Dollhouse
Today is going to be a good day. I wake up early, make coffee, take a shower, and eat breakfast.
After that, I get dressed and go outside to walk my dog.
Everything seems normal until we reach the corner of our street where there stands a large, white house with black trimming.
Inside of this house is an old-fashioned dollhouse filled with tiny furniture and miniatures of everyday objects such as bookshelves and lamps.
My dog stops short, growling lowly.
I kneel down and try to coax him forward but he won't budge.
"Come on boy," I say softly, scratching his ears.
He whines and looks back towards the house.
Suddenly, the door opens and a woman steps out onto the porch.
She wears an old fashioned dress and carries a tray of cookies.
She smiles warmly at us as she offers us some treats.
We accept gratefully and follow her inside.
Inside, everything smells like vanilla extract and sugar.
There are several rooms connected by narrow hallways.
Each room contains its own set of furniture including couches, tables, chairs, etc.
The walls are covered in wallpaper featuring various scenes such as flowers blooming or children playing in fields.
One room even has a fireplace complete with fake logs burning around it!
The lady introduces herself as Mrs. Johnson and explains that she runs a business selling dollhouses to collectors around town.
She asks if we'd like to see the house before we leave and I agree.
As soon as we enter the main room, I notice something odd about the house.
Every single piece of furniture has been replaced with exact replicas of themselves except for one thing-a single wooden chair sits in the center of each room.
"What do you mean?" I ask. Mrs. Johnson points towards the chair.
"Look closely."
I squint at the chair and realize that it isn't exactly like the others.
Instead of having four legs, it only has three.
And instead of being made entirely of wood, part of it is composed of plastic.
"Why does it look like that?" I demand.
Mrs. Johnson shrugs.
"I don't know. Maybe because it's supposed to represent me?"
"But how can you possibly know that?You're not a real person!"
"Well, technically speaking, neither am I," she says with a wry smile. "But still, it seems fitting somehow."
"So what happens now? Do you expect us to buy your dollhouse?"
"No, of course not!" Mrs. Johnson laughs.
"I simply wanted to show you my collection. If you ever decide to sell yours, let me know."
"Sell mine?" I repeat.
"Yes," Mrs. Johnson replies patiently.
"If you decide to sell your dollhouse, please contact me. My phone number is listed on the bottom of the box."
"Oh, thank you!" I exclaim. "That's very helpful!"
"You're welcome," Mrs. Johnson responds kindly.
"Now, shall we continue our tour?"
I nod and follow her through the rest of the house.
At the end of our visit, we shake hands and she gives me her number before saying goodbye.
Back home, I sit down at my computer and start browsing online auctions.
In minutes, I find several listings offering similar dollhouses for sale.
Some even include pictures of the interior.
Intrigued, I begin reading reviews of the sellers' products.
Many seem positive, although most buyers complain that their purchases arrived damaged due to poor packaging.
Others praise the craftsmanship of the houses, saying that they resemble actual homes rather than toys.
Still others mention how well built the pieces are compared to cheaper knockoffs available elsewhere.
I finally decide to purchase one of the more expensive models.
Once the package arrives, I carefully open the box and pull out the contents.
Inside, I find a beautifully crafted wooden dollhouse filled with intricate details.
Even though it costs nearly $200, I feel satisfied knowing that I'll never need to worry about buying another one.
Two weeks later, while cleaning up after dinner, I happen across a newspaper article announcing the death of a local man named Harold Johnson.
According to reports, Mr. Johnson had suffered severe burns during a fire at his home last month.
Although doctors managed to save his life, he died shortly thereafter due to complications caused by smoke inhalation.
Immediately, I remember Mrs. Johnson mentioning her husband's illness earlier today.
Could this be related?
Is she actually responsible for killing her husband?
Or maybe she lied about knowing anything about him?
YOU ARE READING
Eyes of Glass
ParanormalA doll named Lilli has been left in a box next to my house. She's made out of wood and has glass marble eyes. I have no idea where she came from but I know someone or something is watching me.
