The Doll That Waited

By Samiullah

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The Attic Discovery

Eight-year-old Amara lived in an old countryside house with her parents. The house had been passed down for generations, filled with creaky wooden floors, whispering walls, and an attic no one visited. One rainy afternoon, when boredom clawed at her, Amara decided to explore the attic.

Pushing open the heavy door, she coughed as dust filled the air. Old trunks, broken chairs, and forgotten memories surrounded her. In the corner, something caught her eye — a porcelain doll, sitting perfectly upright on an old rocking chair.

The doll had pale skin, glassy blue eyes, and golden hair tied with a faded ribbon. Its white dress was yellowed with age, but eerily well-kept. Amara reached out and picked it up.

A strange shiver ran down her spine.

On the doll’s cracked base, faintly carved words read:

“I’ve been waiting.”

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The Doll in the Bedroom

That night, Amara placed the doll on her bedside table. She smiled at it before falling asleep, thinking she had found a new friend.

But at midnight, she woke with a start. The doll was no longer on the table. It was sitting on her desk chair, facing her bed.

Amara froze, her heart pounding.

“Mom?” she whispered into the darkness. But there was no answer.

Convincing herself she must have moved it earlier and forgotten, she went back to sleep.

The next night, the same thing happened — except this time, the doll sat at the foot of her bed, its glassy eyes staring directly at her.

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The Changes Begin

Days passed, and the doll began to move more often. Sometimes it appeared in the hallway. Sometimes in the kitchen.

Once, Amara found it sitting at the dinner table, as if waiting to be served.

Her parents dismissed her fears.

“You probably moved it while playing,” her father said.

But Amara swore she hadn’t touched it.

Then came the most terrifying discovery. One morning, she noticed the doll’s hands were slightly bent, as though they had been gripping something. And its dress — once stiff and old — now seemed cleaner, newer.

The doll wasn’t just moving.

It was changing.

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The New Child

One stormy night, Amara awoke to the sound of soft humming. She sat up in bed, her breath shaky.

The doll was no longer porcelain.

It stood in the corner of her room — now slightly taller, its limbs bending more naturally. Its glassy eyes blinked once, slowly.

“Play with me…” a faint voice whispered, though the doll’s lips never moved.

Amara screamed, running to her parents’ room. But when they returned, the doll was back on the bedside table — glassy and motionless.

Her parents scolded her for her imagination. But Amara knew the truth.

The doll wasn’t just a toy. It was becoming a child.

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The Final Night

The last night Amara ever slept in that house was silent, too silent. Even the storm outside seemed to pause.

When she opened her eyes, the doll was gone. The chair was empty.

She slowly turned her head — and froze.

Lying beside her, under the blanket, was a little girl with glassy blue eyes and golden hair.

The girl smiled. “You found me.”

Amara screamed, but no sound left her throat. The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her was the doll’s empty porcelain shell, cracked open on the floor.

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The House Remains

Amara’s parents moved away soon after, telling neighbors that their daughter had vanished mysteriously one night.

But anyone who dares to enter that attic swears they can still hear faint giggles. And if you ever find an old porcelain doll sitting on a rocking chair with the words “I’ve been waiting” carved beneath it…

Don’t pick it up.

Because some dolls don’t want to be played with.

They want to become you.