Short scary stories

Porcelain doll

I hated that doll. Ever since I saw my mom taking it out of the box I knew I wanted it out of the house. She told me it was a costly piece of art, a delicate porcelain doll carefully hand-made from the makeup on the face to the fluffy dress covering the entire body. It gave me chills. It had glassy brown eyes, perfect blond locks going a little past the shoulders, pale skin and pink checks. It looked like a dead child. My mom placed her in the armchair in the middle of the living room where everyone could see it. I avoided making eye contact with it, but no matter my position, it always felt like she was looking at me.

One day had enough. I couldn't stand the constant unease that doll brought upon me. So I decided to lock it in the guest bedroom. I picked it up and put it under my arm, taking kick steps to the room and tossing the doll onto the bed. To my misfortune, it bounced on the pillows onto the ground, making a loud shatter sound. Seeing the pieces scattered on the carpet from across the room, in part, made me happy, the nightmare was over, but I knew my mom would be furious. I got a garbage bag and went to collect the pieces, thinking of an excuse as to why the doll fell off the armchair, but froze at the sight of it. The porcelain was cracked all over the body, allowing me to see its interior which I thought was hollow. It had skin underneath. A greyish-blue skin with deep cuts where the porcelain had broken. A putrid smell entered my nose, confirming what my brain was trying to dismiss. The small hands, the round cheeks, a delicate and fragile body trapped inside a hard shell of what she should have been. And again, that same feeling came over me. Laying on the corner was the face of the doll, with the brown glass and perpetual smile still intact.