Cassie’s Gonna Get You | The Town That Waves Dolls-Folk Horror Story by Salty Vixen

I stumbled out of bed, threw on some clothes and drove to the hospital. Being a police psychologist is a good career, but it can be damn annoying at times. Especially at three AM, when well-deserved sleep is interrupted by a phone call.

The guys at the station had someone they wanted me to talk to. She had been brought to headquarters a little over an hour ago, dirty, disheveled and apparently out of her mind. Seems she told them some fantastic story about being chased out of a small town by people waving dolls at her. From what little they said it sounded like a case of paranoid schizophrenia, but they wanted me to interview her. She was at the county hospital, where they had taken her for medical treatment.

I had worked for the Gainesville, GA police department for twelve years since leaving the NYPD. Living in the south is a hell of a lot different from the Big Apple, but I’m not complaining. At least the nut cases down here talk slow enough to be understood. There I go again, calling the patients derogatory terms; very bad for a mental health professional. But doing this kind of work makes one jaded after a while. Part of me has long wanted to call it quits, but for some reason I keep going.

Fifteen minutes later I was sipping ancient coffee from a disposable cup and talking to the woman in a spare office. She was dressed in a hospital gown. Her arms and face were covered with scratches, and her right leg and rib cage were wrapped in heavy bandages. She had light chestnut hair and big brown eyes that were filled with terror. She said her name was Andrea Cunningham, and that she was a forty-year-old sales rep from Atlanta. We were about forty-five minutes north of that city. Gainesville is one of the few towns of any appreciable size in the state north of Atlanta. Most of the area is rural, with lots of farms and few people.

“I’m not crazy,” she started out. “You have to believe that what I am about to tell you is true.” “I’ll be glad to listen,” I replied, in the most sympathetic tone my sleep-deprived brain could muster. “I’m here to help, please believe that. Go ahead and tell me your story.” I leaned back, readying myself.

“I was driving towards the mountains,” she began. “I have some relatives in Toccoa I was planning to visit for the weekend. Normally I take State Highway 365, that new four-lane.” She paused a moment to collect her thoughts. “Anyway, this time I decided to take the scenic route. It was a beautiful night, really warm, with a full moon. And my car is a convertible. I was cruising down two-lane roads, enjoying the little towns and farms. You don’t see things like that living in the city, and the moon tonight is so bright it’s easy to see everything.” I nodded silently.

She took a deep breath and resumed. “Anyway, about ten miles north of Gainesville, I saw a sign for Lula.” I recognized the name. Lula is a sleepy little berg in the north end of the county. It is practically a ghost town these days. “Right after that I started driving over a bridge that crossed a river,” she continued. I knew the exact bridge she was talking about. It was a rickety, wooden affair that should have been replaced with a modern structure years ago.

“Well,” I heard her say, “as I started to cross it, I heard it creak, and it sounded like the supports were snapping. I panicked and gunned the engine.” Her voice shook, and she began trembling. “I made it just in time. The whole damn thing fell apart and plunged into the river right after I got across.”

I knew that the story was true so far; a deputy had called in a few minutes ago, confirming that the bridge had collapsed. She continued. “I just sat there in my car for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath. I felt so lucky! After I calmed down, I got out and looked at the river; the wreckage of the bridge was floating downstream. Then I headed towards Lula. I wanted to find a pay phone to call and report the collapse.”

She hesitated, and began tapping the table nervously. A moment later she picked up the story. “A couple of miles up, I saw the outskirts of the town. It is just a small group of buildings on either side of the road.”

“I slowed down as I pulled into Lula. As I did, I saw that the way ahead was blocked. There was all kinds of junk piled up in the middle of the road, and a sign that said NO FURTHER, with a big bonfire burning in front of it! I stopped, and began to get out of my car.”

She ceased talking and buried her face in her hands. “Can I have a cigarette?” she asked, her voice quaking. I sadly informed her that I did not smoke, but gently asked her to continue. She did. “Remember how I told you about the buildings on either side of the road? Most of them were boarded up. On some the roofs had caved in. But the doors to them began to open. People – jeez, I know this sounds crazy! – people started to come out of the buildings. Kids, elderly folk, adults, there were dozens of them. They all had this crazy, sick look in their eyes. Some carried lanterns. Each was holding a little cloth doll in their hands. I heard them mumbling something, really soft. I couldn’t make out what it was.”

