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“About that foot pedal you asked for, Miss Margatroid.”
“Yes?” Alice glanced over her shoulder, looking at the proprietor of the store she was currently perusing. One Rinnosuke Morichika sat stiffly at his counter . He had been harrumphing loudly for the last minute trying to get her attention and could be harrumphing for another eternity for all Alice cared. Alice was still thumbing through an assortment of magazines, now and then she let her index run over glossy covers.
The collection had no rhyme or reason, just whatever had stranded in their little sealed off pocket of the world called Gensokyo from outside. From their worn down covers random faces smiled at Alice, pearly whites and too smooth faces, people that looked more like dolls than Alice’s dolls did. Many of the pages were wrinkled from water damage and yet, Mr Morichika still asked for what had to be a day’s wage in the human village for a single issue. The magazines in better condition were proudly displayed, shrink wrapped, priceless examples, with titles such as 'National Geographics', 'Men’s digest', 'The Modern Woman'.
The problem with Mr Morichika’s store, the Korindou, and with Mr Morichika himself was that he hoarded everything regardless of value. Like a dragon who throned on a pile of gold, but also worthless trash, knick-knacks and broken things, Mr Morichika sat in his store of wares, unable to let go of anything, treasuring garbage the same as truly valuable items. His merchandise, crammed into a little wooden house just outside the forest of magic, barely fit its shelves, and was sorted in ways Alice did not understand, if it was sorted at all. The Korindou offered anything you could think of for sale, if you could afford the prices. Mr Morichika tended to overprice everything, until people could not afford buying any of his dubious treasures. This made haggling with the man such a pain that Alice rarely ever visited his store. Finding anything useful was a miracle itself, and haggling with Mr Morichika was just not worth it most of the time.
In a way his store was not so different than the infamous Kirisame Magic Shop, a shop hidden away in the depths of the forest of magic, that was only ever an excuse to hoard items, though Mr Morichika at least pretended to be interested in selling some of his wares and from time to time actually managed to make some money. But, as it were, if you were looking to buy magic items or merchandise from the outside world the Korindou was your best bet. How Mr Morichika, who rarely left his store, gathered these curiosities was a mystery, but Alice had her suspicions.
“Miss Margatroid,” Mr Morichika said again, clearing his throat several times.
“I am listening,” Alice said while looking through the last stack of magazines. Sometimes, if you were lucky, among all the dubious magazines, some of them graced with less than properly dressed women on the cover, you could find a useful journal or two. That actual, legitimate, magical academic journals from the outside world got mixed up in these, sometimes between issues of things like 'Street Magician’s monthly', would bother Alice if it hadn’t meant that Mr Morichika had no idea how valuable they really were, which in turn meant they were much cheaper.
Mr Morichika cleared his throat again. “Do you have a cold, Mr. Morichika?” Alice asked. She rolled her eyes before turning around to face him. “This winter is very harsh, you would do well to be careful Mr. Morichika, people like you fall ill so easily.” People like Mr. Morichika, were in fact just Mr. Morichika, as far as Alice knew. People were categorised in very binary terms, either one was a human, or you were a youkai, a term broad and useless for many purposes. A demon and a ghost were two very different things after all, but then again it probably did not matter to a human whether they got eaten by a vampire or a magician like Alice. Not that Alice ate people, she found the practice distasteful.
Mr. Morichika was another proof against such binary categorization, half-human, half-youkai, even though Alice had no idea exactly what half-youkai was supposed to mean in his case. He was neither one or the other and therefore seemed to be stuck outside each community, living alone in his store. Though he didn’t age, being only half-youkai Mr. Morichika still had to eat, albeit less, and still got sick now and again, at least from what Alice had heard. He also didn’t seem to be very powerful, in fact, or so Alice had heard, and it would do him good to not bother Alice too much.
“About the foot pedal,” he said and then paused.
“Yes, the foot pedal?” Alice replied, not quite patiently.
This winter Alice’s sewing machine had broken down. And as timing went, this had to be the worst time it could have happened, as winter was the one time her usual source for outside goods was, well hibernating, but Alice was doubtful that Yukari Yakumo really just slept through all of winter. On the other hand, somehow Alice could imagine it too well. In either case Yukari was unavailable, which meant Alice had to look for alternatives. Not that Alice particularly enjoyed dealing with Yukari, but like many youkai Alice had a sort of agreement with her. She was regularly given the tools and things she wanted, which included amenities such as good tea leaves, materials for her magic, or even some money for the human village if she felt like it. Another thing Yukari supplied was any food she craved and was unable to get from the humans, which in her case meant black pudding and the like while for some other youkai it meant a human itself.
Per the rules youkai were forbidden from eating the humans of the village, with a few exceptions which had been relayed to her as “if the human does something really stupid and reckless” and it was never really made clear what “really stupid and reckless” actually contained, but generally the humans of the village were off the table. Which was a problem for those that Alice liked to euphemistically describe as obligate carnivores, so to keep the peace Yukari herself seemed to supply those who could not go without and nobody asked too many questions how and where she got them.
