THE DOLL

Now, I’m neither an archaeologist or spelunker, just a guy out to challenge myself and have fun. But, what I saw and felt that day would paint a picture in my mind that now many years later is as vivid and vital as ever.

I was working my way through a cave in eastern Tennessee that a friend had recommended. My plan was to explore for about six hours in, then another six hours retracing my steps back out. Then I could go home and regale all my friends with partially true stories of my adventure.

I normally go alone on these quests: not recommended for cave exploration. But, I’m a bit of a loner, and get an extra rush from challenging danger. But I do take precautions: two flashlights, a system of marking my trail with rocks, and notifying a friend of where I am and what time I will be back.

What a cave system this was. I must have marked a hundred forks and branches for my return. I went through great domed rooms, down exalted great halls, through low narrow tunnels where I crawled through mud and water. My flashlight reveled sights of fairy lands with fluted curtains, high ugly rock walls, and sometimes it was so vast and dark that my light that could not penetrate to the end.

I suffered my usual maladies of torn pants and skinned knee, bleeding knuckles, and bruised forehead. It was all part of the game and helped back up the tales I would tell.

I was about five hours into the journey and had achieved that rush; the serge of adrenalin and release of endorphins that makes one feel carefree and exalted. I was working my way around a large room when my flashlight beam caught a piece of cloth on a low ledge. As I drew closer I could see it was a doll; an Indian doll. Only about six inches long it was in a tiny cradle board made from deer skin with decorative beads attached. The doll itself was made of wood with eyes and mouth painted on. My mind tried to picture how this child’s toy could have gotten this far into the cave.

My flashlight beam wandered. I let out a yell and fell backwards dropping the light and skinning my palms. I had seen a face; a horrible face that looked at me with no eyes. Black wisps of hair hung in tatters across the face with a sunken nose. White teeth and exposed bone had gleamed in the light beam. My instincts were to run. With a shaking hand I recovered the flashlight and had to shine it back on the horror to see if it was moving toward me.

Then I could see the thing. It was a mummified body partially decayed with boney outstretched arms. As my heartbeat slowed I could see that it was just a child of five or six. I could detect a look of anguish in that face. The decaying clothes of animal skin indicated a girl of the ancient past. I realized, the tiny wooden doll was hers.

My horror turned to sadness. How could she have gotten here? I looked for signs of a torch but found nothing. Why, a girl with her doll wandering this inky blackness?

I carefully picked up the doll. Hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, this flesh and blood girl had received this doll from -- probably her parents. How she must have loved it. Shone its white deerskin wrap and painted face to the other children. Carrying it with her to the flowing creek and the meadow full of flowers and butterflies. Slept with it in the crook of her arm so she could see it in the morning as she first opened her eyes. How happy her parents must have been to see that their handiwork was the most precious thing in her life.

But why the cave? During play, had she wandered in to far and lost her way? Or, more dramatically, had the enemy tribes from the north invaded, and her parents left her in the safety of the cave, telling her to stay quietly until they returned for her. And then left to face their fate.

It was a sad picture I had of a five year old girl, hugging her doll, face stained with tears. Tormented by thirst and hunger and cold and fear as she staggered and crawled in the total darkness searching for light. Through mud and water, clutching her tiny companion, she faced more hell in that cave then most do in a lifetime. And then when the end came and she could go no further, the unkindest thing of all. She dropped her doll and in total darkness and to weak to search, she had to lay down to die alone.

With tears of sadness in my eyes I sat down on the cave floor next to the little girl, and for the next half hour I provided silent companionship to one who needed it so badly. Then I lay the doll in the crook of the beautiful little girls arm.

I can’t explain it, but I immediately sensed a force within the cave: a cold breath of air. Seemingly, blowing across the centuries it came. The little girl’s arm closed and her doll was pressed to her breast. I stiffened, but then relaxed. How it happened seemed less important to me then that it did happen. My eyes were still moist, now with tears of joy.

As I gathered my gear and headed out, I shined my light for one more look. The little girls face had lost its look of anguish, and instead was one of peaceful sleep. -- I then returned to my world.

The End

Story ID:	4221
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Fiction
Location:	Rural Tenn. USA
Year:	1995