Like I told Mom, this was the cutest doll that I had laid eyes on. If a doll competition existed, she would win. I still did not buy Elsie's fib. That the doll was not hers. I straightened her pink bow in her curly hair and dusted off her pink dress. But if she did not want her...I would take her. I would take the doll under my wing and care for her. She was unlike any other doll. I could never let her go.

I turned - and watched the basement door slowly open. My eyes went wide. I staggered back and held said doll close. The door was opening all by itself. No one on the other side. I could have convinced myself that the wind was responsible...but how could the door open when it was locked? You cannot unlock it from the inside.

I leaned forward and squinted through the darkness. It was too dark to see. I moved to the top of the steps and fumbled for the switch. I switched it on and was happy when the light chased away the blackness. I stood on a step. Then another and another. They creaked beneath my feet. I reached the bottom and gazed around. I was surprised that it was not cold down here. It usually is.

I forced my legs to move and searched for signs of life. I checked under the stairs. In the laundry room. In the washer and dryer. I checked everything - except for the small pile of junk. That is what Mom was talking about earlier.

In the corner was a small pile of what was mostly junk. Stuff that Elsie and I no longer use. Empty bottles and strollers and baby toys. Loose papers and a tall stack of wood and two tables and chewed-up pens. Dad used to be a carpenter before he retired. And my sister chewed pens when she was a baby. Glad that she grew out of it. I was sick of getting new pens every week.

The only clean item was a dollhouse. A pink dollhouse. As pink as the doll's dress.

I placed the doll on a step so she would not get filthy. I hurried to the dollhouse with wide eyes and grabbed it by its sides. I carried it to the stairs and set it down.

Did the doll's smile grow?

I studied the dollhouse and said, "I do not recall me or Elsie owning a dollhouse. She only has huge dolls, so it cannot be hers. Maybe this belonged to Mom when she was Elsie's age. I should ask her."

I placed the doll on the dollhouse and brought them up the stairs. I put them down and slammed the door and locked it. Mom was back in the kitchen and cutting the foods. She met my gaze and put the knife in the sink. I was in trouble. I saw it in her eyes.

"I assumed that you were in the basement, young lady. The door was open."

I strolled to her. "Sorry for not chopping the fruits and vegetables, Mom. I got distracted again."

She sighed. "Why were you in the basement, Eliza?"

"Call me crazy...but I was making sure that no intruder was hiding in the basement. The door opened - despite that I locked it!"

She looked at me as if I were insane. "Are you sure that you did not open it yourself?"

I pointed at my eyes with two fingers. "I saw it opening with my own eyes - by itself."

"Maybe it is not working like it should. Maybe the lock is broken or something. Your dad and I have discussed replacing the door."

I gripped my shirt. Something told me that replacing it would not make the creepiness go away.

Mom tossed the food slices in a small container. "What is with the dollhouse? And why is Elsie's doll sitting on top?"

"So the doll is Elsie's."

"Elsie still says that it is not hers. I believe her...but if it is not hers...whose is it?"

I was in my room and staring at the doll and dollhouse with my head in my palms. I was on my warm bed with my legs over the edge and kicking. The cute doll fell on the dollhouse. She was next to it and hit her head on it. I wondered if she and the dollhouse were connected. It could not be. She was too big to fit in the dollhouse.

"Where did you come from?" I said as if I expected the doll to reply. "I kind of wish that you would talk so you could tell me if this is your dollhouse. A pretty house."

Why am I talking to a doll?

Elsie poked her head in. "Eliza. May I trouble you for a moment?"

I shifted my attention to her. "What do you want?"

She stepped in with her arms wrapped around a doll. I rolled my eyes and slid off my bed. Why does she carry a doll wherever she goes? Dolls are not everything.

"I need your opinion on something important."

I ran my fingers through my long hair. "Do not say that it is about your dolls."

"Just the one that I am holding."

I glared at her. "What about it?"

She never said - because she was distracted by the pink dollhouse. Her eyes sparkled. "Is that a dollhouse?"

I scratched the back of my neck. "Yep. I found it in the basement by a bunch of garbage. It seems new. I asked Mom if it used to be hers. She said no. A total mystery. And it probably came with the doll."

She scooped up the pretty doll. "You mind if I have this doll and dollhouse?"

My heart sank when she asked. I tried to not get upset. I cannot believe that I am saying this, but I wanted the gorgeous doll. I wanted her.