Caira's Journal

Journal Entry #1 8-9-2013
My name is Caira Daboni, I’m a changeling in the Autumn Court, but I wasn’t always a changeling, and my story is a long one, but I feel that it’s important, at least in order for you to really know me.

I grew up in a relatively normal home, or at least I thought so. I lived with my parents and my bratty younger brother and I went to gymnastics practice every afternoon, and had since I was very young. I was the model child, I virtually never disobeyed my parents and I had always done reasonably well in school, at least until high school. I started caring more for gymnastics than for my grades or anything else really, and my parents started to worry, they didn’t want me falling in with a bad crowd, and they wanted me to get into a good college, like all parents want for their children.

The problem was, I didn’t want to go to college, I was on my way to the Olympics, and everyone knew it. My coaches had started pushing me to do better, and I was excelling, and I was happy. The happiest I had been in a long time. My parents didn’t see that though, all they saw were my slipping grades and the fact that I was coming home late every night and sometimes skipping school. They didn’t notice that I was staying out late to practice my gymnastics and I was skipping school to put in more hours at the gym, but I don’t think they would have cared even if they had noticed. Eventually they go so worried about my grades that they demanded I quit gymnastics in order to focus on school and get into college. I refused of course, and they got mad and grounded me, from gymnastics.

I got even madder and ran away from home; I mean how could they take away the one thing in my life that was important to me? It may have been an overreaction on my part, but I didn’t care, and I’m stubborn, sometimes stupidly so. So even when I realized that I had overreacted I didn’t go home, I stayed at friend’s houses, the few I had left. I spent nights at the gym, the custodians didn’t care and as long as my coaches never found out, they couldn’t tell my parents.

Eventually though my aunt found out where I was hiding out and convinced me to at least come home with her and stay with her and her wife if I wouldn’t go home to my parents, I agreed, albeit begrudgingly. Truth be told, I was tired of sleeping on the mats at the gym and eating out of the vending machines and at soup kitchens. She promised not to tell my parents, but I guess she must have let it slip to my mom since a few days after I started staying with my aunts she came around for dinner and begged me to come home. But I couldn’t do it, no matter how much I missed my parents and my bed and my home, I couldn’t go home. I’m too stubborn and I knew that things would just go back to how they were before, and after I had a taste of freedom, I couldn’t do it.

After a while of living with my aunts, I guess they got tired of me kind of mooching off of them, or my parents convinced them that I had to “grow-up” and go to college and they said that I had to start focusing on college applications and scholarship applications, but I still didn’t want to go to college so I managed to get a full time job in retail and an apartment I could afford and still budget out money for food. I couldn’t afford my membership at the gym but the owner said I could stay around if I stayed late and cleaned the mats and mopped the floors on weekends so I agreed. It was on one of those late nights coming home exhausted from the gym that everything changed for the worse.

Journal Entry #2 8-12-2013

It was about 10 pm on Friday, June 14, 2005 and I was nineteen years old when everything changed and everything I thought I knew about the world was turned upside down.

I was walking home as I often did since I didn’t live that far from my apartment I enjoyed the walks at night. It was quiet, peaceful. It was one of the main reasons I had fallen in love with small towns, they closed up and went to sleep early and I felt safe walking a few blocks alone and night since no one else was out, and besides, I was strong and I could run fast, I didn’t need pepper spray or any other deterrent for would-be attackers, I could punch or kick them hard enough to make them fall to their knees and then run to safety before they even knew what hit them, literally. But this night was different, I was jumped by someone, I never saw them, and they were strong, inhumanly strong. I still don’t know how many of them there were, but there had to be more than one, I’m sure I could have taken them if there had been only one. I was knocked out by a blow to the head and I woke up later in a dark, cold room.

