Dollhouse (ebook)

By A.V. Rogers

When Lilith Crowley dies of smallpox in 1906, her heartbroken, cultist father, Aleister, vows to resurrect his daughter's soul . . . no matter what it takes.

Steeped in black magic and a century later, Aleister has found the perfect receptacle for his lost child's soul in an unsuspecting young girl. He'll replace that girl's soul with the soul of his daughter, but he'll need help.

Summoning hell itself, and his dark god, for some of the worst fiends in history—Jack the Ripper, Clementine Barnabet, Albert Fish, and Belle Gunness—Aleister, with his other daughter, the witch Cora, place these demented souls into living dolls to do their bidding.

Now, there's just the simple matter of eliminating all those who stand in their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781365972645

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Summoning

Upstate New York, April 2019

Dressed in a purple-hooded robe, Cora looked around the maroon altar room and checked one last time to ensure everything was in its rightful place. She leaned over a small, black, iron cauldron sitting in front of her as she flipped through her spellbook.

Cora’s ritual gown tumbled over her bare feet, too long for her petite, five-foot frame. Her toes had turned cold from the chill. An assortment of herbs in translucent, glass vials lay among the yellow, red, and clear crystals. Colored wax drippings stained the surface of the altar. The white mortar and pestle were discolored from crushing herbs throughout her years of potion making.

Blue, black, and red candles of various sizes floated in midair and had cast shadows all along the floor. Their flickering light made her satin robe shimmer like a waterfall with her every movement. The blackness beyond the candlelight threatened to swallow her.

She could feel the eyes of the other watching her every move, but she had to focus.

Cora opened her grimoire, The Book of Shadows, its pages thick and heavy. Some of the handwritten words, smeared and yellowed from generations of familial usage, rested on the middle of the altar. Her ancestors had long ago filled the novel with recipes for spells, potions, and ritual chants.

As she turned the pages, the novice witch came across a portal spell.

Opening Hades’ Door

Ingredients:

White chalk—draw a door.

Blood—fresh animal, human, or your person.

Cross—anointed by a priest.

In the marginalia, someone’s handwriting read: Any type of crucifix will do—metal, wooden, plastic, etc.

Directions:

A door is drawn on a blank wall.

With chalk blessed beneath a full moon, draw the doorway large enough for the summoned demons to walk through.

Hold the blessed cross upside down in front of the chalk door.

Pour or drip blood over the cross.

Chanting:

Recite these words three times . . .

Um . . . I don’t like the sound of this. Why is this in here? Ancestors, you are scaring me. Nope, I don’t want to know. She shook her head. Nada. As the witch flipped through the pages, she read more titles—Love Potions, Commanding an Enemy’s Free Will, Immortality, Mind Control, White Protection Circle Spell, Summon Golems, Doppelgängers, and the one Cora was looking for, Summoning Spirits.

The white, five-pointed star encased within a circle waited for the last ingredient, while three red and two black candles were lit, resting on each point of the pentagram. Her hands shook for the unknown to come. Three white poppets lay on the counter, each molded around a human rib bone. She picked one up and held it in her hand. Alongside the dolls, several thigh bones, ripped from a black cat at midnight in the oldest section of the cemetery, lay on the altar next to a glossy raven’s feather.

Cora placed two of the cat femurs and a handful of dirt dug from the center of a crossroad, mixed these with some graveyard soil, and crumbled the clumps into the kettle. The dirt was the most powerful ingredient for this invocation and crucial to opening the vortex. Sandalwood, wormwood, blood root, among other herbs and items, lay within the bowl, also necessary for the ceremony to begin.

Lastly, the witch dropped an ebony rose into the pot, took her silver dagger, and sliced her palm. A warm, scarlet rivulet dripped from the cut into the cauldron. Dripping blood onto his blank face, she made a circling motion over the bleak sketch that she’d drawn of the person earlier that day.

