For today's dark offering, I bring you writer and senior editor at Bête Noire Magazine, Jennifer L. Gifford, with an excerpt from her story,
The Dollhouse, and also a bit about the magazine itself...
THE DOLLHOUSE
By Jennifer L. Gifford
I’m an
artist. I confine myself to one simple medium, but my art is one of a kind.
Working in fear and pain, much the way Picasso worked in oils, I utilize
whatever tools I have around me to complete my dark masterpieces. I specialize
in the macabre, emulating the dark essence of it, capturing it in all its dark
twisted beauty. Death, sweet death, is my greatest creation.
My pieces
are never seen by others, and while one day I hope that my creations bring me
notoriety, I make them for the soul purpose of my own enjoyment. They are my
creations, though they didn't start out that way. At first they belonged to
God, but I stole them from Him, and I made them my own.
My pieces,
as a novice, were rough, choppy, and out of proportion with the form. But over
time I learned to correct the broken limbs, the pasty complexions, and
yellowish skin that had once been a drain on my energies, not to mention the
scarcity of my precious resources. Much like any other hobby, it takes
practice, dedication, and commitment.
Helena was
my first success. She was so breathtaking, and still is, that I sometimes sit
in awe of my own handiwork. She was handpicked from hundreds of others. It was
her face that captivated me, drew me to her. Helena was special.
She had a
heart shaped face, soft and round with the cheeks of a cherub. Her hair flowed
around her feminine features like spun corn silk. And the eyes, oh the eyes, so
full and round--like her lips--were deep pools of cerulean.
I took her
one night, bringing her to my studio, where I do all my work. I prepare them
there, before putting them in the dollhouse. The building is old, a three story
brick structure down along the Detroit
River, and I own the
whole thing. It’s in a seedy part of town where everyone minds their own
business, and doesn't ask questions. But its quiet and I need quiet when I
work.
The dolls
always seemed so shocked to find themselves my helpless guest. I believe it’s
because they have never been in the presence of a true artist before, so I
imagine that is where their anxiety comes from.
I gave Helena a lethal dose of
sedatives. It’s my own personal blend of prescription painkillers and good old
fashioned laudanum.
It’s best
to wait until they are fully asleep before inserting the thick embalming needle
into the side of their neck, near the carotid artery. Sometimes a dolls eye’s
will flutter open catching sight of the needle sticking out of her neck. It’s
intoxicating to watch as the fear washes over them in their last moments.
The needle
is hollow, and with it at the neck, it’s easier to elevate the doll to let the
blood drain. I empty it of blood, but not completely. That small amount of life
left in them keeps them warm just long enough for me to prepare them.
I must also
admit, it’s here that I get a rush knowing that their last precious drop of
divinity is controlled by me.
Before the
body’s temperature cools, I slowly inject heated rubber cement in the joints of
the body. Several smaller injections into each of the major muscle groups of
the skeletal system, allows me to move the limbs of my doll however I want
them. As precious as my dolls are to me, I still like to take them out of their
box from time to time and play with them. When I do, the rubber cement gives
the flesh a firm, supple feel that bends, but never damages the body.
I remove
all the unnecessary hair from the body. I like my dolls to have skin as smooth
as porcelain. I use large strips of wax I purchase at a local beauty supply
store, and strip every inch of my new doll’s precious form. It’s during this
process that I start to get intimately familiar with every crevice and line of
her delicate form, and in that very moment, I own my doll, body and soul. I
have thought about branding my dolls, burnishing my initials onto their cool
flesh, but the thought of that dark blemish, that blight upon my perfect
canvas, is almost more than I can bear.
Through
trial and error, I discovered that by spraying a thin coat of silicone floor
sealant over the body carefully, the sealant acts as a protective barrier and
completely closes the pores on the body. It also prevents the often inevitable
darkening and rotting of the flesh. It’s so heartbreaking to painstakingly toll
over such a magnificent body of work, only to have it wretched from your
desperately clinging hands by the cruel ravages of time.
Starting
with her lips, I formed the full oval into a tempting pout. Next I slowly bathe
her form from head to toe before spraying her with a painting primer that
serves as a sealant and top coat.
Using a
small butane kitchen torch, like the ones the chefs use for making Crème Brule,
I apply a small localized amount of heat to her cheeks, to naturally and
permanently heat her cheeks to a pleasant rose hue.
It is here
in this process as well, that my dedication, handiwork, and artistic abilities
often lull me into a restful daze as my new doll, my muse, inspires me into
artistic daydreams.
From past
experiences, I force myself to pay close attention to the methods in which I
use in my erotic taxidermy. Too much heat can blister and blacken the skin
beyond all recovery. I have ruined several earlier dolls that way.
I use spray
paint as a foundation. It’s cheap, and it comes in a lovely variety of shades
that I can match to any of the dolls’ skin tones. After, I painstakingly
airbrush on all the subtle lowlights and glowing highlights their natural skin
tone had.
While the
paint dried, I started on her hair. I always like all my dolls hair to have
loose curls that frame and accent the face. I want to show off the natural
beauty of my dolls, not hide it. I think that’s what makes them all lifelike.
The rest of the embalming process is completed while I finish the hair.
Next, I use
a light finishing sandpaper before applying her make-up. I want the face to be
smooth. When my fingers caress her cheek, and stroke her swan-like neck, I want
the cool flesh of my doll to be as freshly spun silk.
I artfully
made up her face. Dramatic eyes, like a movie star. I injected super glue into
the eyeballs themselves, at the corners. It keeps the eyes from decomposing,
and gives their eyes that glow that seems to gaze at me with longing.
Jennifer L. Gifford is a writer and senior editor for Bête Noire Magazine
Bête Noire is a quarterly print magazine headed by authors
A.W. Gifford and Jennifer L. Gifford, along with its sister publication, Dark
Opus Press. 2014 sees Bête Noire Magazine celebrating its fourth anniversary,
continuing to publish the best in dark speculative fiction that showcases the
creative talents of both new and established authors, Bram Stoker award
winners, Pushcart prize nominees, and Nebula Award winners.
Blending a mix of horror, science-fiction, Victorian,
gothic, suspense, and steampunk, Bête Noire Magazine creates a unique mix
that’s redefining the speculative fiction realm.
Bete Noire magazine is also a platform for photography,
original artwork, and poetry that encompasses the subgenres of dark fiction,
striving to uphold the talents of reputable authors,
while bringing new authors to the forefront.
Remember, fear is just a point of view.
And don’t forget to enter my contest, or creep over
http://coffinhop.com/ and check out more of the Coffin Hoppers.
