The Doll

10

Alice

The three of us gathered around the table, the Ouija board solemnly positioned before us.

I found myself unsure of the safety in allowing Bella to remain in our presence as we engaged in our Ouija session. With a heavy heart, I could not fathom confining her to the solitude of my bedroom, for I harbored deep concerns that the ethereal entities that occupied our space might single her out as a vulnerable target. It is a notion that has long been whispered, that spirits exhibit a predilection for animals, perceiving them as easier vessels for their possession.

With the planchette resting in the center of the board, the three of us cautiously placed our fingers upon it. A heavy silence enveloped the room as each of us waited for the other to offer the opening question. Realizing that I alone was responsible for the predicament we found ourselves in, I mustered the courage to break the silence with an opening question. Struggling to gather my remaining confidence, my gaze inadvertently fell upon the doll seated across from us, instantly robbing me of any bravery I had mustered. The doll's alarming black eyes sent a chill down my spine, prompting me to divert my attention to the board instead. After a prolonged pause, I finally summoned the strength to speak, yet my trembling voice betrayed my inner fear.

"Is there anyone here with us in the room?"

An overwhelming silence enveloped us, amplifying the mounting suspense as the planchette stubbornly refused to budge. My heart pounded forcefully within my chest, its frantic rhythm resounding in my ears with unwavering clarity. My unwavering gaze remained locked on the immobile planchette, torn between an insatiable desire for its movement and a lingering uncertainty. A dichotomy of yearning consumed me, as I longed for elucidation to the myriad inquiries that tumultuously occupied my thoughts. However, my other half was consumed by an overwhelming dread, yearning for the planchette to remain motionless and for this entire ordeal to reveal itself as nothing more than a ghastly nightmare from which I would soon awaken. However, as I became acutely aware that this was not a mere figment of my imagination but a daunting reality that demanded my attention, a pulsating ache enveloped my mind, rendering my senses inert. Yet, amidst my deep contemplations and anxieties, a moment of utmost intensity unfolded, unequivocally affirming the gravity of my circumstances.

Yes.

Unexpectedly, the planchette glided across the polished surface of the wooden board, halting on yes. In that bewildering moment, a profound sense of astonishment overcame the three of us, leaving us utterly speechless. It struck me then, with a peculiar sense of unease, that both Tommy and Leah appeared just as perturbed as I. It was a sight uncommon to witness Tommy succumbing to such trepidation, for I distinctly recalled his nonchalant disposition towards matters of the supernatural. Yet, it dawned upon me that his exposure had been limited to the realms of literature and film, where the veil of reality remains intact, shielding one from firsthand encounters with the macabre.

"Did anyone do it?" In a hushed tone, I cautiously inquired of Leah and Tommy, meticulously ensuring that no mischief was afoot. In perfect synchrony, both of them negated my suspicion with a shake of their heads. Redirecting my attention to the board, I steadfastly fixated my gaze upon the planchette, resolutely stationed upon yes.

"What's your name?" Tommy's inquisitiveness lingered in the air after a brief interlude of unbroken hush. Remarkably, the planchette, unencumbered by delay, embarked on a fluid journey across the letters. I, ever diligent, shadowed its graceful movements, ensuring a seamless comprehension of its profound message.

Evelyn.

The three of us shared bewildered glances, pondering the enigmatic identity of Evelyn. A heavy silence blanketed the room, our inquiries exhaustively depleted. My mind wandered, contemplating the origins of this spectral presence and the reason for her haunting of the house. Could she have been the former proprietor, perishing within these very walls? Alternatively, might she have been forcibly brought here, her confinement serving as the backdrop for the multitude of papers discovered within the doll's attire? The veracity of either conjecture eluded me, yet the latter seemed to possess a greater semblance of plausibility.