One by one the club members arrived. Each brought a piece of a project they were working on. Manuscripts, wood carvings, paintings, all sorts of knitted things. And each was introduced to the new Rachel, whose automated curtsey greeting became longer and more embellished every time. And unbeknownst to all but Rachel, each curtsey took more effort on her part against the intensifying stiffness of her body.
What bothered Rachel the most out of all the distressing things was the fact that everyone seemed nonplussed by her transformation. They accepted that her bush of curls (now as wide as her shoulders and falling to below her rear) was not a wig, and they didn't seem to mind terribly that she was speaking in a low-volume toddler's voice.
"Speak up, my dear!" said an older woman who indicated her hearing aid after Rachel first said hello.
"It's nice two meet yuw," Rachel said in a hush barely louder than what was now "normal" volume.
"Rachel's very shy about this whole thing," her mother explained. Even her mother was behaving like this wasn't as incredible as it was. And as time wore on Rachel could tell the effect was getting more pronounced among the room.
"My word," Sylvia Crowe said "Did you see that? A bow just appeared in her hair!"
With great effort, Rachel moved her arm up to the upper back of her head. A large bow was indeed pinned there now. Her heart skipped a beat at Sylvia's reaction to the change. They weren't totally oblivious...and maybe when things change in front of their eyes it's easier for them to realize what was happening.
"Yes, her outfit has been slowly getting more fancy," Mrs. Richmond said. "I've noticed a change in the lace and seams since I arrived." And that was the last anyone spoke of the sudden appearance of the bow. Rachel's hope of recognition faded as quickly as it had risen.
Rachel's mom called the meeting to order and, as the host for the week, did a roll call and prompted progress updates on everyone's work. With no empty chairs available, Rachel was simply left to stand there in nearly the middle of the circle as everyone talked around her. She wanted leave the room until they were ready for her, or at the very least move to the side, but a dominating part of her mind insisted that she must stay where she is until instructed to move.
For over a half hour the woman chatted about their projects. Mrs. Winkle shared a rambling story about her grandson playing with--and breaking--a wood carving she had worked on meticulously for weeks and which Rachel cared absolutely nothing about. This continued from person to person until the tenth and final woman in the circle finished her grandiose declaration that she was going to knit sweaters for all her nieces and nephews by Christmas or die trying. Rachel silently swore that she would never be like these people when she grew up.
Rachel's mom dispersed the formal portion of the meeting and the women broke into smaller groups to chat about their work and in some cases actually work on it.
Then for the first time since she promised to help Rachel return to normal, Rachel's mom spoke directly to her. Rachel turned her neck slowly against frighteningly difficult resistance to look at her.
"Rachel, are you ready honey?"
"Wedy fow what, Mommy?" she said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet sounding, made even sweeter by the delicately soft way she spoke.
"It's time to try on Sylvia's dress." Rachel's mom and Sylvia stood up. Sylvia began preparing the dress she was making for her daughter, while Rachel's mom started removing parts of her dress starting with the hair bow.
"M--Mommy," Rachel protested, "Shuddent Wachel change in another woom?"
"There's no need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. No one is going to judge you." Rachel's mom untied various knots that had formed around the dress and unlaced the back. "Lift your arms up." Rachel obeyed, slowly, because of the stiffness. Her mom slipped the entire dress up over her head. It caught her massive hair and lifted it up in a strong yank as the curls worked their way through the dress and out the bottom. As her golden ringlets fell in springy bounces behind her, Rachel forced her stiff arms to cover her chest and crotch. When her hands touched those places, she heard two odd hollow thuds.
Rachel's mom draped the dress over a nearby chair and then regarded Rachel. "Rachel, do you see...?"
"Yes, Mommy," Rachel breathed. "Wachel sees."
Her arms were divided into two tapering cylinders, connected at the hands, elbows and shoulders by ball joints. The hands themselves were intricately segmented with ball joints at each knuckle in each finger. Pulling the arms away from the areas she tried to hide, Rachel saw that her entire body had become divided in this fashion. She lifted up her chemise. Her torso was a trapezoidal shape atop a large ball forming the waist, resting in a wider shape that was now her hip area. She peeked under her bra and saw that her breasts were molded into the solid shape of her upper torso and lacked nipples. Her crotch, though obscured by a fluffy pair of panties, was surely likewise featureless.
