The Broken Dollhouse

By Sofia Ekebom

Micayla saw something terrifying in her distant past, and it has never let its grip on her mind loosen.


Odd things begin to happen, like her son inexplicably disappearing.

She needs answers, and fast.
Perhaps the ancient, previously disbelieved woman might hold the keys to some of Micayla's questions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coscimonia
• Release date: Oct 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9789526502052

Book preview

Prologue

It is just another night that I can’t fall asleep. I keep twisting in bed, more restless than usual. Something is wrong, and I can’t explain what it is. I hear auntie Frida organize things in the house, and I hear her draw the curtains, and she approaches my room with her usual light footsteps.

It is not long ago I turned five. On top of my toy shelf, there is a picture of me smiling, teeth glistening. It was when I turned five. I sit in the living room, with my brand—new dollhouse in front of me.

Every night before bedtime, I sit or lay down in my bed, admiring that very doll house, the most amazing one that I have

ever seen. I think it is uncle Rufus who made it over the last couple of months, completely devoted himself to it during his free time. The house is a miniature version of a house that I had never seen before, but it reminded me a little bit of this house, my new home. I was still not completely used to it.

My only cousin, Phoebe, is sleeping in her room. She is the same age as me, but she sleeps in a different room. Jim, my brother, is long asleep. I haven’t seen my mom in a long while.

She seemed not to be herself when dad said she would be gone for a little while, and then he dropped us off at my uncle and auntie’s house. I don’t really know how long I have been here for. I was excited to be with Phoebe every day, but I have been missing mom a lot.

It makes me nervous to not know where mom is. Will she come pick me up, and Jim? Where is dad? I don’t think I have seen him for a week, and I cry easily when they are not around. I love auntie and uncle, but they are not mommie and daddy. I wonder if dad stopped loving me and Jim when mom changed herself? Was this my fault, what did I and Jim do? Jim is just a year old, and barely speaks. I feel like such a naughty girl, and that’s why I try my best to help out auntie Frida whenever I can. She praises me nearly every day, but it is not mommy who does that.

I am almost asleep when auntie comes to my bedside and kisses me on the cheek. Uncle Rufus is not in the room with her. He usually is.

—  Rufus had to go for some last-minute thing into town, he said. He will soon be back.

—  Will he be here when I wake up?

—  Yes, I think so, honey.

She tucks me in tighter, and makes sure the window is shut, the blinds of the windows down, and the curtains drawn. Even she takes a moment to admire the doll house Rufus had made, and just as she is about to slip out of the room, she backs back into the room. Maybe she forgot something, I think.

But when I hear the animalistic scream, I sit up with a jolt. I sit frozen, witnessing not only Frida’s unspeakable agony and pain, but also my doll house getting smashed. The doll house that I love so much. I do not see who the person is, but it looks like a man.

The rest of the house is awake now too, of course. I sit frozen in shock. After a ‌moment, I hear Jim crying, and so does Phoebe. I cannot cry, all my air is gone from me. I can barely even breathe. My head is frantic. Where is mommie, daddy, uncle Rufus? I cling tightly to a teddy bear. It is too dark to know who it is, but I need something familiar to hold on to, cling to. It is dark everywhere, and my body begins to shake uncontrollably.

Part I

Chapter 1

When I was a young girl, I used to fear the dark. Now it surrounds me like a blanket and soothes me. What I cannot see, I cannot be terrified of.  A long, long time ago, something happened that I have never talked about.  It was still those days others describe as those sunny, carefree childhood days so many adults look back to, and longing to be taken back, even just for one day. Or even an hour. It was like that for me, too. Until only after my sixth birthday. Each night, I still have the same occurring dream.

I am certain that it is a flashback, but I haven’t yet told a single soul about it. Each night, this vivid dream comes back to haunt me. As if I am in a mental prison, the dream seeking to murder me.  I am very used to this, however scary this might sound to you, I know. This dream is only having slight varieties in it, but the key message is always the same. 

Sometimes, it plays in front of my closed eyes, that can’t see, but yet plays the same message over, and over, and over again.  Either it is in color, or it is in black and white. Most often, it is black and white, only. It is impossible to explain, because I can’t think of any reason. Isn’t the brain an interesting mystery, right?

I wake up to the sound of the most terrifying scream. I sit up with a jolt, pushing my duvet closer to my mouth. I press it so hard to my mouth that I´m muffled, and can't make a sound. I can barely breathe through my nose. A slender shadow has his back against me, as if he is hugging someone from behind. Almost like a ninja, he moves across the floor, escaping through the floor. It was impossible to tell who the person was, and all I can see is something pouring out of my aunt’s mouth.

I didn’t realize the whole horror back then, how my paternal aunt threw up blood in my room. I was a big girl then and thought I would be left alone to sleep. I have no clue what the time was. Did she attempt to wake me up, but faced a horrifying end?

The sound of the crashing of the doll house hadn’t even awoken me. I broke it. I was too shocked to express, or even feel, any emotion. I was a balloon, filled with vacuum, neither deflating nor exploding.  I have no clue where the doll house could be.  Is it still left in the house, or was it repaired, given or sold to a stranger?

