Series Teaser

The show came to an end far too soon for anyone's liking. One by one, the guests filed out of their seats and back into the outside world. Snow had begun to fall in gentle waves. Caressing the streets with their frigid touch and coating the city with a blanket of pure white. I can hear the guests chattering about the show the Dolls had put on tonight. All from my perch in the back rooms. How am I able to hear this? 'Tis a simple matter. I know the theater as though as it were my own house. A house I had long left in the possession of the Tsar when I began traveling with the Dolls. Looking back now, there were too many memories I did not wish to see again.

Ah, a strange thing, memories are. Stirring emotions a man did not know he could have. And yet, the very core of them are intrinsic to the existence of the human race. I could elaborate further. But alas. I have a task I need to attend to. It would be unbecoming if my work had begun declining without warning. Oh, no. The Dolls would not like that.

Who am I, one may ask? I shall tell you. My name is Peter. Peter Konstantinovich Viktorov. Many simply refer to me as Mr. Viktorov. Before I became who I am today, I was the son of a loyal soldier to the Tsar. And for a time, I followed in my father's footsteps. However, I was injured while performing my duty. I was no longer fit to be a soldier afterward. Years passed, my life fell into ruin. I could not walk without a limp. But I could not beg lest I bring shame to my illustrious family. To see their faces look at me in disappointment… I swore I couldn't live with it.

One day, out in the outskirts of Moscow, a neighbor who knew my face required help. It was a simple machine he was struggling with. One powered by steam that a merchant had brought from the West. My neighbor struggled and struggled. Attempting to repair the machine with simple tools unfit for the job. He was on the verge of giving up when I asked if I could look at it. Relenting, he allowed me to take it apart and observe. No sooner than I had touched the wrench, I knew what had to be done. Working quickly and deftly, the machine was restored to working order. My neighbor was happy, I was content to help. And we both went our separate ways. Both of us thought that would be the last of it.

I suppose my younger self should have known better.

Word traveled throughout the village. And soon I was approached by someone associated with the Dolls. They wanted someone who was gifted with machines to help repair and maintain them. Preferably someone who would not mind traveling throughout the motherland. I remember how I lit up at the opportunity. A young boy from the army who had rediscovered his purpose. At long last, I could make myself useful again. I remember how the tears pricked at my eyes through the cold and biting winter as I thanked the man again and again.

That, my friends, was how I became the repairman of the Singing Dolls.

Meow!

Hm? What was that? Was that a meow I heard? I looked down at the floor to my side. Feeling paws touching my leg. I was met with the sight of a beautiful cat with a shimmering, silvery blue coat. Pale green and yellow eyes looked up at me, begging for a piece of fish to take. I felt my lips pull up in a smile. Amused by the cat's antics. I had known this one since he was but a small kitten. Fresh off the boats from Arkhangelsk.

I had gone to the marketplace with another from the troupe. The director needed fresh inspiration for his productions. At the time, we had only four Dolls in our repertoire. A soprano, an alto, a tenor, and a bass. A good range, but it would not sustain the troupe forever. I had passed by a seller of animals on my way to gather parts for repairs (what were these professions called again? I cannot remember). That was when I heard a tiny chorus of mewls.

I looked to the side. And in a wooden crate was a litter of kittens. A mixture of white and black. And for sale to anyone who had the rubles. I checked my pockets. The money I was given for parts was safely tucked in a pouch I had set aside. The money I had earned for myself and my family…

Well, I had enough for an extra companion.

Meow!

"Yes, yes, Vitali," I assured the cat. "I know, I know." I set my tools down and waddled to the storage. Vitali's fish was salted and preserved. But not enough we couldn't soften it again with a little water. Vitali's favorite was the pike caught from the far north. I prefer cod cooked in a hot stew. Mixed with different vegetables and greens. Ah, a delectable sight if it ever was one. Perhaps I should ask the troupe's chef about making borscht for a night if we have the ingredients.