When I came to a few hours later, I was in a rather large, dark room, and also really cold. I sat up and realized I was laying on a bed, a really creepy looking bed, like one of those hospital beds you see in old movies about insane asylums. You know the ones, the ones with the thin mattress and the metal bed frame. At least I wasn’t strapped to it though, maybe if I behaved I wouldn’t get strapped to it. HA, like I was going to behave for the people who just kidnapped me. Anyway, when I sat up and looked around the room, I couldn’t see much, but I did see a figure walking around my bed and looking at me, or at least I think it was looking at me, I couldn’t tell behind the creepy, porcelain mask it was wearing. I shivered, but not because I was cold, and followed the figure’s slow, calculated walk around my bed.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The voice that emanated from behind the mask was undeniably male, despite being unnaturally high. “Now we can get to work.”

My immediate thought was, “oh great, I’ve been kidnapped by The Joker from Batman.” Even though I knew it couldn’t be true, I couldn’t get the thought of this man having that wide, blood-red grin spreading from ear to ear behind that eerily emotionless mask. Even though I had to force myself not to shake with fear, I was determined not to let this strange man see my fear. “What do you mean ‘work’?” I asked him in a defiant tone.

“Why dearie, you are going to work for me. And might I say, you are quite an extraordinary specimen.”

Ok this guy is officially creeping me out, and pissing me off, “specimen? Who the hell are you?” I stood up angrily and started toward him, no longer afraid, but definitely angry.

“I’m sorry dearie, I didn’t introduce myself; I’m the Porcelain Dollmaker.” He bows so low I’m certain that his mask is going to fall off and reveal the macabre grin I’m certain is hidden beneath it. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I can’t decide which, it stays firmly in place and as he straightens up he takes my hand and places it to his motionless lips.

I pull my hand back hurriedly and I take a step back instinctually to get away from him. I narrow my eyes at him, “what do you want with me?”

He chuckles, a horrifying sound that I hope I never have to hear again. “All in good time dearie, all in good time.”

Journal Entry #3 8-16-2013

I was terrified of the Dollmaker, I’m still terrified of him. I didn’t know what he was planning on doing to me, all I did know was that I was cold, and alone, and never in my life have I ever wanted to be back at home with my family.

He left me here in this metal frame bed in the middle of this cold, grey room for Lord only knows how long. There aren’t any windows in this room so I have no reference for day or night or reference for time. I think he’s trying to break me, but I will not giving him that satisfaction. It’s going to take a lot more than leaving me alone, and cold, in this room to break me.

One day, I hear the unmistakable jingle of keys at the lock. I quickly sit up and straighten my back to appear less broken and dejected than I actually feel. I cringe internally when I see the Porcelain Dollmaker walk in slowly and close the door behind him.

“Good morning dearie. Have you been sleeping well?” Despite the never changing mask her wears, I can’t help but imagine he’s giving me a sickening grin.

“What do you want?” I glare up at him from my position sitting cross legged on my small bed.

“Why, dearie, you haven’t figured it out yet?” He walks forward slowly until he’s standing at the foot of my bed with his hands clasped behind his back.

“How could I? It’s not like you’ve given me much to work with stuck in this room.” I uncross my legs and narrow my eyes even more.

“You’re my new pet, and you’re going to be a rather useful one at that.”

I can’t take it anymore, I stand up angrily and take a few steps toward him until I am right up in his face, “pet!? You think I’m going to be your pet? I think you’re some crazy man who wears a mask and keeps young girls locked up in this room until they go as crazy as you are. Heard of Stockholm’s syndrome? Yeah, that’s what you’re trying to do me and any other young girls you’ve kidnapped.”

“ENOUGH!” He bellows at me and I can tell I’ve made him mad, but who actually cares? He kidnapped me and kept me in this room for an indeterminate amount of time, if anyone has the right to be angry it’s me.

“No, you have no right to keep me here, what you’re doing is illegal and wrong and I won’t stand for it.”