I still don’t know. This very dream, or memory, I rarely get awakened by anymore. In the beginning, I was. I cannot tell anyone about it.  I can only imagine, with the surrounding people, how they would react. I saw nothing; I was asleep, I can’t remember anything about it. If they are trying to protect me, they are doing a terrible job. I have little option but to play along with their stupid game. 

It was just another day. Saturday, but I didn’t feel like it was a Saturday. I had just been laid off from work, and the risk was hovering over me to lose my job. I rubbed my eyes, the sunlight too strong for my awakened body. Through the door I heard footsteps. My son, Felix, was coming through the door, his light footsteps leading to my bed.

I was a single mother, and had been for a while now. My husband had accidently drowned when he was out on a fishing trip, all alone. The current was too strong. He had no chance. This was not a long time ago at all, a few weeks ago. Felix had run when he left, never returning home. Little did we know.

Felix had just turned seventeen months old now, this sunny day in July. My impulses told me to stay in bed just a little longer, but I knew I had to get up. 

—  Mommy. I´m hungry, Felix said.

Wasn’t it for Felix to wake up every day for, I wouldn’t know why I’d keep on living every day, day after consecutive day. Sometimes all I wanted was to die, only, and be revived the next day. An easy break from living. now that speaking, it was very rough for me and my little lad, but we were making the ends meet.

Or, well, I did. His only job was to be nice and cute. When I had first met Eric, I had expected us to have two or three children together, and he dreamed of four.  I was cursing the image of having that many children, and after a somewhat difficult delivery of bringing Felix into the world, I would have refused to have over two of them. 

Felix was such a surprise, being born with green eyes. I could not understand how it was possible. At the doctor’s office, she explained to me it is rare, but possible to have a green-eyed child, since Eric and I had blue eyes. I was blown away.

Men are men, right?  They don’t always understand, and if they do, they’re truly something special. I told myself while I was pouring milk in his tiny bowl of cereal. I let it stand a little, to make sure it was a little mushy. I made Felix a marvelous man, attentive to all kinds of people. That was the utopian way of thinking, and he would have his male hormones coming in a decade.

I had never even thought of being a widow this soon, and besides, I had always imagined Eric to outlive me. Through the family history I've been told about, even the longest living one hadn’t survived for longer than in his seventies.  I did not know if it was bad genes, unpleasant living habits, or both of them. Or poor luck.

No wonder I still felt like there’s a black curse hovering over my life. like a constant cloud that would never fade. Was it a curse among the women, or were men affected? I could not remember.

I lifted my gaze to the opposite wall, observing a little stain that wasn’t ingrained, but not fresh either. I looked at it more and thought it was only a juice stain. To my relief, it was easy to clean off. I had the urge to scold Felix, but I kept my feelings intact. Inside, locked inside my body. There’s no way to punish such a small child who doesn’t understand.

—  Mommy, wanna play.

—  First, have your breakfast. Then we'll go out, I said to him, while gazing out the window, I said it, but decisively.

I felt aloof and guilty. Did I care enough for Felix? Was he going to be taken away by the child protection services?

—  Where is dada?

I turned my head. Was this only to invoke a reaction in me, or did he mean it?

—  Dad is in heaven. He's safe and happy, but he can’t reach out to you. Daddy loves you very much.

It didn’t help much. Felix wept, and I let him on my lap.

—  You’re a big boy. You have mommy by your side.

—  Want daddy! Daddy, daddy!

I was helpless, and I started crying. A weekend, a day off, but not from motherhood. I thought I was just about to have a breakdown, albeit not as dramatic as Felix’s.

I could tell that he was frightened, and I wanted to tell him he shouldn’t be, but I didn’t want to belittle his emotions. Hadn’t it already been enough with that with my jealous sister, who had had three miscarriages, and on the edge of giving up? She was fighting demons that I could not help her cope with.  I took Felix by the hand and let him out to the porch in the backyard. His favorite wooden horse was waiting by the corner of the wooden fence surrounding the little terrace. I was smiling at him, but inside, I was tearing apart. Would I ever be able to give him a younger sibling? Maybe we’ll just be flowing along the way we are.

I never told Eric about the secret child that I had aborted a few years ago. I didn’t want to lose him, and he never got to know. Maybe it was for the best.  I´m still not sure if Felix will ever know. I´m undecided, as usual these days. Nothing I could do to bring Eric back, and the funeral is way past now. Felix was not there. It’s not a place for such a young child as Felix, I try to convince myself. Not that he would remember as he grows older.

Everything had changed after aunt Frida died. I attempted to talk about it to my father, after my mother had disappeared from the family in a bout of psychosis after giving birth to my four—year younger brother, Jim. Dad wasn’t too convinced, but did not brush me off completely, saying I should see a medical professional who would understand my brain better than he would.

Everything was said and done, and the car drive to the first appointment was greeted by nature’s fury, or so I thought. It was thunder and lightning almost all the way, even though it was almost an hour’s drive away. He didn’t settle for the local team, and I did not know why. I still didn’t, but maybe it doesn’t matter. 

I remember that I looked out the car window, feeling insecure about talking about the memory with someone I had never met. I sometimes liked to talk to strangers, but I wouldn’t have opened up freely, not even at such a young age.

This particular car ride is one of my most vivid childhood memories. Dad mumbled along to the sad ballad being played, the rain pouring as if we were in the midst of a catastrophe. That’s how the immature mind of mine thought. It had been forecasted to be heavier