"She looks just like a doll," one of the women remarked. "A life-sized, living doll." Despite the words, this woman spoke without the awe such a statement should have conveyed. It was as if she was simply stating a fact. None of the women exhibited shock or astonishment of any kind. Only half of them paused their conversations or their work to look at Rachel.
"Come, let's put this on her," Sylvia said, bringing over the dress. It was an upsetting combination of white, light blue, navy blue, and hot pink featuring a grotesquery of lace, pleats, and ribbons.
"Wachel change hewr mind," Rachel said. "Wachel not want pway dwess up." Her quiet pleas were drowned out by the sound of chatting in the room.
"Lift your arms up, girl," Sylvia said. Rachel tried to comply despite her wishes not to, but the stiffness was so much now that her arms were making very slow progress. "Well, come on. Up, Rachel!" Sylvia insisted.
"Can't," Rachel said in a tiny wisp of a syllable. "Stiff."
"What's that?"
"Stiff. Awms stiff."
"That's okay, dear, I'll do it for you." Sylvia yanked Rachel's arms straight upward and she slipped the unsightly dress on Rachel's doll form. Rachel's mom pulled her golden hair through the collar. "Oh, you're a perfect fit. My daugther's the same age as you. She's in your class at school..." Sylvia prattled on about her daughter and her favorite parts of the dress as she fastened and tied and straightened everything in just the right way. "Now, can you pose one arm out to the side, and with the other place your hand on your chest? I need to check the versatility of the sleeves."
While Rachel slowly pushed her left arm outward, Sylvia shoved her right arm against her chest. Although the jostling would have pained a real person, Rachel noticed she no longer felt pain. Only a mild pressure sensation where anything was touching her plastic body.
"Great. Hold it there," Sylvia said. She circled the girl, inspecting each detail. "Okay, Rachel, put your left arm down. I have to do up a hem."
Rachel tried to move the arm, but the stiffness she had been fighting for so long had finally set in completely. No matter how much she concentrated, she simply didn't have the ability to move her arm, or any other part of her body.
"Rachel, can you put your arm down please?"
"Stiff," Rachel said, repeating their earlier exchange.
"I can't hear you, girl, what?" Sylvia leaned close to Rachel's small, pretty pink lips.
"Get Mommy. Awl stiff. Wachel can't move."
"Well of course you can't move. I'm sorry, dear, what was I thinking?" Sylvia pushed Rachel's arm down herself. "Silly me." She patted Rachel's shoulder and began working on the sleeve.
A minute later, Rachel's mother came back to check on their progress. "It's a lovely dress," Rachel's mom said pleasantly. "Jenny's going to look so sweet in it."
"If I can get her in the thing," Sylvia quipped. "She's not as easy to get into a dress as your mannequin here."
"Mannequin?" Rachel's mom said. "This is my daughter Rachel."
"Rachel? You never told me you had a daughter."
Rachel's mom blinked several times. "I do. I'm sure I do. This is her right here."
"Mommy," Rachel said. If her mother heard the quiet word, she didn't react. "Mommy?"
"What, the mannequin?"
"It...looks just like her."
"Just like who? Who did you say?"
"My daughter...Rae...something. Her name was...is..."
"Really, Rose, are you feeling all right?"
Rachel could see her mother struggling against the push of whatever intangible force had been manipulating everyone's minds. She spoke again, in the tiniest voice yet. "Mommy. I'm Wachel. Wachel. Mommy? Help. Mommy? Mommy..." With those last words, her lips finally closed shut and refused to open again.
"I'm fine. I don't know why I thought I had a daughter for a minute there. I must be growing too attached to this thing." She placed her hand on Rachel's head.
"Where did you get this from, anyway?" Sylvia said, finishing the hem.
"It showed up on the doorstep one morning in a huge package. No return address. No bill. I knew we could use it for the club, so I kept it."
"It's an amazing piece of craftsmanship. Total mobility in every joint. If it were alive it could move just like a human. And perfectly proportioned." Sylvia straightened up, her work finished. "That's that. It's ready for Jenny now. Wish me luck getting it on her"
The club concluded its meeting shortly afterward. The tacky Easter dress, as well as the chemise, bra, sneakers, panties, and stockings, were removed from Rachel's plastic body. Having no use for the undergarments, Rose gave them to Sylvia for her daughter. Sylvia and Rose then moved Rachel into the large hallway closet. The club members said their goodbyes and headed out, leaving Rose alone to tidy up the house.