The Porcelain Gift

The Porcelain Gift

Elena and Mariah had spent weeks turning the upstairs loft into a cozy retreat. The highlight of the space was a round window that poured sunlight in during the mornings. On one side sat Mariah’s art table; on the other, Elena’s laptop desk for her freelance work. A bed and tall bookshelves filled the center, with a cushioned chair tucked in the corner.

At seven months pregnant, Mariah had been told to rest as much as possible. The loft, with its view and easy access to the kitchen, became her sanctuary. Elena rearranged her schedule so she could work nearby and be within earshot.

When Elena’s company announced its annual training in Tokyo, she reluctantly agreed to go—only for three days—after persuading her cousin, Leo, to stay with Mariah.

Every year, Elena brought Mariah a strange capsule toy from the enormous vending machine outside her office in Japan. Past prizes included a miniature toaster, a felt penguin, and a tiny rocking chair. Mariah adored them all, lining them in neat rows on a shelf.

This year, the capsule was gold. Mariah grinned as Elena handed it to her. She popped it open and froze.

Inside was a porcelain doll, no taller than a coffee mug. Its black hair and sharp cheekbones looked eerily like her own. Even the pale blue nightdress matched the one she was wearing.

“That’s… uncanny,” Mariah said, her smile faltering.

Elena laughed. “Creepy coincidence. I’ll get a display case for it.”

Reluctantly, Mariah let her place it on the shelf.

That night, Elena woke to a loud clink. The doll had fallen. Its face remained unchipped. She put it back and returned to bed, but Mariah couldn’t shake the sensation that it was still watching her.

By morning, she swore she’d seen its eyelids twitch. Elena examined it—its eyes were painted on. “You’re just tired,” she said, turning it toward the wall.

The next afternoon, Mariah startled awake to faint, high-pitched laughter. She called Elena, who insisted it was a dream. But that night, she begged her to move the doll out of the loft. Elena agreed and left it on the kitchen counter.

Before leaving for Tokyo the next morning, Elena tossed the doll into the outdoor garbage bin. She felt oddly relieved walking away from it.

The trip went smoothly, and she was home sooner than expected. But when she pulled into the driveway, she saw the round window upstairs shattered and neighbors standing in the yard.

Her phone rang—it was Leo.

“Mariah’s at St. Vincent’s,” he said quickly. “She fell out the loft window.”

“What happened?”

“I checked on her an hour ago—she was sleeping. Then I heard her screaming. She said the doll was in the room again. When I ran to get the neighbor, she… she went backward through the window.”

“She’s okay?”

“Bruised and shaken. But…” He hesitated. “The doctors can’t find any evidence she was pregnant. They say there’s no sign she ever was.”

“That’s insane,” Elena whispered. “We had ultrasounds—pictures—” She stopped mid-sentence.

On the loft shelf, exactly where the golden capsule had been placed days ago, stood the porcelain doll. Its nightdress still pale blue. Its belly now swollen in perfect porcelain curves.

Elena’s breath caught in her throat. She inched toward the shelf, half-expecting the doll to shift under her gaze. It didn’t move, but its glossy eyes seemed to shine with wetness, as though it had just blinked.

Her phone was still to her ear. “Leo,” she whispered, “lock the hospital room. Don’t let her be alone.”

“Why? Elena, what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer.

The garbage bin outside was closed tight when she stepped into the driveway. No sign of it being disturbed. She hadn’t told anyone she’d thrown it away. No one except—

The doll’s tiny porcelain hands were resting over its round belly now, fingers curled almost protectively.

Something inside her screamed to smash it, but her body wouldn’t move. Her fingers twitched, her breathing slowed, and for a sickening second, she felt as though her own heartbeat was matching the faint tick… tick… coming from inside the doll.

A low, childlike giggle filled the loft.

When Elena finally blinked, the doll was gone.

And from the broken round window, on the grass below, stood Mariah. Barefoot. Pale. Wearing the same blue nightdress. Her belly gone.

Smiling.