The witch lit a match from a nearby blue candle, nestled in old drippings, forming a kaleidoscope of dried wax colors, and dropped it in the pot. She waved her hand over the cauldron’s black smoke. The vapors emerged and then disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

The first clay poppet lay centered in the star, the candle flame flickering, playing hide and seek over the poppet’s features. The witch lifted the hood of her cloak over her head and started her ritual prayer to invoke the demonic spirit, summoning the essence of the first person she needed.

I call out and summon thee, ‘the entity known to the world as Jack the Ripper,’ through the veil of time. Come to me from the other side! I offer you this poppet as a vessel for your will. Join us and follow your true path!

Cora waited, holding her breath. Nothing happened. Her blue eyes darted around the room, waiting for a sign, any hint, that the spell had been received and welcomed. She closed her eyes, stuck her hand in her pocket, and rubbed the sapphire lying within. The witch centered herself in the moment and took another deep breath.

I call out and summon thee, ‘the entity known to the world as Jack the Ripper,’—she tried again—through the veil of time. Come to me from the other side! I offer you this poppet as a vessel for your will. Join us and follow your true path!

The witch waited for several more moments, but still nothing happened. Cora frowned, turning to the only other sentient being in the room. Are you sure this will work? No one knew what he really looked like. How are we to know—

Enough! Aleister walked out from the shadows where he’d watched in the candlelit room. His ten-inch frame looked grotesque in the flickering light. Aleister stood beside a glowing candle in his black, three-piece suit, his bow tie perfectly even. He removed his fedora, which revealed his bald head, and placed it on top of his cane.

Do not question me, child. This will work, the occultist stated in his dead-calm voice, waving dismissively. Continue.

The witch kneeled and picked up the figurine of human bone and clay. She closed her eyes a moment to clear her mind of all doubts and fears, inhaling deeply through her nose. Slowly exhaling through her mouth, Cora focused all her energy into the poppet. She lay the doll down in the middle of the pentagram painted on the hardwood floor and began reciting the spell anew. Swirled, whitish-gray mist drifted from the silver-and-gold censers hung at different heights from the drop ceiling, the incenses giving off a woodsy, sweet aroma of sandalwood, benzoin, and wormwood. She opened her eyes and waited.

Nothing happened.

Again, again, growled Aleister as he paced back and forth among the lighted blocks of wax, barely missing her bare feet.

Cora took several sharp breaths and wondered how deep in the wastelands of hell, where the heat rose from the lake of fire with its orange, infernal flames that would melt mortal flesh from bones, was Jack the Ripper? Was he the right-hand man of Lucifer Morningstar, the Prince of Darkness, and he didn’t want to leave the devil’s side in favor of torturing and dissecting the other damned souls there for all eternity? She wasn’t fooling herself. Bringing their evil, demented, immortal souls from the underworld would be a challenge. Willing or not, Jack the Ripper was part of Aleister’s plan, and she must obey his command.

Cora called out for the Whitechapel murderer, chanting a third time. She held her breath, feeling the warmth rise within her, nervously peering down at Aleister, who also waited with bated breath. There was another presence in the room Cora didn’t sense. The entity lingered in the dark corner. He floated toward the altar table, observing the ingredients and the witch at an arm’s length. The Shadow Man moved across the room, hovered above, and watched the poppet transition, then it disappeared through the floor.

The flames from the squat candles shot straight up in the air. Their long, slim flames glowed brightly, trembled, and faded quickly. Thick, black smoke swirled from the floor of the altar room and entered the poppet.

The image of a being started to take shape on the doll. Brown hair sprouted from the doll’s head and covered most of his naked torso. The form of a face materialized—a broad nose, blinking, sable eyes, and a thin mustache. Wavy, chestnut hair stopped above the ears, and a dimple formed in his chin.

It mesmerized Cora. She kneeled beside Aleister, watching Jack transform from the clay poppet into a living, human doll. Her heart raced, pounding loudly in her ears, and her palms were sweaty. The witch could hardly sit still, fidgeting, waiting for the next signal from the occultist.

