My Girlfriend's Effigies

I made the mistake of looking in my girlfriend's closet one day. That's when I found the creepy little handmade dolls.

They were strange, yeah, but I didn't want to judge prematurely. Then I noticed that they had names written on them, names of her ex-boyfriends.

That put me in sort of a rough position. I didn’t really care about those guys that dated Becca before me. They were probably jerks anyways. Maybe she had some resentment towards them. She had a right to that. These dolls, though, had clearly been stabbed, burnt, twisted, and torn in all kinds of ways.

It started to bother me more and more.

Things were getting pretty serious. I met her parents. We had dinner over at their house. If I was going to be life partners with Becca, we needed to talk about the dolls.

I brought it up one quiet evening. She got defensive right away.

“What were you doing going through my stuff?” she yelled.

It was a sensitive topic, but I kept calm and explained my point of view. I wasn’t accusing her of anything. I wasn’t passing judgment. I was just asking because I was curious.

She calmed down after her initial outburst, and eventually she opened up about it.

“They’re effigies,” she explained. “Some of my exes were real assholes, and they put me through so much emotional pain that I feel like it’s only fair that I make them feel pain in return.”

I shivered.

“My grandma taught me how to make them. All I need is a lock of their hair, and I can make the effigy and perform the ritual to link it to their bodies. Then, when I hurt the doll, I hurt the person.”

I asked some more questions, but I couldn’t hold back my thoughts any longer.

“It’s terrible that these men hurt you. I get that, but that doesn’t make it right for you to do this.”

Her expression dropped, and her face twisted in rage. Then she screamed at me. How dare I say that. How dare I.

We delved into a heated argument.

“You’re hurting other people to make yourself feel better. That’s what children do.”

Then she threw a book at my head.

I ended up running out of the house. Then, I went home and promptly drank half a bottle of whiskey to drown my feelings.

Then I waited for the inevitable to happen.

The next morning, I heard the news. Poor Becca’s dad had died of a heart attack.

I was sad that he had to die, but it had to be done. She needed to learn a lesson.

You shouldn’t hurt people just because they hurt you. So don’t secretly take a clipping of your boyfriend’s hair in case things go sideways.

And even if you do…

Don’t hide it in such an obvious place. It makes it too easy to switch out his hair with your dad’s.