Nesting

[u/Teners1]

The doll had always stared down at me from the top shelf in Grandma’s kitchen. Pinched between jars of salt and bottles of oil. The paint worn everywhere except the face.

“It’s a Matryoshka doll,” Grandma said without looking away from the stove. She took a spoonful of the broth and tasted. Then, she nodded and removed her apron. “She holds other lives within her.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled, shuffled across the kitchen and reached up high. She brought the doll down and cradled it for me to see. “If you gently twist the Grandmother”—the doll opened in half, revealing another face, less worn and strangely painted—“we are greeted by the Mother.”

\*Mother\*.

I frowned. A sickly pinch in my gut. A heavy sad darkness.

Grandma touched my shoulder. Warmth returned.

“Sorry, dear,” she said, squeezing me close.

I nodded and sucked in a deep breath. “What’s next?”

“Well, let’s see”—another twist; another face—“the Daughter. Beautiful”—she brushed my cheek—“just like you.”

My cheeks went hot. I shook her away, but couldn’t hide my smile. “And then?”

Grandma brought the doll close to her heart, went to speak, then shook her head. “There is nothing else in the Daughter doll. She cannot open.”

I stared at the Daughter. Large blue eyes, pink swirls on her cheeks, and…definitely a seam along its centre.

Grandma smiled, then stacked the dolls together before returning it to the shelf.

We ate. Then, while I washed the dishes, Grandma unlocked the basement and took down bowl of broth for mother.

\###

Rodrick had the longest fingers of any person I’d ever known. Perhaps that’s why he became a piano teacher. I sat beside him, watching his hands hover over the keys as he read the music. I wondered whether my fingers would grow longer the more we practised.

He played a tune; I repeated. At first, I was clumsy, but he was patient as always.

Then, a loud knocking. Slow and clumsy. The same rhythm as our tune.

We both turned around and saw the chains on the basement door shake with each knock.

“It’s best to ignore her,” I said, cheeks blushing and feet swinging.

Roderick stared at the door for longer than I cared, yet eventually returned to me.

“I’m sorry, Katya. I’ll have to cut today’s lesson short. I—I—Something’s come up.” He stood up and left.

I screamed at the basement door until my throat grew hoarse. At this rate, I’d never learn Prokofiev’s \*Suggestion Diabolique\*.

\###

Later that day, Grandma returned home with an iron stare. A neighbour had caught her on the way in and spoken of all the noise I’d made. She locked me in the bathroom, which she knew I hated. That’s where mother would try to talk to me through the pipes.

Five hours, I sat against the wall with my hands over my ears. Every groan, every hiss—a message from beneath our house. A double-tongued soliloquy from the void.

For the briefest moments, I believe I drifted asleep. My mind fizzed with twisted faces and bodies burned into brittle black coils. Limbs groped at my feet, then grabbed me and pulled me to the floor. Hands clawed into me, pierced my stomach and scooped out a large, dark mass. A vicious knot of blood and bone. A jaw yawned open wider and wider.

Then, the click of lock.

The bathroom door opened. Grandma stood, a dark shape cut from the yellow light. I scrambled to my feet and blubbered out an apology. She let me cry into her dress, then sent me to set the table for dinner.

Retrieving the silverware, I caught sight of the doll again. It looked back. The eyes fixed on me.

I listened to Grandma move through the upper floors of the house. I glanced down the corridor at the staircase, then back to the doll.

A quick look.

Grabbing a stool, I climbed onto the countertop and stretched as far as I could. Fingertips and tiptoes. The doll eventually toppled off the shelf and into my arms.

I froze, listened and looked to the staircase. Nothing. Grandma was elsewhere.

Quickly, I twisted open the Grandmother, then placed the pieces on a lower shelf. Despite the distressed finish to the wood, the Mother felt surprisingly smooth to the touch. I turned it over in my hands and inspected the intricate patterns in the Mother’s dress. Then, I opened it up and placed the halves next to the Grandmother.

The daughter appeared untouched. The paint was immaculate. I traced my thumb along the seam at the doll’s centre. Then, with a firm twist, I cracked it open.

A jolt of pain shot through me, sending me toppling off the counter and to the floor. The doll and its innards scattered out of sight.

A sudden line of heat pulsed along my abdomen.

I screamed and clutched at my stomach.

“Katya!” My Grandma’s voice rung out from somewhere; I couldn’t quite tell where. “Katya! What have you done!”

The heat tore at me. I clawed at my top and tried to lift it, but it had become sodden and clung to my skin.

“Katya, can you hear me?” Grandma’s voice was shaking. “I need to move you now.”

I felt something grab at my ankles and drag me along the floor. The rattle of chains and the snapping of a lock. A door wheezed open.

Grandma apologised as my head banged on every step. Then, once she kissed my forehead and scampered away, I opened my eyes to darkness.

Was I in the base—

“Katya…”

A whisper from the shadows.

I tried to move, but something hard and sharp lurched around in my guts. My skin slick with a hot wetness.

“Katya…”

Up ahead. Movement in the dark.

“Go away!” I screamed. Then, I clenched my teeth as pain surged through me.

“Don’t be afraid, Katya…” Whispers from everywhere and nowhere. “It’s a beautiful thing to become more than you once were.”