I shifted in my chair, finished my coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. Here is where the delusions really kick in, I thought to myself. Her shaky voice continued the narrative. “I felt so vulnerable, sitting there in the car with the top down. They came out of those old shacks, their eyes gleaming with that look! It was weird, sick! Then I heard what they were saying.”

She leaned forward, looking me directly in the eyes. “They were chanting ‘Cassie’s gonna get you, Cassie’s gonna get you,’over and over,” she said. “There must have been hundreds of them! They circled the car. I started the engine, began screaming at them to go away. But they just kept creeping towards me, holding those ugly little dolls over their heads. Those dolls! They were like little Raggedy Anns or something, but the faces were painted…crazy.”

“One of the people grabbed the passenger side door, trying to leap in the car with me. It was the woman. They others started shouting, ‘CASSIE’S GONNA GET YOU, CASSIE’S GONNA GET YOU,’ louder and louder.”

Ooookay, I thought, this is one for the psycho ward.

“I shoved the trans in reverse and hit the accelerator. If the bastards weren’t going to let me go forward, I would damn well go backwards, over them if need be!” She looked at me gravely, and her tone changed from anger to anxiety. “You must understand, it was self-defense,” she pleaded. “I didn’t mean to run over those people, but I had to get away from them!”

She fidgeted with her hands nervously, and her eyes widened. I could see she was going over the edge, and asked her to stop for a minute, and to try to relax. I called for the sergeant outside the door, asked him to find a cigarette for the lady. Hospital rules forbade smoking inside, but I needed her to settle down. He produced a pack and offered her one. She took it gratefully, and I waited for the nicotine to take affect. A few minutes later she was calm enough to continue.

“I didn’t see the people I hit,” she insisted, “just heard the thumps as my car ran them over. I backed up maybe fifty feet or so, then spun the car around in the middle of the road. I sped south, forgetting that the bridge ahead had collapsed.”

“Then it happened, the woman…” She trailed off and stared at the floor, her face ridden with guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt her! I didn’t even know she was in the back seat!” she exclaimed, her voice cracking. Here we go, I thought, the main event. I leaned forward in my chair.

“She shoved that hideous doll in my face. I felt her arms wrap around my head from behind, holding that evil thing right in front of my eyes. ‘CASSIE’S GONNA GET YOU!’ she shrieked.”

“My vision was completely blocked. I hit the brakes hard, and the car spun. I leaped out and hit the ground hard. The grass was soft, but I still took a hell of a whallop.” She rubbed her left side painfully. I knew there was a large bruised area there that the doctors checked out and bandaged earlier.

“I had jumped about twenty, maybe thirty feet shy of where the bridge had been,” she said. “The car started flipping over, and I heard the girl scream. She should have been thrown free, with the top down and all. But somehow she stayed inside. The car plunged into the river. I heard a loud splashing sound as it hit the water. I lay on the side of the road, my ribs on fire where I had hit the ground. I just stayed there for a few minutes, catching my breath and waiting for the pain to subside.”

“I must have passed out for a while, fallen asleep maybe, I’m not sure,” she continued. “But when I came to, I heard them, the people that had surrounded my car. They were walking down the road, waving their lanterns, holding those dolls. The river was too wide and deep for me to cross, so I couldn’t go south. I took off towards the east, running as fast as I could. They followed. Thank heavens I wore jeans and sneakers tonight! The land ahead was open meadow, no sign of civilization anywhere. They ran after me, shouting those awful words, “Cassie’s gonna get you, Cassie’s gonna get you!’ I ran as fast as I could. It was hard; I haven’t exercised in years. My lungs were on fire, my feet screaming with pain, but I kept moving.”

“The meadow ended at the foot of a hill. I charged up it, with the freaks from Lula maybe a hundred feet behind me. About halfway up I tripped, hit my face on a rock. Blood shot out of my nose, spraying my clothes. I kept going. They were right behind me. The top of the hill was wooded, and I plunged into the dark of the forest. Once, just once, I glanced behind me. They were only a few feet away! I felt like my chest was going to burst, and my head spun with the blood pounding through it. The trees slowed my pursuers down, though, and I gained some distance on them. I cleared the forest, and found myself standing on the other side of the hilltop. Down beneath me I saw the highway! It runs parallel to the roads I was driving on.”

I caught myself leaning forward, paying rapt attention to the woman. Her story was complete BS, I figured, but it was still a good yarn. “Go ahead,” I said, anxious to hear what happened next.

