House of Toys

I’m sure you’ve all heard of Disney. Cute little Mickey Mouse and all those beloved characters.

When I was a kid, my favorite was Pinocchio. There was something about his desperate wish to be a real boy that fascinated me—yet also disturbed me a little. I mean... how far was he willing to go to become human?

And then there was his nose—growing longer every time he lied. That always made me laugh.

Oh—right. I should introduce myself.

My name is Eli West, and I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma called Vielle Ville. It means “Old Town” in French. Most people here live quiet lives. But not the people who lived two houses down from mine.

They were obsessed with Disney. And I don’t mean “liked it.” I mean obsessed—ears-on-their-cars, character-tattoos, wore-princess-costumes-to-the-store level obsessed.

They always seemed friendly enough, but other neighbors whispered that they were... strange. Now that I think about it, it was a little odd. I don’t remember ever seeing them talk about anything except Disney.

There was this guy—let’s call him Mr. Carson—who used to ignore them completely. Never waved, never smiled. Just kept walking. A loner.

He was found dead three days ago.

The police said the only thing they found at the scene—aside from his body—was this strange yellow liquid surrounding him. No blood. No footprints. Just… yellow. And they still have no idea what it was.

Now, I usually trust the news. But this time something felt off. My gut was screaming at me: they’re hiding something. I didn’t know who killed Mr. Carson—or what killed him—but the yellow liquid… that detail stuck with me.

What kind of killer leaves behind yellow fluid? What the hell even is that?

I couldn’t sleep for nights after the murder. Then something even weirder happened.

The Disney neighbors? Gone.

Just like that.

No note. No goodbye. No moving truck.

They vanished the day after the murder.

The town acted like they’d never existed.

Four days passed. I told myself to leave it alone—but I couldn’t. Something inside me kept whispering. Urging.

Go back.

Get the doll.

That’s right—I hadn’t told you about the doll yet.

I saw it in their house once when I was a kid. Sitting in the window. It looked like Pinocchio, but its eyes were all wrong. Too wide. Too… aware.

Five days after the murder, and one day after I made up my mind, I got the perfect opportunity.

Everyone was distracted. The police had found something new.

I was ready.

It was time.

I packed three things: a bag, a flashlight, and a camera. I knew the house would be dark—hence the flashlight. I brought the bag to collect anything interesting. And the camera? That was so I could prove to my friends I wasn’t lying. That I really had been inside the house.

Once I had everything ready, I was set for my little adventure. The Night fell faster than I expecte. Ten minutes after I started packing, I was already out the door. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me... then made my way toward the house.

Like I said before, I didn’t live far from them. Just one street over. If I stood on a rooftop where I lived, I could actually see their house from there.

As I began walking, something didn’t feel right. A deep, subtle discomfort… somewhere in the back of my mind.

I don’t know why, but I suddenly started thinking about the murdered man. And with every step closer to that decaying place, the atmosphere grew heavier, More disturbing.

I didn’t know what to expect from the house, other than that it would be old. Before I even realized it, I was already there. I almost wished the walk had taken longer. I wasn’t sure I could actually go through with it.

The house wasn’t tall—just a single story, maybe five rooms at most. That’s what I could tell from the outside. It wasn’t in as bad shape as I’d imagined.

I mean, yeah—it looked awful. But not haunted-house awful. Just… tired. A few moments later, I stepped inside. Darkness swallowed me.

I clicked on the flashlight. And then—I saw something move. I froze. Swept the beam around the room. Nothing. Everything looked… normal. Well, as normal as a forgotten living room could be.

The walls were brown, covered in peeling, rotting wood. Two white couches sat on either side, coated in layers of dust.In a dumb, childish moment, I slapped the cushion of one just to see how much dust would fly off.

Big mistake.

The cloud hit my face instantly, burning my eyes. I started coughing like crazy. I could barely see a thing. And for some reason—maybe it was the panic, maybe the dizziness—my brain conjured up an image The murdered man.

Standing there.

Watching me.

I rubbed my eyes, and after a few seconds, my vision started to clear—just barely. I still couldn’t see much. The whole living room was too dark for my cheap flashlight to handle.

Then I heard it. A sound—barely there.

I had to hold my breath just to make it out. It sounded like... someone coughing.

It was faint.

So faint I might’ve dismissed it—if it didn’t come right after I had just finished coughing myself.

Could it have been an echo?

Or... was someone else here?

I tried to push the thought aside. Most of the living room looked normal—at first. There were the usual Disney things: a Mickey Mouse doll, Donald Duck, Goofy... All innocent enough.

But then—something else.

Something that made my stomach twist.

Something that made my legs want to turn and run.

A shelf Lined with heads, Not human heads, Not even regular doll heads. These were the heads of the Disney characters themselves.

Goofy’s head.

Mickey’s smiling face.

Donald’s beak, frozen mid-expression.

Detached.

Alone.

And worst of all—leaking.

From beneath each of the heads, a yellowish liquid was oozing out, dripping slowly onto the shelf.

I froze.

My mind shot back to the murdered man, To the yellow substance they found around his body. It looked exactly the same.

That was the moment it truly hit me, Something was wrong here. So deeply, disturbingly wrong.

My brain was screaming at me to get out.

Every instinct said: run. Leave now.

But... I didn’t.

I kept going. And I swear—on everything—I saw one of the eyes move.

Just slightly. Just enough to make me question whether I’d lost my mind. Maybe it was the paranoia. Maybe the dust was still messing with me. But I don’t think it was my imagination.

No. Something was watching me.