Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 7, No. 9, September 1962

Ann was gripping the newel post so hard that her knuckles had turned white. “But why Clara?” The two girls registered nothing but bewilderment, and soon Ann said tonelessly, “There’s a snack for you in the kitchen. I have to finish the mending.”

But when she returned to the spare bedroom, she replaced the box of clothes in the closet. She went to her own room to get the remnant of pale green silk.

Ann timed the surprise perfectly. While Holly was taking her bath that night, Ann tiptoed into her room and knelt beside the doll house. What a difference the new curtains and bedspread made in Mrs. Pettingill’s room. And the moss-green velvet pillow on the slipper chair was an inspiration. As her final touch, Ann slipped a minute string of pearls around Mrs. Pettingill’s throat.

“What’re you doing?” Holly had entered with a towel draped around her shoulders, and water was still trickling down her legs.

Ann stood up. “Oh, I just made a little surprise for the doll house.” She saw her daughter was trembling. “Dry yourself off first, dear. You can see it after you’ve put on your pajamas.”

Holly remained near the door, shivering. “But I didn’t want you to, Mommy,” she said tearfully. “I told you not to do anything more to the doll house.”

“You’ll catch cold like that. Here, let me help you.” Ann began rubbing Holly down briskly with the towel. “Now put on your pajamas quick.” Holly was so slow about it that. Ann finished buttoning the top herself. “There, now,” her mother said. “Let’s go see the surprise.”

“No,” Holly shuddered. “I’m still cold. I just want to go to bed and get warm.”

Ann’s disappointment changed to concern. “Do you feel sick, darling?”

Holly hunched herself under the covers. “My stomach feels funny.”

“It’s from all those brownies and lemonade this afternoon. I know Sara makes a habit of stuffing herself, but you should know better.” Ann frowned. “Maybe some milk of magnesia...”

“I’ll be all right.”

“You’re sure?”

Holly nodded.

Ann kissed her. “Call me if you should start to feel sick.” she turned to look at Holly once more before she went downstairs. The child lay absolutely still, her eyes fixed on the doll house.

The cry in the middle of the night was unrecognizable at first, but Phil and Ann instantly awoke to full consciousness. Then from Holly’s room came a terrified, “Daddy... Daddy.”

Ann flung back the sheet and blanket. “Stay here,” she said tersely to her husband. “I’ll go to her.”

Holly was huddled against her pillow. She wouldn’t look up when Ann bent over her, murmuring, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Take it away,” Holly gasped.

“Take what away?”

“The doll house. Take it away... now,” Holly pleaded.

“In the middle of the night. But why, darling? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Just take it away... please. Right now.” Holly’s voice rose, shrill to the verge of hysteria.

Phil appeared in the doorway. He’d apparently heard what she’d said, for he commented smoothly, reasonably, “But we can’t move it out at this hour, honey. All the stuff inside has to be taken out so nothing will get broken. We’ll take care of it the first thing in the morning.”

But Holly was unassuaged. She kept crying, “No... take it away... now.”

“Tell you what,” Phil said after a moment of deliberation. “Suppose we put something over the doll house so you can’t see it.” He motioned to Ann to get the extra blanket at the foot of Holly’s bed.

“What do you suppose frightened her so.” Ann whispered to Phil as he stepped over to her.

“Never mind that now,” he muttered. “The poor kid’s upset enough already.” Then he raised his voice to the same unruffled tone as before. “Holly, remember that time when you were about four or five, and you kept seeing those shadows from your tree swing on this wall...”

Ann unfolded the blanket. She was about to drape it over the doll house. But she sensed that something was terribly wrong. Mrs. Pettingill. Where was she? Ann searched every room in the doll house with mounting tension. Clara and Charlie and Mr. Pettingill were seated in the parlor, their china faces placid and content. The scene was entirely too innocent.

Ann found the clue she was looking for. The pearl necklace. Clara was wearing Mrs. Pettingill’s pearl necklace.

Almost instinctively now Ann knew where she would find Mrs. Pettingill. She reached up to the storage room in the attic. Her fingers felt numb as she unlocked and opened the steamer trunk. Mrs. Pettingill was inside... crushed... her neck broken.

Ann slowly turned around. With the trunk between her thumb and forefinger, she held it up for Holly to see. “Why did you let them do it?”

Holly leaned toward her father. “It... it was an accident.” She pressed closer against Phil. “I didn’t mean to. Honest.”

Phil tightened his arm around the child. “For God’s sake, Ann,” he began angrily. Then he stopped. He’d never before seen the kind of emotion that was now darkening his wife’s eyes.