Alice did not remember formally ever agreeing to such rules, but as long as Yukari supplied their every whim it would be stupid to stir up problems. It was a pretty good system for them, all things considered. That was unless you ended up needing something awfully specific in the middle of winter from the outside world.
“I have not been able to locate a suitable replacement for the pedal,” he explained. He added a quick, “I am sorry Miss Margatroid,” which didn’t sound sorry at all.
“I see,” Alice said. She had suspected as much. Sewing machines, good sewing machines that is, were more than just the sum of its parts, each a little different and the parts often incompatible with one another. It had been a long shot, finding a fitting pedal, or a machine she could strip for parts that would work with her machine.
“Have you tried asking the kappa? They could probably make one,” Mr. Morichika suggested and Alice could not suppress the grimace that spread across her face. She had thought about it, of course, the kappas’ engineering feats were known far and wide, they liked to advertise after all. Alice was not sure why mythical river creatures were interested in engineering, but everyone had to find their niche somehow, and engineering was a valuable skill she supposed. They would definitely find a way to fix her pedal, or make a new one. She would have to watch closely to prevent one of them from installing pointless modifications like a cup holder, but they could probably do it. The problem was that Alice was not really familiar with any kappa. She knew in fact only one, and not all that well. She had met Nitori Kawashiro in passing, someone she had not a lot in common with. They did share the experience of trying to work with Marisa without strangling her, something Nitori was far more successful with than Alice herself.
She could probably convince Nitori to help her, if she talked to her. Unfortunately Alice had been avoiding her for the last 246 days, 3 hours and 20 minutes. Ever since Alice had called out to Nitori after spotting her not far from the human village, only as it had turned out, it had not been Nitori at all but another kappa who was less than amused. In Alice’s defence, kappa wore essentially the same hat, backpack and dress like some kind of uniform, and regardless how reasonable and justifiable (it could have happened to anyone, really) the mix up was, Alice would rather avoid talking to Nitori for the next twenty years, or maybe sixty years, which she considered enough time for everyone to forget her faux-pas. Being so long lived had its downsides when it came to grudges and the like, but also its upsides if you considered that Alice could wait it out for a century or maybe two and was ready to do so.
“I would rather not,” Alice said. “I am sure they have better things to do, what’s with that dam project and all.” A great excuse really, as it was pretty much a given to work for the next few centuries. Everyone, including the humans of the village the dam was technically for, knew that the dam project was unlikely to ever be finished. No one in the human village even remembered asking for the dam anymore, or why they would want it, but the kappa did not bother with such minutia. Either way the kappa had said they would finish it this year, but they said so every year, and so like clockwork every year the dam would explode in a spectacular manner. At this point it was almost a tradition like flower watching. Last year Marisa had invited her to watch; On a blanket with a picnic basket filled with treats they sat together, ear plugs firmly stuffed in their ears, sipping some sake as the dam construction collapsed amidst angry screams of the kappa blaming each other while desperately dousing the flames.
While gleefully refilling their cups, Marisa had explained that for all their engineering genius the kappas fatal flaw was their incapability to work on group projects, trying to one up each other with outrageous ideas until a simple dam had several lasers attached, just because they could. Alice could relate a little bit to this, she too, had always struggled with group projects.
“Well, I have one other idea, if you care to listen,” Mr Morichika said and while Alice could not imagine he had much interesting to say, she shrugged. Ten more minutes of her almost infinite life span was an acceptable cost she figured, though she did hope he would waste her time too much.
Not an hour later Alice regretted that decision. Something had been off, when Mr Morichika handed her a note with directions to a store in the human village. He had said that they might have a suitable replacement, not for the pedal, but would have at least a sewing machine she could use over winter. Which had sounded promising enough, but instead of giving her the name of the shop, he had written down directions, he had told her she would find it easily, that she couldn’t miss it. She should have known that this spelled trouble, those shifty glances he had directed at her, that fake pleasant smile, but she had underestimated him.
Now she was in the middle of the human village, the note crumbled in her hand, seething. She should have known, she thought, as she glared at the large sign in front of the store, a sign that spelled trouble a little too literal as she read the store’s name. The Kirisame Second Hand Store.
Her mood had already taken a turn for the worse, when she had reached the village and snow had begun to fall, the kind of snow that seemed undecided whether it wanted to be snow at all or rain. She had even left her dolls at home, just getting their dresses fixed up after getting drenched by such a downpour of icy mud was too much of a hassle and if she needed them a small summoning spell would have them by her side fast enough. Not just Alice seemed to be in a foul mood, winter was wearing the people thin, stretching their resources. It had started early this year freezing over the fields much too soon, and its icy grip would not let go anytime soon. Now the weather had been dreadful for weeks, sheets of snow that turned to mud to then freeze solid again only to be covered with another layer of mud. It was disgusting, just like the smug face of that half-youkai half-weasel that had sent her on this errand. Under her breath Alice muttered curses, not real ones of course, for now at least. Clustered together for warmth, humans went about their day, giving her a wide berth, glancing over to her cautiously. A lot of them were used to her, she was one of the few youkai that were generally not considered dangerous and frequented their village.
