“Nothing good has ever come from the phrase ‘It’ll be funny.'” - Unknown
It was a prank. Just a prank.
At least that was how Dennis explained it to himself afterward.
A harmless joke. A little embarrassment. Something to knock his brother-in-law Jason down a peg or two before the man disappeared completely into whatever strangely desperate digital cave he seemed to be living in these days.
The idea hadn’t even been Dennis’s at first.
It started with his wife.
One evening she came into the kitchen holding her phone with the particular expression people get when the internet has disappointed them again.
“Jason’s posting again,” she said.
Dennis kept rinsing a coffee mug.
“What about this time?”
She read from the screen.
“‘Women only date criminals now. Society is collapsing. Men like me are being replaced.’”
Dennis sighed.
“Those videos again?”
“The same ones.”
Jason was forty-six. Divorced once and very nearly divorced a second time if you counted the three-month engagement that ended when his fiancée Googled him.
He lived with their mother in a slightly sagging house on the edge of a very small town that had exactly one diner, two churches, and a remarkable ability to remember other people’s business forever.
Most evenings Jason could be found in the detached garage behind the house rebuilding the same Oldsmobile he had been rebuilding for the better part of twelve years while various men on the internet explained why modern civilization had been ruined by women.
Dennis had always tried talking with Jason, but it was a never-ending exercise in futility. Jason could run his mouth longer than a Congressional filibuster and make about as much sense.
Dennis stopped trying.
A few nights later, Dennis and his wife were half-watching television when a late-night host started doing a segment about those lifelike dolls comedians had been joking about for years.
The host held up a photo.
The audience exploded with laughter.
Dennis chuckled.
His wife shook her head.
“Some sad guy somewhere probably thinks that’s the solution to his problems.”
Dennis stared at the screen.
Then he thought about Jason.
Then he thought about Jason’s mother answering the door when the delivery truck arrived.
He laughed out loud.
Dennis picked up his phone.
“Don’t,” his wife said.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“What are you looking up?”
“Just curious.”
She leaned over his shoulder.
“Oh no.”
Dennis would later insist he had considered the consequences.
What he meant was that he had considered them for almost three seconds, but the comedic value beat out logic.
---
The crate arrived at 10:14 the following Thursday morning.
Jason was in the garage listening to a podcast about declining Western masculinity when the delivery truck rolled into the driveway.
Their mother answered the door.
Mrs. Caldwell was nearly seventy and had the quiet observational skills of a woman who had spent most of her life watching other people behave foolishly without interrupting them.
The delivery driver stood beside a wooden crate roughly the size of a washing machine.
“Package for Jason Caldwell.”
She adjusted her glasses and read the label.
MEDICAL TRAINING MANNEQUIN - HUMAN FORM
“Oh,” she said pleasantly.
“My Jason’s always been handy, but I didn’t know he was studying medicine.”
The driver shrugged.
“Needs a signature.”
Ten minutes later the crate sat in the middle of the living room.
Jason came inside for lunch.
He stopped in the doorway.
“Why is there a coffin in the living room?”
“It’s for you,” his mother said.
Jason frowned.
“I didn’t order a coffin.”
“Well, your name’s on it.”
Jason approached the crate cautiously.
“Maybe it’s a mistake.”
“Probably,” she said.
“You should open it.”
Jason opened the box.
Packing straps.
Staples.
Plastic.
Foam.
Then the face appeared.
Smooth dark skin.
Long black hair.
Still expression.
Jason recoiled like the box had hissed.
His mother peered over the edge.
Silence.
“Oh my.”
She chuckled.
“Well, she’s very pretty.”
Jason turned red immediately.
“I DID NOT ORDER THIS.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said calmly.
Jason stared into the crate.
The doll stared back with the blank serenity of someone who had never heard a three-hour lecture about alpha males.
Jason slammed the lid back down.
“Someone’s fucking with me!”
“That does seem possible,” his mother said.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment there was a knock and the front door opened.
Their neighbor Marlene stepped inside holding a pie.
