Return To Sender

The funeral was short. I had never been to one before, but it was only an hour and felt thoroughly inappropriate. Reggae music played gently in the background and the other members of the “Bowling Stones” all looked as uncomfortable as I did. Sad as the situation was, this was not a day to wear a thin shirt, especially once the rain started.

“Mr.Crossdale? You’re Jarvis’ friend, right?”

The woman in front of me was one of those wonderful sorts that could be any age between fifty and eighty- some people aged with grace, but she had aged with style.

“I’m Scarlett, Jarvis’ sister. I don’t suppose he… ever…”

She looked like she was trying to find the right words.

“Jarvis had a gift. He could sense the properties of an object, like a type of psychic power I suppose. I don’t imagine he ever-?”

“Several times. To be honest Scarlett I thought it was all a parlor trick until recently. You see, he- just before he died-“

Now I was struggling with what to say. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued.

“I handed him a parcel, and he collapsed immediately afterwards. You don’t think I killed him, did you?”

A wave of differing emotions danced across her eyes. For a second it seemed as though I was going to get a slap, but then that blazing anger turned to sadness.

“No… no. I don’t think it was your fault Mr.Westhouse. I’ve been looking through his diaries, to learn more about how his powers worked and I think I’m starting to understand all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you a call when I know everything. Oh, and Mr. Crossdale?”

“Yes?”

“That parcel, if you still have it… don’t open it.”

When I got home everything was deadly silent. Opening my front door seemed to take an eternity, and when I did I instantly regretted doing so.

On the floor was Pinkie, standing in the middle of a pool of blood shaped into a heart,

and a handful of feathers.

“Gee, that was fun!” she squealed.

I had been feeling more stressed than ever up to this point, but it was this that made me snap. I didn't know whether the doll was evil, or even alive somehow, but I could taken no more. My anger needed a release, and I directed it all at the plush toy.

In my madness I grabbed her by the throat and squeezed hard. She was just a doll, a bit of fluff and stuffing, but the act was cathartic regardless. I wanted her to suffer, like Jarvis had suffered, like Grump had suffered. I had no idea how she was responsible for their deaths, but she had brought nothing but ruin into my life.I threw her across the room, barely even noticing Grump’s body in the kitchen sink as I tore the damn doll to pieces. For some reason however, I felt the deepest sadness I had ever experienced as I laid into the thing, and realized I couldn’t destroy it.

Nor could I throw her away, I realized that now. She was a curse, and she would keep coming back. I decided that, perhaps if I could find the sender I could send her back. Maybe then the insanity would be over.

I found the support hotline for the doll and, after waiting for 45 minutes, received a response.

“Hello, Hasbro support hotline, how may I help you?”

“Hi, I’ve been sent a product of yours by accident and would like to return it.”

“What is the name of the product?”

“It just says “Pinkie Pie”. It’s a doll.”

“Oh, oh my God.”

“What?”

“I am so, so sorry.”

*click*

What the hell just happened?

I tried to redial the number, but the response sent a shiver down my spine.

“The number you have dialed has not been recognized.”

“You don’t remember, do you?” Pinkie said suddenly. Her voice sounded sad, completely unlike before. In fact, it wasn't her voice at all.

It was Alice's.