A Guide to Useless Sidekicks

By

Shannon Grant

Dad, it’s just a bunch of old doll parts.

Stacy looked up at her father as if he were crazy, a habit she had cultivated through the years whenever her dad would take her on a shopping trip with him. At least this time they were out and about at a cool place, unlike a hardware or sporting goods store. They were at the flea market.

Stacy loved the yearly summer flea market in town. She adored exploring the booths, looking at the strange and interesting things people had taken out of their attics and basements, the dusty relics of a time before she was born. There were rows of rusty old tools that looked dangerous to Stacy. Glasses from fast food restaurants with cartoon characters stamped on them. Lots of baseball cards encased in plastic from a bygone era.

The doll parts, however, were a little much.

Hey, you can’t beat that price? See, one dollar for the whole box, her dad said, trying hard to be encouraging. As he spoke, he pointed to the words written in black marker along the side of the box, stroking the chin of his dark beard with his other hand. It did indeed say, $1.00 FOR BOX.

Stacy put her hand inside the box and drew out a random plastic leg. She looked at it as if it were something rotten, a piece of old leftover food found way in the back of the fridge.

You’re crafty. You can build something new out of these old parts. You know, practice your building skills. There has to be a section in your beginner book about that, he said, giving her a sly wink.

Stacy smirked at her dad at the secret they weren’t supposed to share with the outside world. Then she peered over the side and saw a brunette doll head sitting on top, its blank eyes staring back at her.

She sighed, then looked up at her dad. Ok, she said, admitting defeat.

Come on. Sandy’s away so you can’t boss her around. You need something crafty to keep you occupied.

Her best friend, Sandy, had gone away to summer camp for the month of July. Stacy had thought about going, but she had done the summer camp thing before, and she didn’t like it. She had to follow a schedule, doing things even if she didn’t want to. She didn’t get a choice. She also hated the bugs, the boys, and being away from home.

Sandy was her sidekick and she missed her terribly.

Hi, we’ll take the box, Stacy’s dad said to the man behind the table.

The man looked like every other man on the lot, older, stocky, a bit overweight. He had a long beard and small piggy eyes. To Stacy, he looked like the type of man who would sell a box of body parts.

That’ll be one dollar, the man said. Looking to make some new friends, eh? Literally? He smiled at his own bad joke.

Stacy gave a polite, forced smile. Yeah.

Well, good luck, he said, taking the dollar from her dad.

Thanks, her dad said as he handed the box to Stacy. We’ll figure out something to do with them.

A box of dolls?

Doll parts, mom. It was dad’s idea, Stacy said, passing her in the kitchen on her way up to her room. Her mom had been baking, her magic cookbook out in front of her, the kitchen smelling sweet and fruity. What are you making?

Some kind of unicorn biscuit. They’re supposed to turn from pink to purple as they bake. She picked up the container of unicorn powder and added it to the blue mixing bowl on the counter next to her.

That’s not made from real unicorns, is it? Stacy asked with concern.

Her mom stopped and looked over at her. Oh no, sweetie! It’s just a mixture of magic ingredients to make it look colorful.

Stacy sighed with relief. She never knew with those ingredients. She remembered once going into the freezer for a popsicle and was greeted with a container labeled DRAGON BONE BROTH. When she asked her mom, she gagged when she told her it was made from real dragon bones and hoped her mom hadn’t used it in a dinner recipe without telling her.

So, what are you going to do with them? her mom asked.

Stacy shrugged. I guess build dolls?

Her mom nodded. You’re creative. It’ll keep you out of trouble. She had grown used to her husband’s eccentricities. Last time they had gone to the flea market he had brought home a wagon wheel and turned it into a chandelier.

Stacy trudged up the stairs with the box. It wasn’t heavy, and she was becoming a bit curious as to what kind of parts were inside. She opened the door to her room, sat down, and dumped the contents of the box on the floor.

The scene resembled a doll war zone. Plastic arms and legs scattered everywhere. Some torsos, even fewer heads. They looked like the parts of knock-off Barbie dolls, not quite proportional, not quite right. She picked up a random leg and stuck it onto the socket of a torso.

She was surprised to see how well it fit. Grabbing another leg, she crawled over to the closet, searching for the white plastic doll wardrobe which held the small clothes she had collected over the years.

The smooth cabinet with the ornate gold-colored S on the doors had been given to her by her mother five years prior to that summer, when Stacy was seven. After a year, she had forgotten about it, leaving the wardrobe in the closet, letting the clothes inside be protected from the dust of age.

Stacy removed the wrongly applied leg from the torso and put it on the right way. She searched and found a matching leg and stuck that on the other side. Pretty soon, both arms were attached and Stacy was searching for just the right head.

She had never been a fan of the blonde Barbie look, so she chose a blue-eyed brunette head with a thick ponytail. It looked like her. She smiled as she attached the head, the doll looking more like an actual human rather than a freak accident.

Her hand searched around in the wardrobe for the perfect outfit, which turned out to be a pair of purple leggings with an oversized blue t-shirt.

There. That looks good, Stacy said.

She noticed the legs didn’t have the pointy toes meant for high heels like most dolls of her ilk. The feet were perfect for the flat white sneakers that had somehow found their way into the wardrobe. She placed them on the doll’s feet, the sneakers fitting perfectly like Cinderella’s glass slipper. She closed the wardrobe’s doors and placed the doll on top.

Hmmm. You look like a Debbie, she told the doll.

The doll stared blankly up at her.

Will you be my sidekick? Stacy asked with a smirk. Then Stacy got an idea. She crawled over to her bookcase, taking out her very first magic wand, the one her mom had given her on her twelfth birthday earlier in the spring.

