip from the cup handed to her. Wow, they weren’t lying. I’ve never tasted anything like it. She drank again deciding the creamy creation had butterscotch and a hint of something else. She lifted the rim to her lips for another taste only to find she’d finished it. Whatever it was, the stuff was addicting, and probably a day’s worth of calories in one serving. She held the cup out to Beatrice who still hadn’t touched hers. Fantastic. You should call Starbucks. They’d probably pay millions for the recipe.

When I no longer need it, maybe I will. Instead of taking the cup from her, Beatrice refilled it. Tell me about Hilde. What was she like?

A scrawny little nobody— Jessica froze, realizing she had spoken out loud, but could not stop a giggle from bubbling up. Oh, who cares? She took another sip. She’s dead, right? Which is probably the most a loser like her could have accomplished anyway. Leaning forward, she touched Beatrice’s knee. "You should have seen the way she followed us everywhere we went. Ugh—total wannabe. Like she would have ever had what it took to be an Exceptional."

Remembering her favorite Hilde story, Jessica threw back her head and laughed, spilling what little remained of her second cup of coffee. One time, the P.E. teacher found her in the girls locker room trying to color her dark hair blonde— She sputtered. —It was green for months. We called her the Larway Leprechaun.

Jessica could not stop, even when the room tilted and her eyelids refused to open, she laughed…

• • •

A loud moaning brought Jessica out of her reverie. She reached up to rub her pounding head, but for some reason her arms could not move. She tried looking down to see why, but her neck would not move either. She felt no restraints, yet everything but her eyes were stuck. Oh shut up! When would this stupid dream end? A twisted oak tree loomed above her, surrounded by bristly bushes. A jolt of realization hit her. It was the same oak tree and bush where she kept the shovel hidden. She was in the cemetery.

The moaning stopped. Beatrice’s ugly face, magnified ten times larger than before, came into view. Ah, I see you’re awake.

Jessica screamed. Her mouth would not open, but the sound resonated in her head.

Shhh, Beatrice said, bouncing a gigantic hand in front of her.

But how?

Beatrice flashed her yellowy grin. I can hear you because I created the vessel in which your soul now resides.

My soul?

Yes, and you’ll never leave. A few hours ago, I drove your car and body over a cliff several miles out of town.

You killed me?

As far as the world is concerned, but you needed something far worse than death for punishment. You all did. Beatrice lifted a pink compact mirror toward her. In its enlarged reflection, Jessica saw a mutant doll.

No!

I told you to run, said a faint girl’s voice below her. Why didn’t you run?

Claire, is that you? But…but I saw your engagement announcement.

At Claire’s sob Jessica wished she had not mentioned it at all.

Beatrice chuckled. As Hilde’s oppressors in life, I find it fitting that you must watch over her in death. And now that I have all seven Exceptionals—complete.

How could you do this? Jessica’s thoughts sputtered around the reality setting in. It was just a little teasing. And Claire had not been guilty of any of it.

No. Using tongs, Beatrice pinched the neck of the doll holding Jessica’s soul and lowered her so she could see the other dolls surrounding Hilde’s headstone. Stripping Hilde of her self-worth wasn’t teasing, it was murder. You might as well have put the rope around her neck.

This was not a fair punishment. They were just jokes. There was no way Jessica could know Hilde would take her life over it. We were just kids.

And so was she. Beatrice placed the doll back in the half circle indentation at the very top of Hilde’s headstone. How could you be so cruel?

Cruel? Are you kidding me? You’re the one that’s cruel.

No. You had everything in life—a face women everywhere wish for with a level of popularity few ever experience. Yet, you delighted in rubbing your perfection in the noses of the less fortunate. Beatrice jabbed the tongs into the doll’s stomach. A little compassion—was it really too much to ask?

Pushed off balance, Jessica’s doll-prison fell sideways. The side of her stuffed head struck granite. I never—I mean, I didn’t—

You don’t know what compassion is? Beatrice mocked, finishing her sentence. Well now I’ve given you eternity to figure it out. Looking up at the sky, she puffed out her chest on a deep breath. It is done. Rest in peace my sweet sister.

From her tipped-over position, Jessica read the nametag on Beatrice’s breast pocket, the one she hadn’t bothered to look too closely at before. The plastic rectangle noted her caretaker title and name. Beatrice Larway.

Chapter 2

94. Jessica watched the sun break through the recently sprouted leaves of the twisted oak. 94 days of this cruel, frozen state, where the only thing free to roam was her mind. Now her mind teetered, on the verge of slipping away like the others who had lost all verbal skill and could only moan.

Claire. Jessica reached out with her mind to the only other Exceptional still able to hold a conversation. When she heard no response, she repeated her name again, the fear of being completely alone making her mental tone hysterical.

Claire grunted.