I unlatched the chest containing Vitali's fish. Plucking one from the rest, I set it on a bowl and dripped warm water from a nearby samovar. I blew on it to cool it. It would not do to let Vitali scorch his tongue because of my careless mistake. Once I was certain it was cool enough, I clicked my tongue. Vitali sprang from his seat towards the bowl of heated fish. I set it down, watching him take the first bite of his dinner. Smiling, I left him with his fish while I refilled the samovar. Then, I collected my tools.

The Singing Dolls are a technical marvel of the Industrial Age. Amalgamations of mechanical parts woven together to create humanoid machines. All of whom are capable of mimicking the soul and complexity of the human voice. At present, we have seven of these Dolls. Tatiana, Agnessa, Olyusha, Irina, Mikhail, Gennady, and Sergei. All of them had roles to play.

And it was my job to make sure they performed well.

***

I set the gramophone to play a song. And then I began with the youngest of the Dolls. A cherubic lad we called Sergei. With eyes blue as the clear sky and hair as golden as the sun, his dulcet voice charmed all who listened. Many of us who worked with the Dolls often called him our little boy. Whether it was the older workers or those who had young siblings of their own, he was a charming boy.

"How are your hands, Sergei?" I asked. Gently grasping his hands as though I were handling an actual child, I examined them. Sergei was a Doll we used in tandem with many gestures. The gears in his wrists are always so prone to rusting. Grating against one another while his hands moved and twisted. It was good then that I had brought fresh oil.

"Let's take care of that rust, shall we?" I smiled at him as though I were smiling at a grandson. And I imagined him smiling back at me with his angelic smile. Holding the tip of my oiler close, I dripped the oil into his wrists. The rust cleared away, leaving behind a lovely sheen. Clean and reliable. I set Sergei's hands back to his sides. And I moved on to the other Dolls.

Gennady was an older gentleman we used for kings. Regal and steadfast. His booming baritone voice commanded respect every time he was on stage. He never once bent even during the most strenuous roles. For that, I rewarded him with a new arm. I feel his eyes watching my every move. Just like the kings he played. I smile, happy to have been of service to one.

"Take good care of that arm, Gennady," I said. Gennady's dark, wizened eyes trailed to his arm and back to me. Even while I gathered my tools and moved to where Mikhail stood. I felt the king's gaze on me all the while.

"Dobry vecher, Mikhail," I greeted. Mikhail's intense stare and voice courted the hearts of many young ladies in the audience. Enough to receive special requests where he performed solo and acapella. His smooth, velvety voice tugged at the hearts of the women who attended our shows. I examined the nooks and crannies of his joints. Being the most active of our three men, I felt it best to look over them.

"Have you been practicing, my good man?" Mikhail said nothing. Although he opened and closed his mouth to indicate he wanted to speak. Ah, did they forget to shut that down? No matter. I shall see to it he is properly set to rest for today.

"Let me take care of that for you."

I moved behind him and flipped off the switch for his voice box. It was not yet time to examine it yet as I had just performed maintenance on him. Content that he was now properly deactivated, I oiled his joints to make sure they moved well. Once that was complete, I assembled my tools and moved to the next Doll.

CLANG!

I whirled. My eyes darted to and fro in the sudden dark. Vitali had yowled and jumped onto a nearby dresser. His supper was abandoned on the floor. I searched, my old eyes unable to discern what had caused that sound. Then, one by one, the lights returned. Uncertain, I looked around again. Before I turned to the next Doll.

"Do you know what that was, Irina?" I asked. The Doll before me stared. Her dark eyes were set off by her curly dark hair. Her sultry voice allured many men while they listened to her sing. Irina was often used as a villainess in our productions. Be it wicked witches or tempting seductresses, Irina's voice and appearance were a perfect match for the roles.

Setting my tool chest down, I opened up her heart. "That was quite a scare," I said. My hands worked around the delicate gears that composed her chest. The core of Irina's model of Dolls. "You would think the young ones would know better than to play tricks on an old man." I supposed. Irina gave me a haughty sneer. Turning up her nose as always whenever I began talking. Though I could have sworn her eyes turned steely when Vitali began pawing the hem of her skirt.

"Need not worry, dearest Irina," I said while I closed her heart once again. "We shall move on soon enough." She said nothing to me. Only stared while I once again collected my tools and stood. Vitali accompanied me while I approached the next Doll.