With the gift of the starter wand, her mom had told her the family secret.

We are witches, dear. Well, at least you and I am. Your father is human, she had said while Stacy examined the beautiful swirls carved into the wand.

Really? Stacy asked in awe.

Really really. And I’ll teach you what you need to know, along with a starter magic book. But you have to keep quiet, and tell no one our secret. And you must never use magic without my permission.

Stacy remembered this conversation clearly and had always kept the family secret away from the outside world. What her mom didn’t know is that she used magic all the time without her mom’s permission.

It was simple things at first; she would use her wand (always hidden in the crook of her arm) to create large, lifelike shadows of monsters to scare the smaller kids on her school’s playground. She would laugh as a monster shadow would get bigger and bigger and draw closer and closer to a random seven-year old, the shadow eventually touching him and he would run off screaming, the shadowy monster hair turning out to be real and brushing his arm lightly. She had gotten away with this on multiple occasions, the teachers nor the students realizing she had a wand or magical powers.

The shadows were a simple trick in her beginner’s spellbook. Eventually Stacy grew tired of the book because all it seemed to contain her parlor tricks. Make shadows. Levitate a playing card in midair. Turn the TV on and off from across the room with just the wand. All of those were easy to master. Once she had figured all of those out, she grew curious and, with the stealth of the ninja, would go to her mom’s advanced magic bookcase in her parents’ room when she was home alone. She paged through the books and found out how to control her best friend Sandy.

It wasn’t the easiest spell to learn, but Stacy challenged herself and pretty soon was using small flicks of her wand to get Sandy to do things for her. Usually it was just getting her to go downstairs and get snacks for the two of them, but soon it turned to Sandy doing her homework for her. Stacy never felt bad about it, always thinking that since Sandy was her friend and sidekick, she would be happy to do these things for her. All she needed was a little push.

Now with Sandy gone for the month, Stacy needed a new sidekick.

Stacy held the wooden wand in her hand, as she had grown accustomed to, and gave a flick, imaging the doll coming to life. She closed her eyes for better concentration.

When she opened her eyes, she was disappointed to see the spell hadn’t worked.

Stacy picked up the rest of the plastic parts and threw them back into the box, the smooth sound of plastic hitting cardboard bouncing around the room. She wondered how many dolls she could make with the leftover parts.

She took Debbie and tried to stand her up straight on the carpet, two tiny shoes attempting to prop her up. When Stacy pulled her hand away, Debbie remained standing.

With her thumb and forefinger, Stacy flicked Debbie in the stomach, making her fall to the floor.

The doll’s arms spread out, turning to almost catch her as she fell. The straight legs bent as she hit the floor, but the molded smile never changed.

Debbie, Stacy whispered. Are you alive?

The doll remained silent. Then her head slowly rose from the floor. Debbie put her hands under her to lift herself up, her legs bending as she drew her feet under her legs and stood.

Stacy smiled at the doll.

In the next few days, Stacy kept Debbie a secret from her parents and gave her daily tasks. The doll somehow knew how to braid hair, and she would use her tiny hands to braid Stacy’s, something the girl never got the hang of on her own. She gave her the job of killing the mosquitos in her room because she kept her window open on the hot and humid nights. One day, she put Debbie in the basket on the front of her bike and rode them both to the downtown drugstore.

Debbie, I’m gonna distract the cashier and you get a pack of gum, Stacy told her, and Debbie happily obliged, the smile never leaving her face.

Stacy was happy with her new sidekick. The downside was Debbie’s hands were so small she could only get a pack of gum or something smaller than that.

Stacy had thought about other things she could make Debbie do for her. Would Debbie be able to distract someone while Stacy stole something bigger? It could happen, but what if the shopkeeper took the doll? Then Stacy remembered she had a whole box of doll parts, and she could possibly make another Debbie to boss around.

The second week Debbie was around, Stacy began to notice changes in Debbie’s behavior.

Ow! Stacy yelled as Debbie pulled her hair a bit too tight while she was braiding it.

Debbie, you were supposed to put the flies in the trash can, not in my bed! Stacy said as Debbie dumped a pile of dead flies in her bed.

Debbie, you know I wanted the blue raspberry flavor and not the fruit punch one. Plus it’s not the brand I wanted, she chided the doll as she put her back in her bike’s basket, and covered her with the cloth she had put in there to hide from suspicious eyes. It was too late to go back to the store. It would raise suspicion.

As she rode away, Debbie lifted the cloth and tried to climb out of the basket.

No! Stacy yelled, stopping the bike. She smacked the doll’s head down and tucked the cloth back over her. What are you doing? You’re not supposed to do that!

Debbie lifted the cloth again and peered up at Stacy, her frozen smile and unblinking eyes creeping Stacy out for the very first time since she had built her.

Debbie! Stacy shouted, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. She needed a firm voice with this one.

The doll slowly tucked herself back under the cloth. Stacy gave the basket a look of satisfaction, trying to ignore the eerie feeling Debbie had given her. She gripped the handles of her bike, her knuckles turning white, then pushed off, hoping the doll would listen to her for the rest of the ride home.

A rustling sound in the room woke Stacy. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before she turned her head.

Debbie crept around the bedroom floor, over by the box of doll parts on the other side of the room.

Debbie? Stacy asked, sleep still in her voice. What are you doing?

Debbie froze. Her head slowly turned to look over at Stacy.

That creepy, crawly feeling rose up inside of Stacy again, the same one she had felt when Debbie had to escape from the bike basket.

Debbie? Stacy tried to keep the fear out of her voice.

The rustling came again, and Stacy noticed it was coming from the box.

Stacy moved her legs so she could get out of bed, but was shocked to find she couldn’t move them. She tried to