Living Doll's Smile

Amelia had always been captivated by old, antique dolls, with their porcelain faces and glass eyes. During a visit to an old curio shop, she stumbled upon a peculiar doll resting on a dusty shelf. Its yellowed lace dress, cracked porcelain skin, and a faint but unsettling smile drew her in.

The doll’s eyes—large, blue, and oddly lifelike—seemed to follow her as she moved.

"What's the background to this one?" The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with a knowing gaze, was the one Amelia asked. The mother said, "That doll belonged to a little girl named Elizabeth... a long, long time ago," after pausing for a moment. Some claim she's kept a portion of her soul in it.

Amelia couldn't help herself; she purchased the doll, brought it home, and arranged it on her bedroom shelf. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first—it was just an old doll. However, odd things soon started to occur.

Amelia would hear soft tapping at night and then faint chuckles resonating down the hall. Every time she looked, all she could see was blackness. But the doll appeared to shift. Its eyes, albeit made of glass, seemed to glitter with something almost malicious, and its smile seemed larger.

One night, as she lay in bed, the room suddenly became colder, and the faint giggling grew louder. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice trembling. Silence followed, then a quiet whisper, “Come play with me.” Amelia froze.

The voice was not in the hallway; it was right beside her. She turned her gaze toward the doll, and for a split second, she saw it—its lips curling into a broader grin, revealing small, sharp teeth.

She hurled the doll into the closet in a panic and slammed the door shut. Sleep, though, would not come easily. She could hear the same weird laughter and faint knocking from within the closet door all night.

When Amelia got up the nerve to open the closet the following morning, the doll was gone. From the closet to the bed, there was a trail of small footprints, almost like those of a toddler. A tiny piece of paper on her pillow made her heart accelerate. It said, in a child's handwriting: "You can't run away from me."

Days passed by, with chilly laughing and fits of insomnia every night. Amelia carried the doll to the backyard and started a fire because she knew she had to get rid of it. She heard a piercing cry that seemed like it was coming from a real child as the doll started to burn.

The flames flickered and then, just for a split second, assumed the form of a happy girl before completely going out.

That night, there was no laughter. There were no whispers. The house felt calm again. Yet, as Amelia lay in bed, she felt something cold and small grasp her hand.

Her heart pounded as she dared to look—nothing was there, except for the faint echo of a giggle, drifting away into the darkness.

Amelia’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a new doll sat. Its face looked strikingly familiar, wearing a smile as wide as ever, its eyes gleaming like glass... or perhaps, something more alive.