“There was only one problem. A barbed wire fence stretched across this side of the hill, as far as I could see. I approached it slowly, knowing I had to cross it but not sure how I could.”

“Then I heard the others approaching behind me. Twigs snapped under their feet, and I saw the glow of their lanterns in the woods. I grabbed a wooden fence post and tried to place my feet in between the barbs as I climbed. The voices behind me got closer.” Her eyes were wide as saucers. At this point I was convinced of one thing: she believed every word she was telling me.

“I was about halfway over the fence, when I felt the hand touch my leg. I looked down. Sir, please believe me, I am not lying about this. IT WAS THE WOMAN, the one that had crashed in my car. She held onto my leg with one hand and held that evil doll in the other. For a tiny moment I looked into her eyes. They were solid black, no pupils, nothing. She shoved that wicked little toy of hers in my face. ‘I told you Cassie would get you,’ she said.”

She stopped talking, stared blankly ahead. I sat there in silence, waiting for her to finish. Finally I queried, “what happened then?” I could hear the tension in my own voice as I said it. I had gotten wrapped up in her story, despite myself!

She continued. “I fell forward then, over the fence. My leg got caught in a barb, and it ripped the back of my calf open.” She winced and pointed at the heavy bandage on her right leg. “Next thing I knew I was tumbling down the hill towards the highway. From there I flagged down the patrol car that brought me to the police station.”

I knew the story from that point. They had briefly questioned her, then taken her to the hospital for treatment. I was convinced now that she was in the grip of a paranoid delusion. Her story was well structured, amazingly coherent for someone who was insane, but I was convinced she was. I thanked her for sharing the story, then asked her to wait there a few minutes. As I walked out the door, she called to me. “Doctor,” she said, “you do believe me, don’t you?” Her big brown eyes pleaded with me.

“Of course I do,” I reassured her, knowing I was lying.

I spoke to the nurse on duty, advising her to have the woman placed in a room in the mental ward for observation. Fortifying myself with another cup of coffee, I watched as they carried my patient to the elevator. The floor beneath me was where the psychiatric wing was.

I made a mental note to do some research on the Internet in the coming days. I suspected that her story was probably tied in with something she had heard as a child. The mountains of northern Georgia are full of old wives’ tales and superstitions.

I would not be surprised if there was one about a witch or spirit named “Cassie,” maybe something her relatives had told her years ago that resurfaced in her twisted mind.

The patrolman approached me in the hallway. “Sir, we sent a deputy out to Lula over an hour ago, to check out the town.” “And?” I said. “Well, sir,” he continued. “We just got a call from his radio. It didn’t make any sense. He kept saying something about ‘Cassie getting us’.”

I restrained the urge to punch my fellow lawman in the mouth. As tired as I was, I was in no mood for jokes. “That’s not very funny, lieutenant,” I advised him. “It wasn’t meant to be, sir,” he responded. “I just figured the man that went out was fooling around a little. Everyone around here knows the story of Cassie.”

My eyes grew wide. “Really?” I queried. “Well, I have never heard it. Please enlighten me.” “Not much to it,” came the reply. “Cassie Krundell was a woman who lived in this area in the eighteenth century. Folks always suspected her of being a witch, and one night in late summer they burned her at the stake. The legend is that she comes back each year on the anniversary of her death and claims a pair of souls for her own. The poor people she takes become her slaves, and come back from the Beyond every year with her, carrying an image of her, to claim another two.” “Another two?” I asked. “Yes,” was the answer. “It could be people of any age, but it is always at least a pair they take: male and female.”

My blood froze in my veins, and I ran to the end of the hall and charged down the stairs to the psych ward; no time to wait for the elevator. I asked the nurse where the woman I had interviewed was, and she pointed to her room. I flung open the door and ran inside.

The door shut behind me as I walked towards the bed. The full moon shone in from the window, and even with the lights out I could see the room was empty. Almost empty, that is. On the bed where poor Andrea should have been lying was a cloth doll, a weird, sickening expression on its face.

I reached down and picked it up. Its features were painted on, but that did not keep it from blinking its eyes and flashing me a foul, malevolent grin. I felt my mind begin to go.

Seeing that is not what tore away the last shreds of my sanity, though. That was accomplished by the words the evil thing spoke, in a shrill, twisted, child-like voice.

“Cassie’s gonna get you too, mister. Cassie’s gonna get you too.”