Claire, snap out of it! She could not succumb like the others. Without her, Jessica doubted her mind would stay lucid long. Tell me about your doctor. She had heard the sickening sweet rendition of Claire’s perfect fiancé way too many times, but if it kept her mentally here she would suffer it again.

What’s the point? I’ll never see Craig again. The monotone hum of Claire’s thoughts carried a weight she sounded too tired to carry. Jessica would not let her surrender to her stuffed prison. She wished she could jump down from her perch at the top of Hilde’s tombstone and shake the fight back into her.

Yes, you will. I promise. We’re getting out of these dolls.

Claire gave a snort of disbelief. And go where? Neither one of us has a body anymore.

Details. If Jessica could have moved her arms, she would have flicked the concern away with a snap of her fingers. Don’t stress about ‘em. Didn’t I always deliver when we were kids?

What do you mean don’t stress about ‘em? Claire’s hopeless tone turned angry. It’s your careless lack of concern that landed us into this mess in the first place, Jess.

The truth of her friend’s words hit her with a familiar sting, but she did not apologize, not this time. Leaving Claire pissed kept her fighting. Jessica wanted her to have that strength of defiance today. The perfect day had finally come, one that would bring many possible guinea pigs to the cemetery—Memorial Day.

In the past 94 days, not once had Beatrice touched the doll holding Jessica with her bare hands. Those constant, careful barriers had Jessica thinking. If her theory was right, all of the Exceptionals would be free before the sun set this evening. You’ll see, Claire. I’m going to deliver.

Chapter 3

Do you see the caretaker? Jessica stopped her tuneless humming for only a moment to ask. The doll holding Claire faced the opposite direction at the bottom of the tombstone, so Jess relied on her to be a lookout for all the things she could not see happening behind her.

No.

Keep a look out. She continued humming. The once daily visits from Beatrice had become infrequent at best now that Jessica and Claire refused to speak whenever she came near. With the cemetery crawling with the living today, Jessica worried she might decide to return and stand guard over her prisoners.

What’s with the noise? Claire asked. What are you doing?

Fishing. Jessica paused in her hum for a second to answer.

What?

Rather than explain, Jessica kept humming. Claire would only have a cow anyway since she was attempting to coax someone over to borrow their body. She was not certain her idea would work, but after 94 days, the long, drawn out lecture Claire would give about the ethics of her decision could wait until after they were free.

Jess, that’s really irritating. Cut it out.

No, now keep a lookout.

Claire’s exasperated sigh hitched at the end.

What? Jessica panicked at the sound. Is it Beatrice?

It’s the Lowell’s. Their father died like a year ago.

As in Travis Lowell? Now more than ever, Jessica wished she still had her body. He had been so smitten with her in high school, drool might as well have formed in the corner of his lips whenever she was near. What a fun diversion it would have been to torture the scrawny boy with the even hotter body she had 95 days ago.

He rounded past the twisted oak and into her line of sight. She hummed harder, covering her surprise at the nicely built man passing before her with his mother and two younger brothers. She had never been this flustered over a man in uniform before, far too plain and matchy-matchy for her sophisticated tastes, but the policeman’s navy-blue getup he had on hugged in all the right places.

A teenage girl, trailing far behind the Lowell’s, texting on a cell phone at the speed of light, stopped and looked at her. Jessica gasped.

Oh, come here my little chunky. Jessica cooed at the girl as if she was convincing Marley, her skittish house cat, out from under her $4000 bed. Yes, that’s it. A little closer. A little closer.

What are you doing? Claire asked.

Jessica shushed her and kept talking to the girl. You’re almost there.

Now less than a foot away, the girl bent, lowering her gigantic face right in front of Jessica.

Pick me up my little chunky. You know you want to. Come on now. Pick me up.

Who are you talking to? Claire wanted to know, but Jessica could not answer. The young girl was reaching toward her. She held her breath, the anticipation that always came before a victory tingled through her.

It took only the slightest touch on her stuffed body to jolt Jessica’s spirit into motion. She launched out of the doll and into the girl, consuming every space until she filled the new body from head to toe.

Stumbling on foreign feet, Jessica braced herself with foreign hands on Hilde’s tombstone. Her eyes trailed over the different heights of tombstones surrounding her, searching the area.

A transparent girl hovered beside her. Her young eyes widened with shock. She reached out for the body she once wore, but something forced her up. With the white wisps her arms had become, the girl flailed, trying to swim her way back. A look of panic overtook her translucent features, but nothing she did stopped her ascent.

Aw, crap. Jessica dropped her new head into the palm of her hand. Though she knew she had spoken, the voice was no longer hers.

Jess? Jess! Claire shouted over the moaning of the other Exceptionals. What’s going on?

A cellphone, dropped in the confusion of the transformation, lay at her feet. She scooped it up and circled the tombstone. She crouched in front of Claire’s doll. Um…we have a problem.

Megan Lowell? You can hear me?