A Haunted Doll Story

It’s absurd that I would die this way. It's absurd that anyone could die this way. It’s preposterous, but I can feel the warmth of the flames grow closer. Unable to move, all I can do is search my memories and try to discover what I have done to deserve this fate.
My name is Elizabeth Downs. I am a twenty-four year old eccentric. I have an obsession with Victorian Dolls. They have just enough of a mix of creepy and cute that I cannot get enough of them. My friends mock me for it, and not everyone is thrilled to see my collection, but I never mind it. I was never one to care what others thought.
A new antique shop had recently opened, and I was paying it a visit after seeing a doll in the window. It had on a black dress with a white umbrella in its hand. I had to take a look. A middle-aged man in an old suit approached me as I walked up to the doll. “Do you like her?” he said. He listened intently as I told him my own fascination with such dolls. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to tell this stranger my own hobby with such enthusiasm. He seemed truly absorbed in what I had to say, waiting patiently for me to finish with a smile on his face. “I can show you an even better doll in the store if you'd like?” With glee, I followed the man to a small room in the back of the shop, before suddenly, the world went black.
I awoke to a bright light. I could not seem to move and felt like I was being carried somewhere. As my sight adjusted, I could see the antique shop’s owner’s face close to mine. It seemed huge, then he stepped back I realized it was huge. I was high up, unable to move my head, and I could see the doll from earlier out of the corner of my eye. It now sat next to me, matching my size. “A beautiful doll indeed,” the man said in a sweet voice, with a large grin on his face. The situation was deranged; I tried to yell out, but my mouth would not move. I could do nothing but sit on my little shelf and watch as the man walked away.
Time was hard to keep track of. I was stuck in a plastic body with no way to move and left only with my thoughts. I knew I would go mad if things kept up. I tried to entertain my mind by watching customers come and go, and the owner sweep and clean in-between. Every now and again, he looked over at me and smiled. I was left with my hearing as well, but the sound of the little bell as customers entered and exited and a few conversations with the owner were nearly all the sounds the store had to offer. Night had fallen twice, and I was left alone in the dark shop, unable to even close my eyes. I could only wonder if anyone was looking for me, and if it was at all possible for them to find me in this state.
On the third day, an older lady looked at me before walking off with the owner. They were out of my sight for a while before I heard the sound of the cash register. Then the owner walked up to me with a box in his hand. He picked me up, and with surprise, I could feel it. Why could I feel, hear or see anything in this plastic body? I was soon sunk into the darkness of the box. All light faded away as the top was closed. Claustrophobia soon set in. My mind panicked, but there was literally nothing I could do. It’s hard to say how much time I spent in that box. Much of it has become blur of panic and sensory deprivation. My mind had floated away in that time.
Finally a light shone into my cage. It was blinding at first, then someone pulled me into it. I saw the frowning face of a young girl, at least twelve or thirteen years old. She forced a smile upon her face and turned to the old lady from the store sitting on a couch behind her. The words “Thank you, Grandma” forced their way out of her mouth. Confusion made way for the realization that I was some kind of gift. I wanted to scream for help, but it was useless. Soon, I was shoved back into the box; thankfully, the top was left open so I was no longer surrounded by darkness.
Sometime later, I was removed from the box and unceremoniously thrown on top of a rocking chair. I landed hard against it, filling my body with blunt pain. The room clearly belonged to the young girl. It was decorated with pink colors, stuffed animals, and all things girly. However, despite the poor décor, I saw an opportunity to try to communicate, holding on to some slim hope that she'd notice me, or the me that was trapped in this body. Perhaps she did notice something; later that night, she stared at me. However, my hopes died as she simply said “creepy,” and threw a pillow on top of me as she turned off the lights for the night.
Claustrophobia once again set in, mixed with the frustration of all that had happened to me. Despite no longer having lungs, I felt as if I was suffocating. I tried to will every bit of myself to move as my mind screamed. Then the chair rocked, just a little. Enough to knock the pillow off-balance and let it fall to the floor. I had somehow moved. Not by much, but it was a small victory against my cursed fate. I could see the girl in bed, sleeping. A small hope started to return that perhaps I would find a way out of this after all. I felt tired for the first time, and my mind drifted off to what I can only compare to sleep for the first time. I awoke some time later to see the girl standing over me. She had a scared look on her face. “Serves her right,” I thought to myself. A woman’s voice yelled “Alice!” and the girl turned away and left the room.
As time passed, I understood that there were rules to my condition. I could move only with great willpower, and only when no one was watching. It started with only an inch or so, but grew the more I practiced. With this new hope, I redoubled my efforts to try to seek help. It was one night that I managed to finally remove myself from the rocking chair. I dropped with a thump to the floor. The impact hurt, but I deemed it worth the pain. I sat facing the door to the room. Alice would notice me, and she could help me if she know I was alive.
My plan worked, but held unforeseen consequences. Alice walked into the room and upon seeing me, shrieked. A swift moment later, her foot flew towards me, kicking me across the room hard into a wall. The impact severed my plastic arm from my body, and I was filled with mind-numbing pain. I wanted to cry, scream, crumble in agony, but once again, I was unable to move. Alice moved towards me. I wanted to plead for her aid, for her mercy. She looked angry and I was scared. She picked me up and took my severed arm in her other hand. “Enough of this,” she said as she walked out of the room with me.
We walked through parts of the house I was seeing for the first time. I saw no sign of her parents or the old lady I first met. We walked into the home's backyard and I was set on a glass outdoor table. Alice moved towards a large metal bowl with wood sitting inside it. It was a fire pit. My heart sank. She picked up some matches from a nearby chair and lit them. With care, she started a fire in the pit and watched it grow. “Always watching me,” she said in an angry tone. I tried to will myself away; I tried to scream “I don’t want to die!” but it was useless. Soon, as the fire grew, she approached me slowly like an executioner to the gallows. I was picked up and marched towards the fire.
I am afraid… really afraid. Please… old lady, man from the shop… anyone. I can feel the flames growing closer, their warmth growing with each inch forward… Please, Alice…
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