The newly formed, eight-inch being jumped up, shocked and confused, searching around the candlelit area, unsure whether he should run or stand his ground. As he stared wide-eyed, his mouth gaped open at the enormous form that peered down at him. She pointed down at the clothes folded neatly beside him. Jack looked down and then at his nakedness. He grabbed his trousers, holding them before his manhood as he walked in a circle, peering around the place. His eyes darted from the elderly gentleman to the giant, cloaked figure.

What is this place? Where am I? This is not my home! His baritone voice punctuated each word while jabbing his index finger into the air.

Cora couldn’t take her eyes off the living creation she’d conjured. It was fascinating watching this little man scramble about the room like a scared mouse, deciding if it would snatch the cheese from a trap or flee with its life.

Welcome, Jack, I’m Cora. This is my father, Aleister. Aleister Crowley.

Aleister stepped closer and nodded. I will answer all your questions when the others have arrived, Jack. The universe is calling us to our true path.

Jack? Who the bloody hell is Jack? Why do you keep calling me that? My name is William Bury.

That, Aleister punctuated loudly, pointing at him, is the name the world knows you by—the notorious serial killer.

William nodded with approval and pulled on the clothes Cora had pointed to earlier. "Ah, so you know who I am, do you? Yes, I can still see The White Valley headlines, the poorly written British newspaper that first used that infamous moniker to dub me ‘Jack the Ripper.’ In bold print, no less. He grabbed the lapels of his coat. That nickname would later saturate every news headline throughout London, eventually making it across the ocean. The townsfolk spoke that name in whispers, scared to go out after nightfall. Oh, how I miss my notoriety." He grinned.

Aleister looked at Cora and nodded.

Mr. Bury, I thought Jack the Ripper was British, asked the witch.

William chuckled. The bloody fools were looking for a bloody Brit the entire time. And here I was, an American.

The ripper dressed in his crisp, white shirt. He wrapped a silk cravat around his neck, tied in front, the ends tucked into buttonholes. His short, dark-blue waistcoat buttoned with one velvet-covered button and had long tails that ran down his tight-fitted, beige trousers.

Cora grabbed the next white poppet and laid it inside the star as she watched William look down at the white, five-pointed star encased within a circle. He looked up and she tilted her head so he would step out of the ring. William watched Cora crush herbs with her mortar and mechanic movements, the knife stained with her blood as it dripped from her palm into a black, cast-iron cauldron. As the witch began chanting, she glanced over at William, who looked over to notice Aleister watching him. The malicious grin Aleister Crowley gave the Whitechapel murderer should have sent chills radiating through anyone’s body, but Jack seemed unaffected, only returning an evil smile at the occultist.

Aleister and William both walked toward the circle as Cora began the next incantation.

I call out and summon thee, Belle Gunness, through the veil of time. Come to me from the other side! I offer you this poppet as a vessel for your will. Join us and follow your true path!

The next clay doll transformed into a seductive female. Yes! The witch pumped her arm. It worked much faster this time. Woo-hoo. Now focus, Cora. Focus.

William paused over her, looking down at the nude body. This person was much, much taller than him.

Belle glanced down at her nakedness and then at the clothing laying on the floor next to her. She clutched a long, red, cotton dress in front of her bare bosom. Her eyes wide, she nervously looked at the bald man with a cane and the shorter fellow standing beside him. Belle gasped as the giant laid another poppet on the star. She stumbled backward and fell. Belle lost the grip of her gown, revealing her swelling breasts, taut stomach, smooth hips, and long, sleek legs that went on forever.

Where am I? W-w-who are you? she stammered. Why am I naked? Why? What are you going to do to me? she asked, wrapping the gown around herself.

Shh, Mrs. Gunness, it’s okay, the witch spoke in a soothing whisper. Everything is going to be okay. We’re not here to hurt you.