"Olyusha, beloved," I cried. "Have they neglected you again?" Olyusha was an older female Doll who resembled a painting from the Renaissance. Gentle, tilting eyes, honey-brown hair, and a small smile. Had I not known better, I would have thought Olyusha was an angel descended from heaven. Her voice, a low timbre, was soothing to listen to. It was the reason we liked to rent her for religious services and operas.

"Here," I soothed. "Let me look at your voice box." Removing the voice box of a Doll had become relatively easy. I could do it in a second and have it cleaned before a minute was over. All the while… I felt a cold presence lingering behind me. Yet every time I glanced back, there was nothing. Vitali cleaned his paw while I put the voice box back inside Olyusha's throat. She sent me a small smile. Her hands folded in prayer while I turned to the next Doll.

Only Vitali saw the shadows moving along the walls.

"Agnessa," I breathed. "Did you break your foot again?" I imagined Agnessa nodding her head. Her round, cute face was framed by her wheat-blonde hair. Adorned by large eyes that were as blue as the noon sky. She was more a dancer than a singer. Thus, we reserved her for ballet recitals.

"Here," I said. "Let's have a look." I removed Agnessa's foot from her leg and examined it. The poor thing was split down the middle. Enough that she would trip over her own two feet were she set to dance again. And the materials for properly replacing it would not come for some time. All I could do for her now was to stitch it back together. Sighing, I set to work.

"You need to be more careful, child," I chided. "You cannot dance well with a foot like that." I imagined Agnessa blushed and hid her face away. Much like a child that had been caught trying to be brave amid a terrifying accident. It was amusing, how her mannerisms resembled that of a young girl so much. I've even "caught" her looking at Mikhail. Eyes full of love and adoration. As though they were once a pair in a previous life. I chuckled at the thought.

"There there," I say while I reattach her foot. "You needn't worry. I will be here." I could have sworn there was a childish yet grateful smile on her face. Like a small child pleased at receiving attention from a parent or a grandparent. But just as soon as I had seen it, her face was once again a blank mask. Did I imagine that? Or was Agnessa truly smiling at me? The other workers have already gone to sleep, so it must have been a flight of fancy.

Whatever the reason, Agnessa's repairs were finished for now. Once again collecting my tools, I move towards the last Doll. The star of every show and the prima donna of the troupe. The heroine in every story to be told. The latest Doll to come from the mind of their creator. And my dearest friend.

"Hello again, Tatiana."

***

Tatiana greeted me with her warm eyes. Deep green and crowned with russet red hair. Adorned in a velvet green dress embroidered in gold. I can see Vitali finishing the rest of his supper. Right before he canters over to lay at Tatiana's feet. I never understood how a cat could be attached to a Doll like this. Yet Tatiana has always been his favorite of them. Was it the warm aura she exuded? Or was it the smile she always had on her face? I will never know.

"How have you been, Tatiana?" I ask her. "Have they cleaned your voice box yet?" I say while I open up her throat to look. Despite their advancements, a Doll's voice is still subject to dirt and grime like other machines. Sliding the box out of its nook, I began to clean. As many can guess, a Singing Doll's greatest feature is their voice. Without it, they would simply be advanced mechanical dolls.

"Vitali!" I scolded. "Mind your manners!" Vitali only stares at me with his pale green eyes. His paws were padding against the hem of Tatiana's dress. All while his tail swished without a care in the world. I imagine Tatiana chuckling at the whimsical scene as though it amused her greatly. Had she been a real woman, perhaps she may have. Despite my irritation with him earlier, I also found myself chuckling.

It was times like these that reminded me of my place in the world. An old and feeble man who can no longer run like he used to. I glanced around at the Dolls. All propped up, deactivated, and put in their places. In a sense, I suppose, it reminded me of the loneliness I felt on occasion. No home, no wife, no family, no children or grandchildren. Not even a warm meal to share with friends. I am often not included in celebrations with the others. All the members of the troupe are young and healthy with a life ahead of them.

As for myself?

