The Doll: The Lost Short Stories by Daphne Du Maurier

Author:Daphne Du Maurier
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: classics
ISBN: 0062080342
Publisher: Harper Paperbacks
Published: 2011-11-22T00:00:00+00:00

Mazie

Mazie lay on her back, afraid to move. Why was it her heart beat so strange nowadays, never quiet, nor steady, but with a queer thump, thump, and little beats that ran in between, and had no right to be there? She was sure, if she moved, it would leap with a sudden jerk right out of her body, and a great black cloud waved close upon her eyes. That’s what had happened last month to poor Dolly.

Quite sudden it took her, after the ’flu, and she was dead before you could say ‘knife’.

Mazie could remember going to see her when she was laid out. Beautiful she looked, with her pale face and dark hair against the pillow. Mazie had bought her a small bunch of flowers, and put them beside her. Not much, of course, but somehow, it seemed heartless like to leave Dolly without a word. You never knew when it was going to be your turn. Dolly had used those very words time and time again, and then, before she knew where she was, poor thing, she was gone.

In the night, like the light of a candle. Queer.

Thump – there it was again, knocking about in her chest; almost as if her chest was a door, and there was somebody trying to get in. Yes, that was it, knocking and knocking, trying to get in. Well, it wasn’t a scrap of use getting into a state, and worrying herself. What had to be had to be. You couldn’t stop what was coming to you, and yet, what would happen if she came over really bad, one night when she was alone, when she had nobody? Would she be able to call for help, to make herself heard on the floor below, or would she just go out in the dark – like Dolly? ‘Now, if I start getting afraid,’ thought Mazie, ‘there’s an end to it, and everything will be U.P. So just don’t let’s start thinking.’

She sat up in bed, and began to pull on her stockings. It wasn’t any mortal use being tired like this in the mornings. She saw herself in the cracked mirror on the wall. Cripes! what a face! Like a bit of boiled mutton. If she went about like that, she wouldn’t find a dustman to look at her, let alone anything else. If she weren’t careful, she’d be hanging round, day after day, and returning home with an empty purse. As it was, she got so tired these days that she scarcely knew what she was up to, and that’s a fact.

Who and what she picked up last night, she couldn’t tell if she was asked. All she could remember was that he was quiet spoken, and had a light moustache. There had been a bit of bother over the price, too, now she came to think, but she hadn’t been done in – not she.

What a life! Ah, that was better! She dabbed the rouge on her cheeks and smothered the whole with a great mask of powder.

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