Labubu Doll

It began with a box at the back of an antique shop so old the sign above the door had peeled into unreadable curls. The shopkeeper, a gaunt man whose eyes seemed to live elsewhere, claimed it had arrived anonymously, packed in straw, wrapped in a silk cloth faded with age.

Saira didn’t plan to buy anything that day. She was only wandering, killing time between lectures. But when her gaze fell on the doll—its wide, stitched grin and button eyes glinting dully under the dusty glass—she felt something pull at her, an invisible thread that tightened with every breath.

"Old one, that," the shopkeeper rasped, watching her too closely. "Been around longer than me, longer than you could guess."

Saira hesitated. The doll was oddly shaped, with stubby limbs and cloth patched in places where the original fabric had worn through. Its hair, made of black yarn, was matted and uneven. Yet the grin on its face seemed alive, almost amused by her curiosity.

Without quite knowing why, she bought it. The shopkeeper didn't name a price, just nodded once, wrapped the doll again in silk, and handed it over like a secret he was relieved to be rid of.


---

At her small apartment that night, Saira unwrapped the doll and set it on a shelf above her bed. It looked almost comical there, its head slightly tilted as if it were listening. She took a few photos to send to her friend Mariam, captioning them, “Look what followed me home lol.”

Mariam replied with a string of laughing emojis and a final message: “It’s creepy but cute. What’s it called?”

Saira stared at the doll. The name slipped into her mind without warning, as if whispered by a voice she couldn’t quite hear: Labubu.

Labubu, she texted back.


---

That night, Saira dreamed of a child’s laughter echoing in an empty room. Shadows danced along cracked walls, and the Labubu doll sat at the center, its grin wider, its button eyes reflecting something darker than light.

She woke before dawn, heart racing, only to find the doll had fallen from the shelf, landing face-up on her pillow. She blamed the breeze through the cracked window, though it was barely ajar.


---

The days blurred. Small things began to happen. Keys misplaced, only to appear in strange places: the freezer, under the rug. The TV turned on by itself at night, always to static. Saira tried to laugh it off, telling Mariam it was probably stress from exams.

But the doll’s grin felt different now. Hungrier.

One evening, Saira returned home to find the doll sitting on her desk chair, facing the door, as if waiting. She distinctly remembered leaving it on the shelf. Shaken, she put it back, this time inside her wardrobe, buried under clothes.

At 3 a.m., a loud thump jolted her awake. The wardrobe door hung open. Labubu lay on the floor, its button eyes catching the moonlight.


---

Terrified, Saira finally decided to get rid of it. At dawn, she wrapped the doll in the silk cloth, tied it tightly with twine, and took it to the river outside town. Standing on the bridge, she threw it into the water, watching it vanish beneath the swirling current.

Relief flooded her chest, and for the first time in days, she slept without nightmares.


---

But the peace didn’t last.

Three nights later, Saira returned from a late shift to find muddy footprints trailing from the front door to her room. On her bed, soaked but smiling, sat the Labubu doll.

Its grin looked bigger now. The stitches were torn at the corners, as if something inside was trying to get out.


---

Desperation gnawed at Saira. She researched late into the night, scrolling through obscure forums and occult blogs. She found old mentions of Labubu—a spirit doll from somewhere unnamed, said to trap sorrow and anger, feeding on fear until it could break free. Once chosen, the owner could never truly be rid of it.

Saira reached out to Mariam for help, her voice shaking. Mariam offered to stay over, to keep her company.

That night, they heard the laughter together. A soft, wet giggle from the corner where the doll sat. When Mariam moved closer, the room grew colder, breath misting in the air.

Suddenly, the grin on the doll seemed to twitch, as if it were smiling at them, for them.


---

Terrified, they decided to burn it. They went to an empty lot near the outskirts, poured lighter fluid over the cloth, and lit a match. Flames roared, smoke rising thick and acrid.

For a moment, it felt like the nightmare might end.

Then the fire died suddenly, as if smothered by unseen hands. The doll sat in the ashes, blackened but intact, its grin unchanged.


---

They drove in silence back to Saira’s apartment. Mariam left soon after, promising to call. Saira, exhausted, locked the doll in a metal box and shoved it under her bed.


---

At midnight, Saira awoke to a scraping sound from beneath her. She dared to look: the box was open, empty.

The Labubu doll sat on her pillow, button eyes inches from her face, grin wider than ever, stitches torn so far it looked ready to speak.

She heard a whisper, cold as winter: “You’re mine now.”

And then, finally, Saira screamed.


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