DollMaker: A Confession Of A Madman [COMPLETED]

THREE

I couldn't tell at first if she was alive or dead. She looked like she always did. Then, on second thought, she was what I was looking for! Long midnight hair, deep-sea eyes, and the height of a young girl! Ah! I found what I was looking for. I remember thinking that while my tears fell then rolled down her cheeks. I was happily laughing like a madman possessed, but at the same time, I was crying. I touched my tears with my trembling hand, it was warm and salty. They never seem to stop. Why can't I make them stop? Why am I sad? Should I be sad? I didn't know.

I told her that I'll show her something beautiful, yet she was the one to show me in death. She was extremely beautiful. I held her in my arms one last time. Like a mother embracing her long-lost child, I held her tightly and found it hard to let go. I sat her on a chair, then started to sculpt her features. Crafting the best doll ever. She didn't look human. Humans are imperfect, but not she. She was different now she's dead.

I sat her corpse day after day until I finished what I was working on. It was two weeks then that she came alive to me once again. I made a lively copy of her. She was so real, one of my creations. I wonder what she'll say if she could ever speak. I smiled at the thought of it. However, the thought of handing her over to a man I didn't know anything of worried me. I wondered if she'll be fine. If she'll survive. I was concerned like a father does. I didn't want her to leave me alone. Therefore, I decided to keep her for myself. I didn't want anyone to have her. The very thought terrified me to my spine.

I decided to make a replica of her, one that is less lively, and then present it to the nobleman. A few days have passed and I received a letter from the same nobleman. He was satisfied and I was relieved.

I buried Sakura late after midnight beside the river where we spent most of our time together. I wasn't sad then. I still have her seated warmly under my workshop's ceiling.

A year has passed since Sakura has left me. It's been a divesting year, I haven't been able to make any new dolls and my workshop started to look empty and gloomy. Inspiration was difficult to collect. I don't dream anymore. I couldn't too stop my hands from trembling ever since I buried Sakura. I was sad for some reason. I wished if Sakura was still here to lift me from my depressing state. Then perhaps we could visit the river again.

I had a dream. For the first time in a year. I couldn't see anything in this dream, but I could hear her soft, shy voice. She was calling for me. She said, "Make more of me."

I asked her, how?

She giggled, "Be a teacher."

A block away from where my workshop abides, a middle school is sited. I followed Sakura's advice and applied to work as an art teacher.

After a month, my application was accepted and I begin my new occupation. I taught student of Sakura's age how to draw, paint, and how to sculpt small dolls. Though only a few girls joined the class. Boys, however, were never so fond of art.

After school, I taught an additional class since my classes during the day are very few. This class was optional for students. So only twelve girls and three boys stayed for the additional class. I loved my students dearly! Especially the sweet girls. Their smiles made my day. The boys, not so much. One of them was forced by his parents to join the art class. The second was lazy and never had a passion for art. He simply joined the art class to kill time, he once said. And the third was only there to spend more time with one of the girls he adored very much. I hated him the most. Nevertheless, I was happy when surrounded by little children as they look forward towards me with such admiration and respect. I showed them how I make my dolls, and their works were so dear to my heart.

One grey day, surprisingly, I had the idea of making a doll out of each one of them. After the class has ended, I asked one of the girls to stay for some time. I had her come to my place. She was hesitating at first, but then I offered her sweet pie and so she came willingly. I sat her on that same chair Sakura's dead body sat on. I speedily made a rough sketch of her, then began to sculpt her body shape. "Mhm... sir," she said, worried. "Do you think it's really okay to be this late?"

I offered a sure smile, "Of course it is."

"But my mother said to be home early."

"I'm sure your mother is all right if you were late once. Tell her it was for a class."

"But, sir..."

I snapped. She talked a lot. I lost my inspiration once again. And so when she uttered yet another word, I couldn't hold myself anymore. I slapped her and she fell from her seat hitting her head by the wall. She was so light-weighted; I never thought that my slap had such a force. Girls are diligent creatures. I held her shoulders and shook her to wake up. She wasn't waking up. I fell to my knees, I couldn't stand. She was dead! I uttered again.

I sat on the floor and watched the girl's dead body as I breathed through my cigar. I found myself smiling widely.

I was reminded of the utter joy I felt when I saw Sakura at her prettiest moments. Ah! There she is again! I can see her in this student of mine. And so, I returned her to her seat and continued the night sculpting her beautiful grace. She was beautiful, but only in death.

I knew then what I must do to achieve happiness; I must capture the beauty that only comes in death. This was a greater joy than being a teacher for these girls.

Shortly after, I resigned from the school, but never cut ties with my girls. They kept seeing me in my workshop from time to time. And from time to time, when one of them came alone to visit me, I'll begin my ritual.

I started to ask them to write something they thought was a story of mine. But in fact, it's their suicide note. Then, I'll poison them with cyanide that I carefully plant in their fresh drinks. The taste of the sweet drink that I offer leaves a tender smile on their faces, and with that image, they die painlessly. I don't want my girls to get hurt. I want them to die with a lingering taste in their lips, and with coy cheeks. Then I began sculpting them, taking my time with immense pleasure.

They were loved, incredibly! People bought them like never before. Letters mounted on my desk, and some of my work were off to auction. I was a happy man. Truly. Yes, I was sad when I said my farewells to my dolls who were my students at one point. However, my joy after finishing a project was overshadowing my depression.

Over the few years, my students were all dead. I got a surprising, yet a predictable visit from an investigator telling me that all the girls who committed suicide over the years had one thing in common. They were all my students at Orleans Grade School.