Well, most youkai frequented the village. Unlike Alice they usually disguised themselves, albeit poorly, and tried to blend in. A disguise would have been too much of a hassle for Alice, maybe with a glamour she could have managed, but the humans were a lot smarter than many of the youkai gave them credit for. It was a small community, people knew each other and often instead of paying with money traded in favours and other things. Anybody with too much cash that nobody seemed to recognize, well the odds you were dealing with a youkai were high. At the end of the day a youkai’s money was still money so the humans let the youkai play their little games. Not a fan of games or wasting time, Alice would rather just be recognized. Humans usually kept a respectful distance and Alice could mostly do as she pleased.
It was a well known fact that if one were to get lost in the forest, Alice’s house would be a safe place to turn to. In fact from time to time, she would even put up little puppet shows for the children. All under the watchful eyes of the shrine maiden of course, whose presence reassured the parents as children crowded around her. Alice looked different, dressed differently, and they knew instinctively what she was, and yet they were enamoured, pushing and shoving to get as close as they could. Maybe it was part of the appeal, her difference. Regardless, Alice spun cautionary tales of the forest and of the evil that roamed free there, and sometimes of a house that stood amongst its trees, in which they would be safe. Spreading shrine maiden propaganda was not too bad once in a while, if that kept Alice from stumbling over the dead body of a child on her morning strolls. Not that Alice would admit to having a soft spot for children, but she would admit to preferring them still breathing, most of the time at least.
She must have stood in front of the store a little too long, because before she could turn on her heels and stomp away, the door slid open. A man, rather short, with greying hair on his head and deep wrinkles cutting through his forehead stood in the store’s entrance. It was the face of a man who had lived with Marisa, Alice could tell immediately. He even kind of looked like her, a lot older, hairier, but it was that same sulky angry expression that Marisa would make when Alice caught her with her hands in the kitchen’s cookie jar, proverbial or otherwise. In his case, it was probably that he was not fond of youkai loitering about his store. The resemblance was striking nonetheless, or maybe it was just the way both had to look up at her, drawing back their shoulders to appear taller, arms folded across their chest.
“Are you the puppeteer?” he asked and she could tell he was trying to lower the pitch of his voice. His gaze was fixed somewhere on her forehead, the muscles around his eyes pulled tight, as he forced himself to not look away, or even blink it seemed.
“Yes, Alice Margatroid is my name, and you are Mr Kirisame, I assume?” Alice said and tried to remember if she knew anything about Marisa’s family.
They did not talk a lot about such things. Marisa was the kind of person who liked to leave the past buried, at least 6 feet under where nobody would find it, and Alice appreciated that, though she herself preferred 12 feet, just to be certain. That Marisa, very much a human, lived alone in the forest of magic, a place so hostile even many youkai avoided treading among its ancient trees, was curious in itself. Alice had never thought about it much, she herself had chosen to live there after all. She had picked up things here and there. For one, that Marisa was close to Mr Morichika since early childhood, a connection that should have warned her off the man, but what was done was done. She could not recall Marisa ever mentioning her family. Quite frankly Alice had assumed she had been raised by wolves for all the manners the girl had. Or maybe her parents were dead, she had figured, but Alice realised quickly, reality was far worse. No wolves, no orphanages, no, Marisa had been raised in the tight embrace of an ordinary middle class family. Who wouldn’t want that kind of a family history buried? Honestly if she were Marisa, Alice would probably claim to be raised by wolves. The man in front of her certainly was no wolf, a sheep in wolves’ clothing at best, trying as hard as he could to not look intimidated.
“That’s right,” he said. “You are here about the doll, right?”
“Yes,” Alice replied absent-mindedly, too busy trying to place whether it was the eyebrows, or the shape of his eyes that made him look so much like his daughter. “I am here about the sew -” She blinked. “Excuse me? What doll?”
“The doll,” Mr Kirisame said like it was helpful, "Rinnosuke said you would be able to help.”
“I am afraid, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Alice said. “I was told you might be willing to sell me a sewing machine.”
Oh, Mr Morichika was going to get cursed. Alice was going to dig out the most irritating curse she could find and he was going to regret it. It would be something simple, something he wouldn’t notice at first, maybe a curse that would make him misplace his glasses, they would never turn up where he last left them. Or maybe a curse that would make his socks always feel a little damp. And then she would set his store on fire, just for good measure.
“Look,” Mr Kirisame massaged his temples, “can you help or not? I have two sewing machines in my storage. They work, you can pick whichever you like, honestly. I just need someone to help with that horrible little doll.”
Alice could probably afford whatever price and had no need to save money, but this offer was tempting, and so was the term “horrible little doll”. It was easy to pique Alice’s interest when it came to dolls, almost too easy, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued to find out more about Marisa’s family. It was always good to have something to hold over her head, which in truth wasn’t too hard, considering she was so short.
“Dolls are my speciality,” Alice said, “Do you need me to repair one?”
Mr Kirisame shook his head and then looked somewhat embarrassed. He gestured to her to lean over, and then with a quiet voice said “No, you see, it’s this old doll. My wife is certain it’s possessed. And I agree. It’s not normal. Things are disappearing, there are strange sounds at night. Is that something you can handle?”
