Short Story - Doll

The following is a short story (around 350 words) based on this image of a doll.

I found a doll in the attic last week.

It’s small, about the size of a book. It has large blue eyes with lids that slide open and closed, and a pink dress that has faded with age. There is a spiderweb of cracks on its tiny, porcelain face.

It isn’t mine. I suspect it’s from whoever lived here last. Her name was Julia.

I only know her name because she left so much stuff in the attic. I stand amongst her rubbish and I can't help but think that I should be angry. Every carboard box has the name Julia scrawled across it in an erratic hand. I don’t know why she left in such a hurry, but I wish she hadn’t.

If I met Julia, I’d give her a piece of my mind. Who leaves something like this doll for someone else to clear out? Suddenly it’s my job to pull that thing out from a mound of soggy cardboard and hurl it into the bin.

I haven’t done it yet. I don’t want to touch the doll.

It’s not that I’m a coward. I’ve done all sorts of brave things. I’ve been abseiling, and scuba diving. I once slept in a bivouac during a storm!

The eyes in that doll though…

I’m not superstitious. I’m really not. I just think that the universe has patterns that we can see if we look for them. One of those patterns is super simple – creepy things are dangerous.

I’m going to find out how to contact this Julia person. She can come get rid of it herself. Maybe I should call an exterminator?

I keep going back to look at the doll. It’s like scab that you can’t help but pick. I don’t enjoy looking at it, but any moment that I spend not looking at it is a moment that feels wasted. What if it’s moving behind my back, or what if it’s gone completely?

I always hope that it’s gone. It never is.

I’ve been staring at the doll for three days straight now, hoping that it will just disappear. It’s been so long that I should be tired, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.

The doll sits there, unmoving, glass eyes meeting mine.

I finally fall asleep.