"Hah…"

I set down the cleaning rag to nurse a headache. Isn't it strange how it always ends like this? I lived my life in service to others. My talents and skills defined me. My family may as well have forgotten I existed when I wasn't at home. Years had passed since I joined as a repairman. My identity has become ingrained with that of the troupe. Now I have nothing but my fellow troupe members, the Dolls, and Vitali for company.

Being the last of my family is my price, I suppose.

Whoo…

Without warning, I felt a chill go down my spine. Sudden and unforgiving. As though someone had opened up one of the windows. I paused. Uneasy. My head slowly turned to look. All the Dolls were in their places. There were no windows to open nor were there any open drafts. It wouldn't be good for the Dolls to be exposed to the elements so carelessly. There is particular care taken to store them.

I placed my cleaning rag across my arm and turn my whole body to look. Save for the gramophone playing music, the room was quiet. Very quiet. I could have heard a mouse scurry by. Searching for food or gnawing through the wood. I felt the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end. The chill was enough I swore I saw my own breath.

My fears were proven to be vain. It was but a simple flickering of the light and my own fatigue playing tricks on my mind. Nothing more and nothing less. I laughed at myself.

"Peter, you old fool," I said while I continued cleaning Tatiana's voice box. "You are a fool. There is nothing but yourself and them here." My eyes caught Agnessa looking at me. "There is no one but—"

I stopped. Vitali scratching me and mewling to get my attention. My entire body felt like it was frozen. As though I were a body that fell during the dead of winter. That relentless chill down my spine returned. Gripping it like a vise. My heart hammered in my chest. My hands suddenly became stiff. The cleaning rag hung off my fingers. But I had to be careful. Or else Tatiana's voice box would shatter against the floor.

Vitali mewled again. Forcing me to look down. My eyes met his. A single, unspoken thought was communicated between us. How well he would fulfill his end of the bargain, I hoped I wouldn't see for a long time. I know my time is coming. But I had hope it wouldn't be for another few years. A feeble hope it was, but it was there.

The fear that gripped me loosened its hold. But I did not feel relief. Rather… I felt as though I was being watched. Not by one pair of eyes. But by several. How could that be, I wondered? The only living beings in the room were myself and Vitali. Slowly, moving my eyes from his, I glanced once more at the room.

My body froze again.

The heads of the Dolls were turned. All looking at me. From Sergei to Gennady to Irina to Agnessa. Even Mikhail, though I was certain I had shut down his power. Olyusha, beloved, why were you looking at me like that? Why were they staring at me with such blank faces? Why did it suddenly feel as though I wasn't alone in the room?

I heard Vitali mewl. And my eyes glanced down where he sat. No longer was he laying at the hem of Tatiana's dress. Now, he was seated on the floor. Eyes fixated on the Doll herself. Tatiana's eyes met with his. As though she were silently communicating with him. I chanced a look back. The other Dolls were still staring at me. Silent. Unmoving. Not even a rise and fall of their chests to indicate breathing.

What on earth was I thinking? They are automata. They cannot breathe. I must surely be imagining this happening. I closed my eyes. Taking deep, labored breaths. Hoping and praying that this will pass. Surely, this would pass.

I dared to open my eyes again. And, much to my relief, the Dolls were no longer looking at me. But rather staring ahead. I thought I saw Olyusha swiveling her head. But a forceful blink and another look later, she was staring ahead like the others. I felt a breath I was holding slowly exhale. Vitali mewled again, impatiently waiting for me to finish.

"I know, Vitali," I assured him. "I know." My cleaning rag in hand, I finish removing the dust and grime from Tatiana's voice box. I turned it over in my hands. Making sure it was thoroughly cleaned. Once I was satisfied, I opened up her throat again and placed her voice box back inside.

"Here you are," I told her. "Good as new." Vitali hopped onto my lap as soon as I sat down on the chair. He pawed at me. Begging me to give him a good scratch. I chuckled while I did. My hand roaming over his soft fur always put me at ease. Combined with his purring, I felt my earlier fear and disquiet melt away. Soon, it was as though that eeriness was never there. I glanced up at Tatiana. Her eyes met mine. And I smiled.

"Have a good day, Tatiana."

She smiled.

"… you as well."