The Doll

• Frida Vazquez Vega, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2019

This favour was too much. I should never have agreed to retrieve the doll. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I take a deep breath. This is a moment that’ll change my life forever. I push the door and it creaks open. My bare feet are causing the floor to squeak like a mouse. My white dress is swaying from ankle to ankle, even though there is no breeze in this isolated house. Each step is enough to make me regret the last in this remote place she once called home. I just want to get this over and done with. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can go home and the sooner my life can go back to normal.
I enter a large room with antique furniture and an old grandfather clock with the unsettling sound of ‘tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock’. I feel like I’m being watched even though this house has been deserted for years, unless, of course, ghosts are real…
No, surely they aren’t real? I put the thought aside as I tremble towards a wooden door with the word ‘Sarah’ carved into it. The wood is crumbling and peeling off, like bark on an old tree. I twist the brass handle and peek in through the gap. The light flicks on but the room is empty. The thought of ghosts comes rushing back into my mind, but that’s the least of my concerns when the light starts growing dimmer, then it flickers, continuously illuminating the wax doll upon the bed coated in dust. Her eyes are as dark as coal, giving me an uneasy sensation that the doll knows things that would make even the bravest man quiver. I always knew that Sarah was a strange girl, but she seems especially odd now that I’ve learnt this about her. It all makes sense now.
The way she sings herself to sleep, whispering her worries and regrets. This is why she needs the doll. The one soul she can trust. The one soul that knows her troubles and worries. The one soul who’ll keep her secrets safe.
The doll, however, isn’t ordinary; it’s moving closer and closer towards me. The way that she walks with a dagger in her hand will forever traumatise me, if I make it out of here. Piercing screams are heard around me as I see silhouettes of those who have come in contact with the dagger years before. Petrified, I freeze, making myself an easy target.
This is not how I will die. I snatch the dagger from her and she instantly becomes a lifeless doll. The dagger is dripping with blood and I realise my ankle is bleeding. I have to get out of here and fast. I run towards the door where I find Sarah waiting for me. I hand her the doll. She tilts her head and smiles.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and vanishes into the starless night.