The Company We Keep

It had been four months since Eliza took her post as governess in the Harrington house, though it often felt as though she’d been there much longer.

She had arrived one unseasonably cool August afternoon and met the lady of the home, the widow Mrs. Harrington. A woman of few words, she exchanged one or two pleasantries with Eliza before showing her to the bedroom of her ‘sweet Toby.’ At which point, Eliza learned the terrible truth: the boy she’d be caring for was not a boy at all, but rather, a doll!

Mrs. Harrington muttered one or two other things about the property before excusing herself to her study. “I’m dreadfully behind. I hope neither you nor Toby will interrupt my research,” she said harshly before closing the door.

What she researched, Eliza had no idea, but she abided by this: she did her best not to bother Mrs. Harrington, and so too did Toby, obviously.

Naturally, the situation set Eliza ill at ease. Her immediate plan was to leave, but the truth was, Mrs. Harrington paid a very high rate, and Eliza simply needed the money too much. But this fact could not stop her mind from catching upon the slew of disturbing questions the situation seemed to demand. Namely: Might Toby not be as inanimate as he seemed? Might, in fact, he be an amalgamation of wood, cloth, and filling in which the soul of a boy had been entrapped?

Eliza became certain of this in those early days. At night, she barely slept, awaiting the creak of a floorboard made by the depression of a tiny shoe. In the mornings, harried, she rushed about Toby’s room, her back to him, awaiting the pressure of his hand upon her ankle or even just the feeling of being watched in a room where she should possess the only two living eyes.

Only, none of this happened. Which led, eventually, to a startling realization. There existed a fate worse than taking care of a possessed doll: taking care of an entirely unpossessed doll.

Eliza experienced boredom like never before. And quiet too.

Making matters worse, Mrs. Harrington seemed to have a sixth sense for when her ambition as a governess slacked. Eliza would awaken, resolute to steal some time for herself. But then, no sooner would she set up Toby at the train set in his room and turn to her book than she’d look up and find the lady of the house glaring in with disapproval. And again, the money was top-notch.

But recently, Eliza struck upon a plan, not so much a solution but at least something that might alleviate her languor. She would purchase Toby a Christmas gift: a Cuddle Barn Animated Storytime Plush. She might even buy two of them. Once unwrapped, all she had to do was put two AA batteries into each, and they’d sway and light up and tell stories. And sure, the stories would be children’s stories, and Eliza recently turned twenty-eight.

But dear god, would she appreciate some damn company.