Cora hoped she was able to calm her down when Belle spoke. This looks exactly like one of the dresses I wore when I entertained.

William stepped forward, smirking. Are you a madam or someone’s mistress? That’s a fine dress you have. What part of London do you live in? Not the East End on St. Giles Street? That was my hunting ground. I ripped apart whores like you.

That triggered an anger inside Belle. She boldly walked over to him and asked, Do I look like a streetwalker? Do you think you can kill me, little man? Her eyes bored into his.

Aleister stepped forward, hiding a grin. Ahem, he said, clearing his throat.

Cora spoke up quickly. Mr. Bury, Mrs. Gunness, please stop. He’s only joking. Tell her you were only joking, she pleaded.

I’m sorry if I ruffled your feathers, young lady. I am merely curious as to which section of London your brothel is located.

Belle stepped away from them, still clinging to her dress. I don’t live in . . . Wait, I’m in London? How did I get here? Panic rose in her voice.

No, we’re in America, Upstate New York to be exact, replied Cora.

What? The pitch in her voice became slightly higher. I live in Indiana. How did I get here? I was home, entertaining a gentleman. I need a husband. She turned and looked at Aleister.

All in good time, Mrs. Gunness. Belle, is it? For now, please understand that the universe is calling us to our true path, and we need your help. My name is Aleister Crowley. My daughter Cora is also helping me. Sorry for the inconvenience of being naked, but it is part of the summoning process. Aleister motioned with his hand, making a sweep toward his daughter, who peered down at them.

Grabbing the rest of her clothing and a pile of beads off the floor, Belle rushed into the nearest shadow. She dressed quickly, as the others waited patiently, and walked back into the candlelight. The newly formed female stood a few feet apart from the two men and remained silent, contemplating the horrific scene unfolding before her.

But there was work to do, Cora knew. This was only part of the entourage they needed. She draped her hood back over her head and began the spell again over the next crafted poppet, the chanting sounding like a sweet melody being sung to a child.

I call out and summon thee, Albert Fish, through the veil of time. Come to me from the other side! I offer you this poppet as a vessel for your will. Join us and follow your true path.

Walking closer, the lady in red watched as the clay figurine began to turn into a man. Belle gasped out loud. Cora saw Belle looking over at the other two doll men, who had noticed her stunned reaction, but they were also busy observing the transformation. Unlike Belle, their faces were frozen into an eerie grin, which caused Belle to observably shiver, shake her head, and embrace herself. The lady in red touched her face, nose, and cheekbones. Trailing a finger along her lips, lingering on the lower lip, she glanced down, wiggled her fingers, and placed her palm on her chest.

When the newly formed doll spoke, he pulled Belle out of her thoughts. He just lay there on his elbows, naked, his broad chest thick with hair, a soft belly, his one knee raised, showing a tight, muscular thigh. It quivered like a chill had gone through his body as he looked straight at the young, handsome man. Mmm . . . what a sweet morsel! I’d like to take a bite out of you, the recently developed doll mused. What can I do for you? asked the confident man with a big, cheesy smile as he wiggled his eyebrows and turned his hips toward William, giving him a full-frontal view.

The ripper gave a disgusted glare. Put your bloody clothes on.

The last conjured man doll sat up and smiled, his bushy mustache hiding his thin, upper lip. Not a care in the world. He strutted over to the men, naked, and touched William’s arm, running a finger down his coat sleeve. You look stunning in your short, velvet waistcoat. He purred. William pushed the man’s hand away and took a step back, his hands clamped tight into a fist in case he had to slug this newbie.

The bald man stepped between them. Albert, please put some clothing on. We will get to know each other better, later. Our true path is calling us. Your clothes are over here. He pointed to a neatly stacked pile.