I pull my hand back to slap him, but I am stopped suddenly. I realize his hand is on my arm and he’s gripping my arm with near bone-crushing force. “I said enough, dearie.” I can hear that he’s speaking through clenched teeth, clearly trying to control his anger. “Now, the only reason I don’t break your arm and teach you a lesson is because I need you physically unharmed. Hopefully this will be a lesson to you in knowing your place.” He suddenly releases my arm and I pull it back to me and I rub it while staring at him with a horrified expression.

He takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s steadying himself, “Now, dearie, we need to move you through to the hedge.”

“Th-the hedge?” I look at him, still horrified at his violent outburst.

“Yes dearie, I can’t perform the transformation until we are back home. And I need you there to perform for me. Now, if you promise to behave for me, this will go a lot smoother for you, and in turn, me.”

I nod hesitantly, not truly terrified of this strange man named the Porcelain Dollmaker.

Journal Entry #4 8-25-13

My transition through the hedge was painful. And I mean painful. I had never experienced anything so painful in my life, and I was a gymnast, so I know pain and I know injury. I was dragged out of my room at dawn the next day and shoved into the back of a car. I couldn’t tell where we were going, but I knew when we got there. It felt like part of my very soul was being ripped out of my body, I screamed and cried and writhed in the back of the car. After a while the pain subsided and I could hear the Dollmaker chuckling in the front seat, like he enjoyed listening to my pain. I sit up straighter and wipe the tears from my eyes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain any longer.

When I sat up I realized that we weren’t actually in a car but in a horse drawn carriage. The horses had glowing eyes and ran far faster than any normal horse possibly could. I must look confused or frightened because the Dollmaker just chuckles again.

Suddenly we pull into a clearing and the carriage stops and I’m pulled down onto a cobblestone path. I stand on shaky legs and look up and see what can only be described as a giant dollhouse. It’s this huge Victorian style house painted grey with snow white trim. If the sky weren’t grey and all the windows dark I would say the house is almost quaint, but it just looks haunted and I suppress a shiver and fold my arms over my chest. I’m prodded in the back and I begin to walk up the walkway and up the stairs toward the creepy house, even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me to run I resist the urge because Lord only knows that terrors will befall me if I decide to run. And besides, I have no idea where I am.

“Take her up to her room.” The Porcelain Dollmaker waves his hand dismissively and starts to walk away. “We’ll start her transformations tomorrow morning.”

I plant my feet and fight against the goon pulling at my arm. “Wait a minute Dollmaker. Where are we? And what transformations?”

He stops and rubs his forehead like he’s tired and I give him a migraine, “why dearie, we are in my house of course. And you’ll find out about your transformations in the morning, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” He stares at me with his unmoving face and I suppress another shudder.

“I figured this is your house, and that’s not what I meant by ‘where are we,’ and you know it.” I glare at him until he answers my question.

“Fine, if you want specifics, we are in Arcadia. Now no more questions, and if you behave yourself, we’ll feed you tonight. And trust me; you’re going to want your strength for tomorrow morning.”

I visualize a macabre grin under his creepy mask and turn to follow his goon up the stairs where I’m lead to a sickeningly pink room with a wardrobe on one side and a bed and a desk on the other side. I turn when I hear the click of a lock at the door and I scowl before I head over to the desk to look through it. I pull open a drawer to find it full of loose, blank paper and a few pens. At least I’ll have something to document my time here before I lose my mind, I think to myself before turning to the bed and kicking off my shoes before climbing under the blankets thinking how creepy this whole situation is as I drift off to sleep.

Journal Entry #5 8-26-13

I groan and roll over onto my back wondering why I’m sore all over. I sit up suddenly when I remember where I am and look around at the pink room and grimace. The walls are pink and white striped with a white trim at the top and bottom. I feel like I walked into a ‘50s ice cream parlor that’s been turned into a bedroom. My bed is in the middle of the room and is a huge four poster with sheets and a comforter that matches the walls.