Of course Alice could handle a simple possession. She worked with dolls after all, her house was filled with them. A week didn’t go by without one of her dolls acting a little strange, when some entity or another thought they had found the perfect vessel, before realising a little too late that Alice was not to be trifled with. Sometimes she would let them mess about a bit, move things around behind her back, or try to scare in a myriad of other ways until they inevitably got frustrated. She liked to see them squirm a little before banishing them to wherever they came from. It was a little insulting that Mr Kirisame would even ask.
“Certainly,” Alice replied. “But if I may ask,” she said, “why have you not asked for help at the Hakurei Shrine? Is the local shrine maiden not supposed to help humans with such matters?” In fact, Alice found it curious why they had not asked their daughter for help. Yes, Marisa was just as likely to just burn the whole doll to ash, but would certainly also get rid of whatever caused the strange occurrences. Even someone as clumsy as Marisa should be able to deal with minor cases of possession.
Mr Kirisame looked uncomfortable, “It’s complicated,” he grumbled. And well, wasn’t that interesting? Alice loved complicated, in fact she dedicated her life to the most complicated magic she could find. ‘Complicated’ to Alice meant a challenge, and what an interesting challenge this might be, Alice wondered as she watched Mr Kirisame carefully. It was unlikely to be complicated magically, but complicated in more delicate ways, that could prove to be just as interesting as any magic puzzle. But before she could press him any further he asked “Are you willing to do it or not?”
“I can look into it,” she replied. This was good enough for Mr Kirisame who nodded and then led her through the door into the store. Unlike Mr Morichika’s store this one was immaculate, so immaculate that Alice started to doubt the family ties between its proprietor and Marisa. Could Marisa truly be the daughter of a man whose shelves were such a wonder of organisational skill? The store was indeed a second hand store, in the sense that most things were from the outside world and therefore second hand by nature, but the merchandise was polished almost to perfection, repaired and presented proudly on the shelves. It seemed that Mr Kirisame dealt in almost everything, very much like Mr Morichika, just that he seemed to be successful. Everything was systemized and labelled, logical categories grouping the items making it easy to spot whatever you might be looking for. Alice was enamoured. But before she had much time to admire the store, she was rushed through the back and into a courtyard.
Behind what looked like two sheds for storage a vast garden spread itself out in front of Alice. It must have looked quite beautiful in spring. Now with the pond frozen over and the bare trees against a dark cloudy sky it was less inviting, The humble storefront had belied the true size of what Alice would more correctly call the Kirisame estate. Her initial assessment had been off, she realised with what could only be described as horror. Marisa was not born into the comfortable middle class, no, Marisa was the daughter of a merchant, not just some family that ran an antique store. A family that had the misfortune to be more than just well off, enough that people talked, but not rich enough to not care about what others thought. An awful combination, especially in a village as small as this one.
“It’s in the main building,” Mr Kirisame explained, “my wife will show it to you.”
“Ah, certainly,” Alice said, and hurried after Mr Kirisame, who stomped over the stone path with an admirable pace. In front of them was a large timber framed building with a veranda. Its wood seemed only recently to have been repainted, in a dark brown, but even with the fresh coat of paint it was easy to tell that this house was old. Just as old as the woman sitting on the veranda. Well, the house was probably older, but the woman did look positively ancient, far too old to be sitting outside in such weather. Wrapped in layers and layers of thick cloth, a steaming mug of tea cradled in her lap, she barely reacted and just continued staring towards the pond. Alice wondered if the woman had frozen solid. She had to be freezing, even with all those coats hanging off her shoulders. But Mr Kirisame only nodded at her, with a stern “Mother,” and then gruffly addressed Alice: “I am going to get my wife, wait here.”
Dumbfounded Alice stood on the veranda. Looking at the elderly lady, she pulled her coat around herself.
“Good day, ma’am,” she said and tried to find something else polite to say but came up empty. Slowly Marisa’s grandmother turned her head around. It was hard to make out her features behind all those wrinkles, but she seemed to frown as she craned her neck to look up to Alice.
“You are too tall,” she said disapprovingly. “It’s no good when girls are so tall,” she explained further, which was not needed, and not something Alice wanted to hear from a woman that looked like you had washed her too hot too many times.
“Have you tried being shorter,” Marisa’s grandmother asked, to which Alice, who took pride in her wit, could only reply with “No, ma’am.”
Where Alice came from, the concept of grandmothers did not really exist. Well, she had read stories about them of course, she knew vaguely that she had one, no, two actually, once upon a time, but she had never really met one, at least not that she remembered. She was a little surprised how rude grandmothers could be. In stories, they were always sweet and kind and seemed to have a secret connection to a magical dimension of candy in their apron’s pocket. Unless of course they were a wolf in disguise or some other wicked creature only pretending. Maybe she was a wolf in disguise, Alice thought, at least metaphorically. Maybe in the end Marisa had been raised by wolves after all, a more subtle kind, the kind you underestimated until it was too late and they had eaten half your face, picking out tiny bits of you stuck in their teeth and then asking you for a cup of tea.