“I made extra -”
She stopped.
She saw the crate.
She saw Jason sweating beside it.
She saw the doll.
Marlene blinked.
"Oh my..."
Small towns have a simple formula for the spread of information.
One witness plus one phone call equals the entire population by dinner.
By four o’clock the mechanic shop knew.
By five the diner knew.
By six the Baptist prayer group knew.
By seven someone had given the doll a name.
Danielle.
By eight someone at the diner had asked if she was Jason’s fiancée.
Someone else quipped that Jason had always preferred foreign models.
By the time the pie came out of the oven, one of the church ladies was wondering aloud if they should add Jason to the prayer list.
An older gentleman asked if Jason had registered them to vote yet, then returned to nursing his coffee.
Jason locked himself in the garage.
The Oldsmobile had never heard such language.
Mrs. Caldwell heaved the doll out of the crate and set it on the couch.
She studied it thoughtfully.
Then she tucked a blanket around its legs.
“You’ll catch cold sitting in that box.”
---
Dennis felt quite pleased with himself that evening.
He watched Jason’s increasingly furious Facebook posts unfold like a fireworks display.
THIS IS HARASSMENT!
WHOEVER SENT THIS THINKS THIS IS FUNNY!!
I AM CONTACTING POLICE!!!
Dennis laughed.
The universe, he felt, had delivered a valuable lesson.
The next day he checked his credit card balance.
$3,812.
Dennis winced.
Still worth it.
Later that week, while paying bills online, he noticed it.
Another charge.
Same company.
Same amount.
Dennis stared.
“That can’t be right.”
He called the company.
A cheerful voice answered.
“Thank you for calling Premium Companion Manufacturing!”
Dennis explained the situation.
“I only ordered one.”
The representative clicked keys.
“Yes sir, I see that.”
“Then why was I charged twice?”
Dennis could hear typing in the background.
“Oh.”
Pause.
“Yes sir. The first charge is for the doll.”
“And the second?”
“That is for the replacement doll.”
Dennis blinked.
“The what?”
“The replacement.”
“Why would there be a replacement?”
“Well sir,” she said politely, “the original model was reported as defective.”
---
Jason had called the company in a rage.
“I DIDN’T ORDER THIS.”
Customer service had been extremely apologetic.
“Oh dear! That must have been a shipping error.”
Jason demanded they take it back immediately.
They agreed.
And shipped a replacement.
---
Three days later another truck arrived.
Mrs. Caldwell signed again.
“Oh my,” she said.
Jason screamed from the garage.
---
Dennis tried to dispute the charges.
The credit card company listened carefully.
They sympathized.
They declined.
The transactions were legitimate.
The products had shipped.
The replacement processing fee was non-refundable.
Dennis did what men have done throughout history when confronted with the consequences of their own stupidity.
He ignored the problem.
Weeks passed.
Jason stopped posting angry rants online.
Dennis found this mildly disturbing.
Then one Saturday afternoon his phone buzzed.
A text from his wife.
She was visiting her mother, as she did every other weekend.
The message contained only a photo.
Dennis opened it.
The Caldwell living room.
His mother-in-law sat on the couch.
Jason sat beside her.
Between them sat the two dolls.
Both upright.
Both wearing sweaters.
A blanket lay neatly across their laps.
Wheel of Fortune glowed on the television.
A plate of no-bake cookies sat on the coffee table.
Dennis stared at the picture.
Another text appeared.
> Mom says Jason seems less angry lately.
Dennis was still staring when his phone chimed again.
This time it was an email.
NOTICE OF ACCOUNT TRANSFER
His unpaid balance had been forwarded to a collections agency.
Dennis set the phone down slowly.
It had been a prank.
Just a prank.
Jason, meanwhile, appeared to be settling into a surprisingly stable domestic arrangement.
Dennis, on the other hand, was now eight thousand dollars in debt.
And for the first time in years, people in town were saying Jason Caldwell had finally found someone who understood him.
Two of them, actually.
And according to his mother, they were very quiet girls.
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