This week, we are delighted to feature a wonderful short suspense story by Alexa H, 8N. What a gripping read, well done Alexa!
A sun beam dancing with dust motes shone through the skylight in the old attic room, and fell softly onto something in the corner. Half-concealed by a dust sheet, the old dollhouse sat patiently alone, seemingly frozen in time. Its pristine but old-fashioned looking rooms were occupied by still, lifeless inhabitants, solemn expressions plastered onto their petite wooden faces. Although the dolls couldn’t move, they were restless - it had been so many years since they’d had someone new to play with…
Ottolie watched the moving van drive off down the road. Just her in this ancient, rickety house now. Feeling strangely desolate, she picked up a huge cardboard box of DVDs and began lugging it up the stairs to the attic. A naked bulb began to flicker into life as she flipped the light switch - dark, bruised storm clouds were starting to gather overhead. Heavy rain pattered onto the skylight as Ottolie reached the top of the staircase. She heaved the box haphazardly into a corner, next to a large object half hidden by a dust sheet. Curious, she whipped it off. A dollhouse. It was crumbling slightly round the edges but it was beautiful - intricately detailed and oddly realistic. She opened it up, a spark of childish excitement fizzing in her chest, to find that the interior was just as stunning. The dolls, though, extinguished the spark completely. They were incredibly uncanny, with expressions and beady black eyes that seemed to pierce her soul. None of them were in natural positions as they would’ve been after being played with - they all stood, staring, facing her.
She began rearranging them to look less sinister, when her head started to pound. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, listening to the ambience of the now torrential rain and trying to wish the pain away. As the pounding in her skull began to subside, Ottolie slowly opened her eyes - and was met with a shock. Everything was suddenly enormous - the lightbulb, the box, the skylight. She turned her head to look around before realising she couldn’t move at all. Every limb stiff, rigid and frozen. She tried to scream, but couldn’t even open her mouth. It was only a black line of paint now, after all, on her petite wooden face.
Miss A Fox