A Girls Best Friend
When I was about 6 or 7, I lived in a development that was made up of apartments, we just called it “the park”. I lived in one complex, and my friend Cheyenne lived in another. One day, a new girl moved in the building opposite Cheyenne’s. We were both really excited because we were the only girls in the park and never really played with anybody else. When they were unloading the truck we saw a beautiful porcelain doll being handed over to a woman in her 30s. The girl came stomping out of the house, screaming for the doll. We shrugged it off; moving into a new house can get the best of people. The next day, we went over to introduce ourselves. The girl told us her name was Annette and she lived with her mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, two aunts, four sisters and one cousin, who was also a girl. We thought it was a little strange that there was no men in the house but we didn’t say anything because we figured that would be rude. She took us up to her room that only had a bed, a plain brown dresser and a chair holding her doll. Cheyenne went to touch it only to have Annette scream “THAT’S MINE!” Chey stumbled backwards, tumbling into me. We stared at Annette, her nostrils flared, eyes wide. Her grandmother rushed up the stairs, grabbed her and whispered into her ear something that sounded like “Shh, you’ll wake her, we don’t want it to happen again.” Cheyenne & I exchanged nervous glances, and told them we had to go eat.
Later that night, I called her and explained to her that I didn’t think we should play with Annette anymore. Chey agreed quickly and right as we were about to hang up for the night, we heard a blood curdling scream. My family & I rushed outside, to see Annette’s family standing in the driveway, the mother lying under the window, surrounded by blood. Anne stood off to the side, clutching her doll, trembling, her lips moving fast & silently. When the ambulance arrived, my mother insisted we go and try to console them. When I approached Anne, I saw one of her doll’s fingernails were blood red. Over the next few months, Anne’s family started to die off, the same way every time. And every time, one of the doll’s fingernails changed from white to red. Our mothers refused to let Cheyenne & I to go over there anymore, not that we wanted to. When the last person in Anne’s family fell out the window, the tenth person, the doll’s hands were completely red. Chey & I tried to explain this to our parents, but they said it was probably just her way of coping. Four days after the last person had fallen, we heard a cry of “ENOUGH ALREADY!” and a loud, glassy smash. We rushed outside, abandoning our Barbies to see Annette’s doll in a million pieces, under the window. Anne raced out of the house, sobbing “It’s over, it’s over, it’s over…” Upon closer inspection of the wreckage, we found that this doll was not an ordinary child’s companion. Where it should have been a hollow, porcelain shell, there was human organs, still clinging to the last bit of life.
Submitted by Raven.