The Bernice L. McFadden Collection. Bernice L. McFadden

rounded the church and spotted Vesta and Doll seated on the grass with their legs stretched out like matchsticks. A wicker basket heaped with colorful eggs rested between them. Doll’s arm was extended over her head, the tip of her index finger trained at the sky.

      “That there is the Big Dipper and the one over there is the Little Dipper …”

      Vesta cooed with wonder.

      “Okay, my little stargazers, it’s time to head home,” August announced upon his approach.

      “Daddy, I think I got a splinter,” Vesta said, and curled her right foot onto her lap.

      “You did?” August eased down, took Vesta’s foot into his hand, and examined the sole.

      “Do you see it, Daddy?”

      August shook his head. “It’s too dark. Your mother will take a look at it when we get home.”

      “I looked and I didn’t see no splinter,” Doll murmured.

      August patted the top of Vesta’s foot. “Come on now, your mother’s waiting.”

      Vesta rose to her feet, grabbed her shoes, and limped across the grass. August stood, brushed torn blades of grass from the knees of his trousers, and peered down at Doll.

      “You too, let’s go.”

      Doll demurely presented her hand and said, “Please help me up, Daddy August.”

      She had started calling him that just days after Coraline had abandoned her on his porch. Daddy August. She’d said it a million times, but never in that slithering tone. The hair on August’s neck and arms spiked.

      He took her hand and tugged, but Doll snatched it away and tumbled down to the ground, laughing. Her dress flew up, revealing smooth thighs and the pyramidshaped mass of pubic hair between them.

      August’s eyes popped with surprise and he began stupidly stammering: “What … why …”

      Doll’s laughter turned raucous.

      “Shut up,” he whispered, looking fearfully over his shoulder. “Shut up and pull down your dress.”

      August wanted to slap her, kick her, and stomp her face until her mouth was swollen shut. The visions flashed recklessly through his mind, though he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than demand her silence.

      “Shut up! Shut up!”

      Finally, Doll stopped laughing.

      After pulling her dress down and wiping the tears from her eyes, she extended her hand once again.

      It was all August could do to keep from spitting on her. He stormed off, and Doll jumped to her feet and skipped along behind him.

      The ride home was quiet and tense. In the carriage, Ann stared curiously at her husband’s rigid back.

      “You okay?”

      “Fine.”

      In the house, she asked again and was met with the same stiff, cold response. Ann sighed, leaned over, pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek, and bid him goodnight.

      An eerie quiet, as still as pond water, filled the house. August settled himself into his favorite chair, reached for the Bible on the side table, and pressed it against his heart. His mind was reeling, grappling with and trying to comprehend what he had seen, the way Doll had behaved.

      Why in the world wasn’t she wearing any undergarments? Should he tell Ann? Was the girl possessed? Could his own daughter be next?

      August gave his head a violent shake, but the images and the questions held fast.

      A door creaked open and he fixed his gaze expectantly on the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms. Soon, Doll appeared.

      August stiffened.

      “Yes, Daddy August?” Doll yawned.

      August couldn’t speak.

      “You called me?”

      Had he?

      August tightened his grip on the Bible.

      Maybe he had.

      “Come here, Doll.” His tone was soft, but uneven.

      The girl stumbled sleepily toward him. Beneath the flickering glow of the oil lamp, she looked like the same sweet child he had welcomed into his home and raised as his own. Perhaps, he thought as he lowered the Bible down into his lap, he had imagined the spectacle.

      After all, the day had been unusually warm. The sun had not been blistering—but hot enough to do damage to the senses. And he had been out without a hat. Not to mention his overindulgence of cured ham, buttered rolls, raspberry pie, and sweet tea. The combination could muddle the mind of any sane man. Couldn’t it?

      Of course it could, he told himself. Well, the proof was standing right next to him. He couldn’t recall summoning Doll, but he must have, because there she was.

      Embarrassed and ashamed, August hooked his pinky finger to Doll’s and said, “Did you enjoy yourself today?”

      She shot him a quizzical look. “Uhm, yes, Daddy August, I did.”

      “Good, good,” August mumbled. “Now go on back to bed.”

      Over the days and weeks that followed, August tried to live his life as if that night had never happened and he had not seen that dark pyramid. But it haunted his waking and sleeping hours, and soon he found himself wondering about the treasure it hid. In his dreams, he did not have to wonder. In his dreams, Doll handed him the key and he would plunder and pilfer that pyramid until the roosters sang.

      But outside of his dream state, he had not laid an unfatherly hand on the girl!

      “I did not do this thing, Ann, you must believe me!” August wailed.

      “Liar!” Ann screamed, then flew from the bed, pounced on August, and began pummeling him with her fists. “Youlowdownnogoodsonofabitch!”

      August tried his best to fend her off, but Ann’s rage overpowered him. He would not hit her back, he was not that type of man, so he crumpled to the floor and suffered the abuse.

      Seemingly satisfied that she had brought her husband to tears, Ann fled from the room and down the hall in search of Doll. In the bedroom, Vesta was crouched down and pressed into a corner. When Ann burst in, Vesta shrieked with fear.

      “Where is she?” Ann screeched.

      The wide-eyed Vesta aimed a shaky finger toward the open window.

      Outside, Ann circled the house, looked behind pecan trees, the outhouse, and underneath the porch.

      Doll was nowhere to be found.

      Ann marched from one house to the next, pounding on doors and shouting August’s and Doll’s transgressions into the stunned faces of those who dared answer.

      “Your man of God! Your reverend is fucking that devil he brought into our home!”

      August trailed Ann, offering apologies to the neighbors.

      “Forgive her, she is not well. I think she has fever.”

      He pleaded: “Ann, please stop this nonsense. Come back home and let me get a doctor to see about you!”

      She stooped down, gathered a fistful of pebbles, and pelted him. “Get away from me!”

      Doubling back to the house, Ann went inside, shut and bolted the door.

      August pounded on the door for three hours. He pounded until the side of his hand was raw as fresh meat, but Ann never allowed him reentry. He spent the night in the carriage, wrapped in the stinking, rough blanket he used to cover the horse.

      The next morning, he was awakened by the sound of his wife’s voice issuing demands: “Put that there. Careful now, don’t break