I furrow my brow as I start to piece together the events of the previous night when suddenly my stomach growls and I remember that I fell asleep before they brought me food like they said they would. I look at the door and there’s a flap, almost like a doggy door, but smaller so I can’t try to squeeze out of it, and there’s a tray with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread on it. I climb out of bed and pick up the tray and take it over to the desk. I look down at it and grimace, there’s a layer of congealed grease on the top of the soup, but I’m so hungry that I don’t really care. I scrape the grease off of the top and take a bite of the soup, it’s cold, but other than that, it’s not too bad. I try to take a bite of the bread, but since it’s been sitting out all night it’s more like hard tack than bread, so I set it aside and finish the soup. When I finish I slide it back under the door. If I’m going to be trapped here, I might as well play by their rules and try to make it easier for myself.

I walk over to the wardrobe and open it. I don’t know if they already had clothes in here for me when I got here since I didn’t take the time to look last night or if they brought some while I was sleeping. All of the clothing is pink and frilly and far too girly for me. I don’t know who they were expecting, but they are going to be sorely disappointed when they find out who I really am. I rifle through the wardrobe and try to find the least girly thing in there. I finally find a plain pink tank top and some khaki colored Bermuda shorts. Since I hate the outfit already there’s nothing to be damaged by slipping on my old, ratty tennis shoes.

After I get dressed I climb back up onto the bed and curl up as I lean against the headboard, wishing I had some hot coffee or tea. I run my fingers through my hair and try to comb the knots out before putting it up into a high ponytail.

Suddenly I hear a key in the lock and I sit up, alert. One of the Dollmaker’s goons walks in.

“The Porcelain Dollmaker requests your presence in the sitting room.” He turns and leaves, leaving the door open, clearly a sign for me to follow him. I get up off the bed and quickly follow him out of the room even though I’m terrified of what will happen, I’m even more terrified of what he’s capable of if I don’t do what he asks.

Walking into that room is one of the most nerve-wracking things I have ever had to do, and I was on the Olympic track for gymnastics. All I knew is that he mentioned some kind of transformation and I didn’t know what that meant. I was terrified that I was never going to see my family again, and I had never apologized for running away and moving out on my own. I’ve barely spoken to my family since then, and that was nearly 2 years ago. But being the stubborn person that I am, I took a deep breath and walked into the room where the Dollmaker was calmly sitting by the fireplace, clearly waiting for me.

“Good morning dearie, how did you find your accommodations?” He asked with his eerily calm masked face, though his voice betrayed a smile.

“Rather pink and frilly.” I replied through gritted teeth.

“I know, isn’t it lovely? I do hope you enjoy your stay here, especially since you will be here for quite some time.”

“Lovely isn’t quite the word I would choose.” I crossed my arms over my chest, “what exactly am I doing here? Why did you want me?”

“Why to perform of course—“

“Perform? What makes you think I’d ever perform for you?”

“Because you have to dearie. You are a natural performer and I think you’d be quite a nice addition to my collection.” He stands and takes a few steps toward me, “now, I think it’s time for your transformations, we need to make you perfect.”

All I can think is that he’s completely off his rocker and he’s some deranged old man with some horrific disfiguration on his face and he’s obsessed with playing dress up with younger women. It’s a bit like Phantom of the Opera if you ask me, and I do not want to be a part of that disturbing story. As I follow him down the hallway and toward a flight of stairs I’m scanning the rooms for any chance of escape.

I don’t see anyone else around except him and myself so I quietly turn around and start to creep away, hoping against hope that I can make it to the front door before he notices I’m gone. I know that I’m quiet; I’ve always been able to sneak like a cat that’s stalking its prey. I’m almost to the front entryway when suddenly he’s right in front of me.

“Now, now dearie, don’t you trust me?” His voice is tense, like he’s trying to hold in his temper, “it won’t do to have you trying to escape so early in our partnership.” He leans down so he’s eye to eye with me and I can almost see his eyes behind the dark shadows created by his mask, “and trust me, you’ll fare much better in here than you ever will out there.” Despite the intentionally friendly tone he uses, I can tell it’s a threat and possibly a deadly one and I shudder and nod and begin to follow him again.