Albert glanced at Aleister, sized him up, turned, and strutted to the indicated stack of clothing. He looked up at Belle, who was observing him. Albert gauged her to be a few inches taller than he was. He admired her as she stood there in a short-sleeved, crimson dress with just enough black lace above her chest to attract his eyes. A thin, burgundy ribbon circled around under her breasts, making her ample bosom strain against the fabric. The long, straight, elegant gown held a touch of black mesh at the bottom.

Well, hello, beautiful, he said in an oily voice. The creep smiled wider, winked, then spun around, bending over to give Belle the entire view of his hairy backside. With a smug look, he shifted, winked again, and grinned. Laughing, he swaggered toward the men. The candlelight flickered off his naked buttocks, his clothes clutched in one hand.

Belle rolled her eyes, looked up, and saw the old man’s daughter carrying another doll in her arms. Cora sat down on the hardwood floor and began rocking side to side, humming softly. She cradled it like you would a baby, stroking its hair before placing the bonnet back on. This time, she wasn’t eager to put the doll down within the circle. She held on to it, holding the doll’s hand, sitting there, illuminated by the candles. Her eyes closed, a smile was permanently stuck, and her face relaxed.

Cora seemed lost in a serene, happy memory.

This poppet was a darker color and fully clothed.

That’s odd, said William. That person isn’t naked like the rest of us. It also has her features already etched into it, not just bone and clay. He glanced at the others.

What the hell? Albert spoke to no one in particular while looking at the giant sitting on the floor and then back at the others. I would have liked my clothes on instead of waking up naked on the floor. It’s freezing in here.

The witch held the last poppet with devotion. An enormous smile spread across her gentle, kind face. Her golden-brown eyes sparkled. She caressed its head lovingly, rubbing the small hand between her thumb and forefinger. Cora’s index finger traced the doll’s facial features along the eyebrows to the high cheekbone, over to the small ear hidden underneath the white bonnet, ending below the doll’s tiny chin. This doll was an exact replica of her dearest and oldest friend.

Cora whispered. I can still remember when you first came to me.

Chapter 2

William’s Story: Extracurricular Activities

London 1800s

Albert danced a jig, elbows pumping the cool air, his feet stomping, stepping sideways. It’s so wonderful to be back. I was sitting in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison. With the supreme thrill of sitting on that hard seat, getting strapped in, and knowing the pain I would thoroughly enjoy, I climaxed with my final orgasm, dying in ecstasy. Thank you, old man, for reviving me to my younger self. I will no longer be called the Gray Man. Woo-hoo, he sang, now only partially dressed.

Belle took several steps away from the dancing fool, her brow furrowed in worry, slowly backing away from Albert.

Cora listened to the cannibal’s enthusiasm of being alive, and it made her want to throw up. Of all the evil people to choose from, why choose this man to walk among the living again, one who saw others as his own personal menu? She placed her palm on her stomach to calm the bitter distaste that resided there. Oh no, she moaned, watching the ripper walk over to her father.

William strolled over to Aleister. I understand we are no longer in our hometowns and your daughter is making another one of us. How many more will there be? Shall I get any taller? What year is this? It’s clearly not the 1800s.

Aleister watched his daughter. She will be the last living doll, and no, you will not. At least for the time being. The year is 2019.

What . . . 2019? How is this even possible. You’re kidding me, right? This is all a dream. That’s why I’m so small?

No, William. We did not have enough human remains to make each of us our former whole selves. My daughter Cora, Aleister said, motioning to her, didn’t have enough time to dig for more human bones in the light of a lantern. The pieces needed to fit into her purse so it wouldn’t raise suspicion if she was found strolling amongst the tombstones in the bright rays of the full moon. Further, with all of us being so small, we can easily hide in the shadows and move silently on the paved streets with no more sound than the scurry of rats. I am sorry if it displeases you, but we cannot make you taller at this moment.

Albert joined the men. So, you need us to collect additional human remains? When we fulfill our duties, will we grow to our natural size?

