Porcelain Temple

PORCELAIN TEMPLE Zach Palmer

Cold, gray days seemed to slow time to a crawl. Oliver waited patiently for the days to pass but the cold was too fierce to play outside and Dad needed the computer for most of the day for work. Oliver wheeled himself to his bedroom window, the cold metal of the chair nipping against his fingertips. It wasn't fun being sick and at the age of 8, none of the other kids in the neighborhood seemed to understand why he couldn't play or be part of their games. Oliver sometimes struggled to understand it himself.

Christmas was only 3 days away and Oliver could hardly wait, he just wished he had something to pass the time or someone to talk to. His father stayed in his office working most of the day and his mother, well she wasn't around anymore. Oliver never met her but he spent many afternoons wondering what she must've been like. The most conversation he got out of the day from his father was at breakfast and dinner where each day he would ask his dad how work was and his dad would respond by asking what Oliver did for the day. Most nights were meals from a box but Oliver didn't mind because his Father let him out extra parmesan cheese on it to taste better.

A few days before Christmas, Oliver's father had asked him a new question: what he would like for Christmas?

“A friend to play with.” Oliver responded between obnoxious coughs. They were ever-persistent these cold days. His father grinned, having an idea in mind from a recent ad he had seen online.

Christmas day came and presents were all bundled under the tree for young Oliver. He excitedly tore open all that he could get a hold of, his proud father sitting on the couch in a blue bathrobe and sipping lukewarm coffee. The last present, and certainly the biggest sat in the center of the room. Oliver leaned over as far as his wheelchair would allow in order to pick up. It wasn’t as big as him but it was pretty close. The packaging gave way to blonde curls and bright green eyes and a grin as wide as the sunrise. It was an old Shirley Temple doll, although Oliver was too old to know who that was beyond late night advertisements for CD soundtracks. He loved it. He loved her infectious smile more than anything. Oliver found himself smiling right alongside Shirley that morning, the biggest smile he had been able to make in a long time. Oliver and Shirley played all day long together.

That night, things began to change. Oliver’s father tucked him into bed nice and tight, not that he could really go anywhere otherwise. Shirley had been leaned up in a chair near the bedroom door. The lights were turned off and the door closed shut. A soft green hue took over the room. Oliver looked over to see and it was as if Shirley’s eyes had been painted over with a glow in the dark paint. He stared at the glowing green eyes, something about them in the dark unsettled Oliver to his core. The smile, no longer infectious, at least not in the way it was before. The light coming from the eyes faded as Shirley’s eyelids shuttered. Oliver could do nothing but hold the covers even tighter.

Emerald glow soaked the room once again, but the source was no longer in the chair. Now she was on the ground, her head still tilted towards Oliver’s direction. The eyelids shuttered again, slowly closing off the source of light. No sound was made. Oliver could neither see nor hear anything. But as the light returned, Shirley had made her way a few inches closer to the bed. The piercing green eyes now beacons of terror. Oliver tried to scream for help, but no noise would bravely escape his lips. As he tried, his bedsheets grew damp.

The eyes slowly blinked once more, drowning the room in darkness once again. A few seconds went by, feeling closer to minutes, longer than any of the previous times before. Oliver became frantic, no longer forming cohesive thoughts. He softly shook in his sodden sheets, unable to move, unable to even breathe. Green light filled the interior of the room once more.

Resting at the foot of Oliver’s bed was the Shirley doll, grinning ear to ear. Her head was tilted at an angle as if she was asking “What’s wrong Oliver?” He sat there frozen, his eyes wide as petri dishes and unblinking. Her eyes slowly began closing once more, this time she was close enough that Oliver could see the eyelids moving. He could see the grievous smile fading from her lips. As the thick, near unnatural blackness saturated the air once more Oliver let out a small, noiseless gasp.

When Shirley’s eyes opened once more, all Oliver could see was the bright green light of her eyes staring directly into his. His mouth erupted into a silent scream. She took that opportunity. Oliver’s mouth was horrifically expanded beyond its limits as Shirley forced her way into his throat. The lips cracked and severed at the corners, forcing a twisted smile to tear open across his face. His throat widened to unnatural proportions as Shirley slid down to rest inside Oliver’s stomach. The lips resealed, but the smile remained.

The next morning, a Christmas miracle occurred. Oliver could walk once more. He was constantly smiling, wide enough that others who saw it couldn’t help but smile along. It was almost as if the disease that plagued his body had simply vanished overnight. Oliver’s father however, couldn’t help shake the feeling that Oliver’s eyes had never quite been that bright green before.