“I am a youkai, ma’am,” Alice said, just to make sure the elderly woman in front of her was aware that Alice was in fact very dangerous, in case she had not noticed.
Marisa’s grandmother looked her up and down, “I can see that,” she said, which was certainly not intended as a compliment, and then she said “Youkai shouldn’t be so tall either,” which was not the point Alice had tried to make either.
Because Alice had so far only encountered grandmothers in stories, one could forgive Alice for not knowing that there was little more terrifying than a woman who had finally reached the age from which on politeness became optional. Instead of turning kind with age, they would treat the world in kind. It was the reward for living that long. Who was going to start a fight with a grandmother? No one. It was easier to wait it out, people thought, after all, they would outlive that old bat anyway. This, of course, was a false assumption, as every time somebody thought such a thing the miracle elixir of spite would extend the old bat’s lifespan. Unfortunately, Alice spent much of her formative years around people who could neither die of old age or age at all and was unfamiliar with this delicate dynamic of grumbling quietly and biting your tongue to keep the peace around the dining table.
But before Alice could say something she’d come to regret, she was saved. The door to the house slid open, and Mr Kirisame returned, a woman who was presumably Marisa’s mother at his side. It was strange. The resemblance was there, just as with Marisa’s father, if Alice looked closely she could see it. The similarities, the way Mrs Kirisame’s nose looked just the same, but then the smile on Mrs Kirisame’s face was just a little too pleasant to look like her daughter’s. It could be the missing stains. When Alice thought of Marisa she thought of dirt, muddy boots and stained aprons, she thought of wild gestures and a big toothy grin. Maybe it was silly to look for Marisa in these people, but Alice found it difficult not to compare them with Marisa, not when they looked so similar and yet the gap between parents and daughter felt so large. In appearance it was obvious, the shape of the eyes, the nose, things like that, but beyond the surface? Apples were supposed to fall not far from the tree, but Marisa must have taken great care to roll downhill, across the street and into a whole different orchard.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Margatroid”, Mrs Kirisame said. “My husband tells me you are here to help with the doll?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose I am,” Alice said and tried to forget about Marisa for a moment to focus on the task at hand. Without a comment Mrs Kirisame led her into the house, leaving both her husband and that ghastly old woman behind.
“When did the problems start?” Alice asked as they made their way through the house. It was tempting to get distracted, look around, search for hints of Marisa in this place, traces she must have left, but no matter how much Alice looked she could not find them.
“About a month ago,” Mrs Kirisame replied. “It has been getting worse since,” she said when they reached a store room. It was clearly a private storage, but very tidy, even if at a glance the sorting seemed more disparate and less coherent, the shelves were still filled with labelled boxes. It was small and between the shelves was barely enough space to walk, everything packed in this tiny closet, parts of a life all packed away in neat boxes, and sitting on top of a stack of old pillows in a corner was a doll.
Alice did not wait for permission, she approached the doll. The doll’s head was pale, almost white, matte porcelaine peeking out from behind faded paint. The body was made of a composite material, a mix of sawdust and wax and lacquer. She picked it up carefully, holding up its head, heavier and more fragile than its body. Squinting she could see the details that had been once painted on it. Alice heard Mrs Kirisame gasp as she moved around the doll’s arms and legs, testing its joints, but paid her no mind. Glass eyes were hidden behind uneven eyelids, one eye almost closed, the other half open. With her index finger she gently pushed one of the lids completely open, only for it to immediately fall shut again, the mechanics behind the lids having finally lost their battle with gravity. Alice guessed the doll was German, maybe from the first half of the 20th century. Had it been properly cared for it would have fetched a small sum among collectors. It wasn’t that the doll had not been cared for, quite the opposite, it had been cared for too much. What was left of the paint had faint cracks running all over. Most of it had been stripped away from cleaning it too often. The body, too, had cracks all over the surface, Alice could feel the spots someone had tried to scrub the doll clean, removing the protective surface, leaving behind an uneven rough texture. It felt slightly sticky to the touch.
Alice usually preferred to carve her own dolls out of wood. Certainly she had collected all manner of dolls, and also experimented with many materials, too many if you asked Marisa who had been quite dramatic about some of her projects. But magicians always had preferences, and just like Marisa drew her magic from the various fungi that grew deep in the forbidden forest, Alice used the bark and the wood of those ancient trees. Always careful not to take too much, to only ever take what the forest gave her, she enjoyed the process, slowly shaving bits and pieces into parts. The wood was so soft, unnaturally so, it gave way to Alice’s manipulation like it wanted to take the form she wished it to have. And sometimes it felt like it was not Alice who was defining and shaping its form at all. Magic was a curious thing, how it manifested in the immaterial and the material, she mused.
“Miss,” Mrs. Kirisame said panicked, “is that safe?”
Alice interrupted in her thoughts, considered this for a moment, turning the doll around in her hand. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked and inspected the clothing. The colour of the cloth had mostly been bleached out until only traces of it remained, and if she looked closely she could see spots where they had been carefully mended.
“It is possessed!”
