The Old Doll

Sophie had always wanted a doll. When her birthday came around, her grandmother gave her the most beautiful porcelain doll she had ever seen. It had glassy blue eyes, curly brown hair, and a delicate pink dress. Sophie was thrilled. She placed it carefully on her bed, admiring it for hours.

But as night fell, Sophie started to feel uneasy. She could have sworn the doll's eyes moved when she wasn’t looking. It was subtle at first—just a flicker of movement, but it was enough to make her nervous.

At night, Sophie would place the doll on the shelf in her room, facing the wall. But every morning, it would be back on her bed, sitting upright, its eyes wide open. The doll’s eerie smile grew more unsettling with each passing day.

Sophie’s parents thought she was imagining things. They assured her that it was just a doll, nothing more. But Sophie could feel something was wrong. It wasn’t just the way the doll moved—it was the feeling of being watched. She would wake up in the middle of the night, her eyes meeting the doll’s vacant stare. It felt as if the doll was alive, as if it was waiting for something.

One night, unable to bear it any longer, Sophie decided to confront the doll. She walked up to it and stared into its glassy eyes. "Why do you keep moving?" she whispered. The doll’s lips stretched into a twisted grin, and Sophie felt her stomach churn. She tried to move away, but the doll’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a cold, unyielding grip.

Terrified, Sophie screamed for her parents, but when they rushed in, the room was empty. The doll was gone. They searched the house, but it was as if the doll had vanished into thin air.

Sophie never saw the doll again, but she could never forget the cold grip of its hand. And every night, she could still feel its eyes on her, watching her, waiting.