As we descend the stairs into what must be the basement I start to panic again and try to take deep calming breaths. This whole situation screams horror story, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. If I try to escape again, lord only knows what he’ll do to me, and I get the feeling that what he was already planning isn’t going to be pleasant.

“Sit there please.” He gestures vaguely toward an old doctor’s examination table; the only difference is that there are leather straps at the top and bottom of it. I comply, but try to sit in the middle, as far away from both pairs of straps as possible.

“Now, your little stunt upstairs confirmed my suspicions that you’d make an excellent cat of some sort, now what kind…” He walks to the other side of the room where I see a shelf with things that look vaguely look like cloaks, I don’t know what they are, and I can’t hear what he’s saying anymore since he seems to be muttering to himself. I start to shake in fear when he finally decides on something and brings over a jet black cloak.

“I wish I could say that this won’t be painful, but because of your little escape attempt, I cannot make that promise.” I imagine him smirking underneath his mask as he gestures for me lie down on the table.

Trying to suppress my shaking I do as he asks and he straps me to the examination table. My thoughts go back to my family and I wonder if I’ll ever see them again, or if I’ll ever see anyone or any place other than this house and the people in it and I start to cry despite the fact that the last thing I want is to give him the pleasure of seeing me in pain of any kind.

He lays the cloak over me and I close my eyes so I can’t see what he’s doing. Suddenly there are sharp, almost needle like pricks all over my body. I furrow my brow and I try to ignore it, but then the pricks get painful, like intensely painful, like he’s sewing the cloak to me, but somehow deeper than just to my skin, like the cloak is being knit into my very being, almost like it’s taking up the empty space that was torn away from me when we travelled through the hedge. I scream and writhe, pulling against the restraints holding me to the table, my screams turn into an animal sounding yowling. I feel my body change, and I don’t feel the straps on my wrists and ankles anymore, maybe he released me from the restraints? I curl up on myself and feel myself roll over and off of the table and I land on all four feet. Wait, four feet? Since when do I have four feet? I open my eyes and look down, I see two huge black paws right under my nose and I look back and see two more huge black paws and a long black tail flicking back and forth behind me. I’m a cat? A large cat? What am I? What has he done to me? I try to voice my questions, but all that comes out is yowling and growls. I look up and look for the Dollmaker and see him against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, clearly pleased with himself. I growl at him and I feel my body coil, preparing to pounce at him.

“Ah, ah, ah, we can’t have that dearie.” He turns back toward the shelf and picks up a syringe and walks calmly toward me. Seeing him so calm, even though I’m clearly some sort of predatory animal throws me off and though I don’t relax, I don’t pounce either, I watch him carefully as he approaches me with the syringe. He calmly but quickly, too quick for me to properly respond, grabs the fur around the back of my neck and I feel myself go slightly limp against my will. I feel a slight pinch as he inserts the needle and then he releases me. A few moments later I feel myself get sleepy and I lay down to keep from falling down. I hear him chuckle as I drift off.

I wake up back in my bedroom and I have two feet and two hands again. I sit up and groan feeling a pounding headache, as I place my hand to my forehead I see a large glass of water and a small cup next to it sitting on my desk. I wonder who was in my room and why they didn’t leave the water on a tray by the door like how my meals have been left. I stand and walk over to my desk and see two Excedrin in the cup, whoever left them must have known I’d have a headache when I woke up. Maybe it was the Dollmaker? No, that’s ridiculous, why would he inflict so much pain and then give me painkillers? It doesn’t make sense. I take them anyway despite the fact that they could be more drugs to make me complacent. At this point I don’t care as long as they make this pounding in my head go away. I slip into a simple white nightgown, the only kind of sleep clothes left for me, and slip back into bed because despite that I’ve just woken up, I feel like I could sleep for a week. As I drift off I’m left wondering if everything that’s happened was a dream or not.