“Oh, yes, possessed was it?” Alice said. She sat down the doll, carefully sitting it up and arranging the clothing. This doll wasn’t possessed, not even a little bit. It was just an old doll, completely untouched by magic. It was so ordinary Alice was almost disappointed. Humans were so dramatic, the tiniest movement of a doll in the corner of their eyes and they acted like the gates of hell itself had just opened under their house. Knowing that she had tried to manage her expectations, but had at least hoped that if it wasn’t possessed it would be cursed. She sighed. There was no point trying to convince Mrs Kirisame that the doll was fine, once humans had made up their mind about such a thing they rarely let it go until someone had banished whatever presence they had imagined. It was easier to play along in most cases.
“Well then,” Alice said and wondered if she ought to pretend to be taking notes. “Where did you get this doll?”
After a short hesitation Mrs. Kirisame said, “It was my daughter's favourite doll.”
“This was Marisa’s?” Alice asked. She would never have guessed. It lacked burn marks for one, or a ripped off arm maybe. It seemed a little far-fetched.
“Ah, you know my daughter, then?” Mrs Kirisame’s attention noticeably shifted, as she looked at Alice asking this ridiculous question. Of course she knew Marisa, everyone knew Marisa, everyone knew the nosey human with a penchant for theft, Marisa herself made sure of it. At least in their circles, being human itself was a novelty. To many of their acquaintances a human like her was almost charming, what a daring human, they’d say, and sometimes Alice thought that some of them spoke of Marisa very much like cats would talk of a mouse they played with.
“Yes, it was Marisa's,” Mrs. Kirisame said. “She loved it very much, carried it with her everywhere. We must have gotten it for her on her fifth birthday, I think.” Mrs. Kirisame smiled fondly.
“I didn’t know Marisa liked dolls.” It was news to Alice, and one would think it would have come up by now. They had certainly talked about dolls before, at length. Or rather Alice had talked, while Marisa, swirling a spoon in a fresh cup of tea, had listened to Alice who elaborated on every detail, never running out of new tangents. So far Alice had always assumed Marisa’s interest in her research had been purely academic in nature.
“She was obsessed with them. Oh, she begged for one for months. You see, we always have a doll or two on display. They tend to show up from the outside world now and again, old forgotten toys. We fix up their dresses and put them up for sale. They are very popular with the children in the village.”
“I see.”
“Presents were so easy for Marisa back then, a new dress for her doll and she was happy. I still have them all, if you want to take a look.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Alice said but Mrs Kirisame was already pulling out several boxes. Not too long after Alice was presented with an assortment of little dresses, and Alice had to admit that they were well crafted, delicate needle work shining through old age that had faded the colours of the fabric somewhat.
“I made many of these myself, you see,” Mrs Kirisame said while looking through another box, probably looking for even more dresses. “She would watch me work on them, always insisting on more frills, on more lace.”
That would explain some of the designs, Alice thought as she politely inspected a dress that was an almost nonsensical mess of frills. Still made with care, but clearly the questionable idea of a child with no regard for good taste.
“Oh!” Mrs Kirisame exclaimed. “This one I made for her eighth birthday,” she said and pushed a small dress covered in lace in front of Alice. “It was her absolute favourite for a while. She would refuse to dress the doll in anything else. Oh, she would cry for hours when we took it off to clean.” Mrs. Kirisame shook her head, she smiled while she let her fingertips move over the fabric. “She always got them dirty, you know. The dresses and the doll, they had to be cleaned almost daily. Such a careless child. Alway playing in the mud, always getting stains on everything.”
As Mrs Kirisame got lost in a reverie Alice was not privy to, Alice looked around some more, casually inspecting the labels of the many boxes surrounding them. Almost every second box bore Marisa’s name on it, the pattern connecting all these things hidden away in this storage Alice realised.
“And not just the dolls, the help spend hours scrubbing Marisa’s clothing clean. Or her hair! She never took care of it, it was such a shame.”
“We always hoped she would grow out of it,” she sighed and Alice wondered if she should inform her that Marisa indeed so far had not grown out of it, whatever that was. But with no pause Mrs Kirisame continued, speaking mostly to herself.
“Sometimes I wonder if we should have been stricter with her. If only we had been more disciplined instead of letting her get away with the same things over and over again…,” she mused and then with a bright smile turned around to face Alice. “Oh look at me, chattering away, and about such private matters as well.”
The polite thing was to reassure Mrs Kirisame that it was no bother at all, that Alice didn’t mind, and yet Alice increasingly did mind. She looked at the doll, and slowly her thoughts began to change, reframing the conversation, the doll, and this storage containing Marisa’s childhood, packed into neat little boxes.
“Miss Margatroid, say, are you and my daughter close? You both live in the forest, don’t you?”
“We both live in the forest, yes,” Alice responded and hoped to leave it at that. But it seemed like Mrs Kirisame had forgotten the urgent case of the supposedly possessed doll.
“I hope she isn’t too much trouble?”
To Alice’s own surprise the answer came out easy, “No, not at all.” And very different from her usual reply. She never hesitated to tell Marisa how much trouble she was, how her approach to magic was reckless and any other myriad of complaints. But, she glanced at Mrs Kirisame, this was not something the woman in front of her would understand. Alice would argue that Mrs Kirisame seemed to be the kind of person that did not understand many things.
