Horror
21 to 35 years old
500 to 1000 words
English
The wind howled outside, a mournful whisper that rattled the old windowpanes of the Victorian house.
Inside, Elara clutched her fidget spinner, its frantic whir a futile attempt to drown out the growing silence within the house.
She hated nights like these, nights shrouded in a thick fog that seemed to seep through the very walls.
Her dog, Buster, usually a boisterous German Shepherd, whimpered at her feet, tail tucked between his legs, refusing to leave her side.
Elara glanced at her laptop, the blank screen mocking her attempts at productivity.
She needed to finish this proposal, but an overwhelming feeling of dread made focusing impossible.
It had started subtly, a feeling of being watched, a faint whisper carried on the wind.
Then the unsettling reflection started appearing in the darkened windows – a glimpse of something not quite human, something with an unnatural smile.
Tonight, the feeling was palpable, pressing down on her like a physical weight.
She poured herself a glass of milk, the liquid unnaturally white under the dim light of the kitchen.
As she turned from the counter, she saw it: a doll, perched precariously on a high shelf, its porcelain face gleaming in the darkness.
Elara didn’t remember putting it there; she certainly didn’t own any dolls.
Its painted smile was unnervingly wide, its glass eyes seeming to follow her every move.
A chill ran down her spine.
Buster began to growl, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in the silence.
Suddenly, the doll's head snapped to the side, as if acknowledging Buster's challenge.
A high-pitched, rasping laugh, like the scratching of bone against bone, filled the room.
Elara stumbled back, knocking over her calculator, its plastic casing cracking against the floor.
The sound was amplified in the oppressive silence that followed.
She wanted to scream, but her throat was constricted, paralyzed by fear.
Her AirPods case fell from her pocket – useless in this situation, another broken connection to the normal world.
A scurrying sound came from behind the door – a rat, perhaps, but its movements sounded too heavy, too deliberate.
She saw a long, thin shadow stretch across the floor, originating from the doll.
It resembled a gnarled hand, its fingers impossibly long and slender.
The doll’s painted smile seemed to widen, becoming a grotesque parody of human emotion.
Elara fumbled for her keys, her fingers slick with sweat.
She had to get out, had to escape the suffocating darkness of the house.
A gust of wind slammed against the windows, and the power flickered, plunging the house into complete darkness.
Only the moon provided a sliver of light, painting eerie shadows on the walls.
A soft *thud* came from upstairs.
She imagined puppet strings, pulling her inevitably towards the darkness above.
She felt a cold hand grasp her arm.
It was clammy and felt like polished bone.
She wrenched free and turned to see the doll standing impossibly in front of her.
It was smaller than she remembered, its face now only inches from her own.
The scream was cut short as something cold and sharp pressed against her throat.
Her gaze travelled downward to the hand holding it.
A normal, but abnormally thin, hand that seems lifeless.
The doll's smile seemed to glow in the dark.
As the blood began to trickle down her chest, pooling on the floor in an ever-expanding circle, Elara finally understood.
The doll wasn't the threat; it was just a reflection.
A twisted reflection of the darkness that resided within her all along.
She was the puppet; She always has been.
The doll pulled a ring off Elara's lifeless finger.
It opened the door with a key, attached on the ring, and left into the night.