Ah, that is up to you. But you will hear the purpose of why you’ve been called back in the first place. Aleister placed his hand on William’s collarbone. The bald man squeezed his shoulder. Jack, you are an expert in collecting such parts. Later, you may gather more material.

William smiled grimly and nodded. Please, call me Jack. That name is more suitable, don’t you agree?

Returning the ripper’s smile, Aleister said, I will explain more when our last summoning has arrived. I will not repeat myself twice in this matter. But for now, introductions are necessary, since none of you ever met one another in your previous lives. Let us hear your stories and, shall we say, your unique skills? He turned to Jack. And why not hear from the infamous Jack, first?

The ripper’s smile dripped with pure malice. I should love to tell you my story.

***

Jack recalled a memory. Oh, how I could slip easily away and blend into a crowd.

"Nothing about me stood out. Average looking, shy loner most of my life. During the day, I acted the simple schoolteacher. My classroom was mostly filled with students under the age of ten. It was a small, one-room schoolhouse at the edge of town. I spent many nights washing up at the pump in the dead of night. I taught them so many wonderful things—teaching my pupils to read, helping them with arithmetic, spelling, and learning about our British history. When the older students needed to study or take a test, the youngsters played outside, or I would read to them during story time.

"My favorite subject was anatomy. I especially enjoyed the wondrous act of dissection. Late at night, when all the children were at home, safely tucked into their beds, I would be out practicing my skills. The thrill of killing and removing their internal organs, out in the open on deserted, cobblestone streets and dimly lit alleyways, became an obsession, really.

"My fantasies, on days I taught anatomy, caused such joyous excitement on occasion, I had to contain myself during class hours. I nearly got caught twice. My outbursts of giddiness from daydreaming had the students looking at me, wondering if I should be put into an insane asylum. All I wanted to do is pull up my shirt sleeves and be elbow deep into my victim’s body cavities . . . the warm, motionless bodies, the hot entrails, my blood-soaked hands. Oh, and the sublime smell of decay. All the while I taught, I often closed my eyes, and my body shivered while trapping the moans of ecstasy that radiated inside my head. I pulled out my pocket watch in anticipation. On those days, when school was almost over, I could not wait to continue my lessons for the evenings.

"I roamed the streets as the sun went down, waiting for the night to engulf London in pitch blackness. My trusty case held my tools. My favorite Liston knife, nestled firmly by my side, gave me the confidence that I would succeed. My footsteps echoed on the cobblestone alleyways, searching for those dirty, filthy wenches, always willing to spread their legs for shillings. No one would miss them. No one would care. The perfect victims.

"So, I would find one to satisfy my urge to cut, to rip, to maim, and use it to display my handiwork for all to see come the morning light, while I spirited myself away back into the country as a simple teacher. Scotland Yard never caught me killing and gutting those bitches. There was an abundance of whores who came out at night, littering the high roads with their sweaty, vulgar stench. The bobbies couldn’t keep track of them.

"There was one night when a drunk almost stumbled onto me. The inebriated fools coming out of the alehouse were almost always looking for a grand time, and they were easily swindled out of their wages. But lucky for me he was staggering and arguing with himself. He threw down his bottle of ale in a bit of rage. I had just finished my initial incision with my living autopsy of the whore’s struggling body. Blood flowered from her wound in crimson petals when I gutted her like a fish and pulled her skin back, but I didn’t have the chance to cut out or feel her warm organs. The heat of anger swelled inside of me. I ran and quickly found another whore, hanging around by herself in the alley behind The Copper Penny Pub five rows down, waiting for her next shilling to come.

"I turned her backward to face the brick wall where she eagerly pulled up her skirt. I wrapped my palms around her neck and squeezed. That damn bitch put up a good fight until I got her on her backside. The wench continued to kick and thrash, until I repositioned my hands around her ivory throat and pressed with all my might, crushing her hyoid bone.

"When the fear in her eyes drifted away and rolled backward into their sockets, I slit her throat first, hot, sticky blood showering over me. Then I stabbed her above