“Your daughter,” Alice began, looking for something someone like Mrs Kirisame would clearly understand, “we work together, and I must admit she is a very talented young witch. You must be proud.”
Mrs Kirisame’s smile fell, her lips pressed together into a grimace and Alice was quite pleased with herself.
“That is,” Mrs Kirisame said and stopped. She composed herself. “... our daughter, she is just so stubborn. One can’t help but worry.”
Alice certainly agreed that Marisa was stubborn, but from all she could tell this was one of the aspects she had likely inherited from her parents. And an attribute that was quite positive, because Marisa was not just stubborn but also willful. Even if this meant that Alice worried from time to time.
“If only she would just ask for help,” Marisa’s mother said. “Does she have enough food? Is she warm enough? I have heard rumours about what kind of shack she lives in, she can’t possibly be keeping warm.”
Alice thought that perspective was a curious thing. Here was a mother, worrying, fretting, up and down about her supposedly helpless daughter. Did she not know her daughter was just like a weed? That all this stubbornness she complained about meant that whenever you thought you had gotten rid of Marisa she would bother you again next spring? Marisa didn’t need whatever this woman could offer, Marisa had friends in higher places than her mother could even imagine. Marisa held power many humans could only dream of. It was truly funny. Marisa had outgrown her parents a long time ago. That must have been hard to understand when you kept this shrine to a little girl hidden away in your storage.
“Mrs Kirisame,” Alice said, “there is no need for your concern, I am certain.” She smiled, and turned to the doll still seated on its throne of pillows. She gestured towards it, “But, please, allow me to take care of this now.”
Mrs Kirisame wanted to interject but Alice would not hear of it. Her smile still firm, and pleasant in the way someone like Mrs Kirisame understood, Alice said: “I think I have figured out the problem.”
A few days later Alice was just busy pouring over her favourite tome of curses, still trying to find just the right little affliction to cast upon Mr Morichika, when a red cheeked and snot nosed Marisa dragged herself into Alice’s living room. Without announcing herself she just rushed towards the hearth, as Alice’s dolls quickly shut the doors behind her to keep out the cold Marisa was so clearly seeking refuge from. At least she had taken off her boots this time, Alice thought and placed her book on the coffee table.
“D-D-Du-Duuuuude,” Marisa grid out between clattering teeth, “f-fu-flu-flying s-s-su-suuuuucks so mu-much, whu-why is it so c-cold”, she complained hopping from one foot to another while quickly ripping off her gloves to hold her hands as close as possible to the fire. One of the dolls gently removed her hat, another took her scarf, both were drenched in melted snow.
“You should probably ask that a different youkai,” Alice replied and then pointedly said, “dude.”
Marisa laughed, content as she squatted down in front of the fire. “I already had a talk with Letty, said she wasn’t doing nothing. Apparently Reimu already uh, talked, to her,” Marisa snickered some more. “I beat her up again though, just to make sure.”
With every passing day Alice had gotten closer to having a talk with Letty Whiterock herself, but she did feel some pity for the youkai. This was supposed to be her season, she was supposed to thrive, and yet Alice was certain that everyone who was getting just a little sick of the cold was going to let it out on her.
“Someone’s gotta keep those youkai in check,” Marisa bragged.
“Is that so?” After an enthusiastic nod, Alice asked, “And? Who is keeping me in check?”
Thumping her fist against her chest Marisa grinned at her. “I am, of course.”
Alice scoffed. “Oh, please. I am shaking in my boots.”
Marisa turned her body towards her. Still grinning, she said, “I’m here, aren’t I? Keeping my eyes on you.” Then, in the most infuriating manner possible, she winked.
“And here I thought you came to freeload.”
“I can do both,” she said and without skipping a beat, “so what’s for dinner today?” Eagerly Marisa glanced at the kitchen only to freeze. The red tint on her cheek vanished in an instant, leaving behind a pale, horrified expression. Alice suppressed a gleeful giggle.
“Why,” Marisa began to say, eyes fixed on one of the cupboards lining the wall of Alice’s living room “do you have that?”
“Oh that,” Alice said smugly, looking over to the source of Marisa’s dismay. On the cupboard was a doll. But not just any doll, no, this one was different, this one was presented prominently and proudly. It had only been a matter of time until Marisa spotted it and Alice had been counting every second. She felt a little bad about this, but it was revenge for all those times Marisa caught her off guard. All was fair in love and war, right? “Remember how my sewing machine broke?”
“Yeah,” Marisa said slowly, not taking her eyes from the doll. Alice wondered who would win this odd staring contest, Marisa or the doll whose eyelids were so horribly broken. Considering the way Marisa looked in that moment, Alice thought she might have a good chance.
“You see,” Alice said while crossing her legs and leaned against the couch’s armrest. “Mr Morichika gave me the address of a store in the human village. I am sure you are familiar.”
Marisa fell backwards, plopping onto her butt, never breaking eye contact with the doll but letting out a small “uff”.
“Apparently they had trouble with a possessed doll,” Alice explained, still smiling a little too brightly. She definitely didn’t bother to hide her enjoyment of it at all. When Marisa didn’t reply and just continued to stare she elaborated further. “They offered me a replacement machine if I exorcised whatever was plaguing them.” Still no reaction. “Quite frankly, there was nothing wrong with the doll at all.”
“Is that so?” Marisa sat, still sprawled on the ground, and looked at the doll like it would start moving if she blinked. Of course it wouldn’t, after all that doll was in the end quite ordinary, no possession, no curses. But maybe for Marisa it was cursed, was something more than just an old toy.
“Yes, but you know humans, once they get it in their heads,” Alice said and shook her head. “I did the usual: used some blood, got some candles, mumbled some Latin phrases, maybe some Hebrew, and that was enough to convince them I suppose.”
After a pause Marisa frowned. “But,” she said, “why do you have it?”
“I took it as payment. They would have believed something else was possessing it by the end of the week” Alice replied. “And whatever sewing machine they had was probably not up to my standards anyway. I do think it makes a fine addition to my collection.”
Then, more kindly Alice added, “Or would you like to have it?”
Marisa still hadn’t looked back at Alice. Her shoulders were pulled taunt, and Alice could see various emotions pass over her face, in little twitches of the mouth, clenching of the jaw, as Marisa seemed to consider this. “Are you gonna take good care of her?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“You won’t blow her up or something? No gunpowder and stuff?”
“Marisa,” Alice chided her gently. “Of course not.”
“Then,” Marisa said, her response firm and some colour returning to her face, “It's decided. You keep her.” Then she scoffed. “Well, I guess that takes care of introducing you to my parents,” she said.
Alice decided to let the implications be implications, and smiled wryly. “I do think I could have lived without.”
“Not a fan?”
“No, not particularly. I met your grandmother.”
“Uh,” Marisa winced. “My condolences.”
“She told me I was too tall, and whether i had tried being shorter”
“And have you?”
“No.”
Marisa laughed, but she kept looking at the doll. Alice could only guess what kind of thoughts were going through her head. Alice loved her dolls, and if Marisa only felt a fraction of that, then allowing Alice to keep the doll, well, it was certainly a compliment. Alice was flattered, in fact, she felt something warm in her chest she immediately pushed down. This was not the moment for sentiments, it was time for the second shoe to drop.
“Though, one thing got me thinking,” Alice said. “They did mention that things have gone missing. While humans certainly get lost in their superstitions, your parent’s don’t seem the type to be that hysteric, and just imagine things.” Marisa finally looked away from the doll, blinking, eyes flitting around the room, just not to Alice. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Marisa?”
There was no reply. “Really Marisa, from your parents?”
“Come on! You saw the house! They’re loaded, it’s not like they’re gonna go hungry!” Marisa defended herself. Indignant, she rose to her feet and glared at Alice. “This winter has been harsh, okay?”
“Well, you better cut it out, I don’t want them going around calling my expertise into question. They saw me perform an exorcism.” When Marisa grumbled something angrily under her breath Alice added, “I told your parents I would take care of it, and I don’t intend to go back on my word, so next time just come here instead.”
“Huh,” Marisa made a sound, the scowl sliding off her face. “That’s uhm,” Marisa again looked around the room. And once again Alice felt smug vindication, and another flight of sentiment, but this time she didn’t squash it down immediately.
“I am going to talk to Nitori,” Marisa mumbled. “You know, about your pedal. The sewing machine.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Alice said. She certainly would appreciate it, since she did not quite think it through when she made the spur of the moment decision to take the doll. Hand-sewing was an option, but she would rather avoid that, even with the help of her dolls.
“Nah, gotta get us even, right? Don’t wanna owe you, or somethin’.”
Alice smiled, as Marisa still stood in her living room feeling lost and looking around. Avoiding Alice,she even started tapping her foot. Despite herself Alice thought it was just a little endearing, maybe even a bit cute. She also decided that she had tormented Marisa enough for a day, especially if she was going to get her favourite sewing machine fixed.
“While the dolls prepare dinner,” she said before patting on the spot beside her on the couch. “Do you want to help me pick out a curse?”
“Uhh! Who are we cursing?” Marisa asked. Without hesitation she practically flung herself on the couch, landing so close to Alice their knees and shoulders brushed against one another. Now normally, Alice would shove her back, push Marisa to the other end of the couch where she belonged but today was special.
“Mr Morichika, sending me to your parents without warning. That deserves a curse or two, don’t you think?”
“I have so many ideas,” Marisa said with glee. She opened the book quickly, thumbing through it, clearly familiar with its contents. “A good curse should have a personal touch, right? Have you thought about combining some?” Marisa said and already had her finger on one of the pages pointing to a curse. She was certainly in her element.
They spend quite some time going over the book, and after a while Alice had the dolls bring two more as the table filled with little notes and ideas. Then later food was served amidst heinous plans, each more nefarious than the next. Now and again Alice would glance over to her new doll, and then back to Marisa. Marisa certainly was turning out to be a great witch, and Alice, well, she would admit that she felt just a little proud of her. But just today. Today was special after all.