GRAVEBORN

4\LULLABY DOLL

In a quiet suburban town, there was a store called "Old Time Oddities," hidden away between two modern shops on a busy street. The store rarely had any customers, and those who did visit described it as cluttered with strange trinkets—objects that seemed to belong in another time. Most people passed by without a second glance, but for those curious enough to enter, they would find a dusty collection of forgotten things.

Emily didn't know what drew her into the shop that rainy afternoon. She had been out for a walk, trying to clear her mind after an argument with her fiancé, Mark. Their wedding was just a few months away, and the stress was starting to take its toll on both of them. She needed some air, and that's when she noticed the store.

The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside, the scent of old wood and forgotten memories filling the air. The shop was dimly lit, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw shelves packed with strange objects—antique clocks, worn-out books, rusted keys, and odd figurines. But what caught her attention was the doll.

It sat on a high shelf in the corner, alone and out of place. The doll was about the size of a small child, dressed in an old-fashioned lace gown. Its porcelain face was eerily lifelike, with glassy blue eyes that seemed to watch her every move. Long, golden curls framed its delicate features, and its small lips were painted a pale pink.

Emily felt a strange chill crawl down her spine as she looked at it. She didn't like dolls. Never had. They always seemed too lifelike for comfort, like they could spring to life at any moment. But there was something different about this one—something that made her stomach twist in a knot.

Before she could turn away, the shopkeeper appeared behind the counter. He was an elderly man, his back slightly hunched, with thin, wiry glasses perched on the end of his nose.

"Ah, I see you've noticed the Lullaby Doll," he said in a raspy voice. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

Emily hesitated. "Lullaby Doll?"

The old man nodded, a strange smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "An old legend, passed down through the generations. They say she was made by a mother who lost her child—created in her image, in fact. The doll was meant to sing a lullaby to help the grieving woman sleep. But... well, some say the mother's sorrow found its way into the doll."

Emily frowned. "That's... a little creepy."

The shopkeeper chuckled. "It's just a story. Would you like to take her home?"

"No, I don't think so," Emily said quickly, ready to leave the shop. But something stopped her—something in the doll's eyes, like it was pleading with her. It made no sense, but she felt it deep in her gut.

"I'll give her to you," the shopkeeper added suddenly. "No charge. Call it a gift."

Emily opened her mouth to protest, but before she knew it, she found herself nodding. The old man wrapped the doll in a soft cloth and placed it in a small box. "Take care of her," he said, his smile fading. "And whatever you do, don't play the music."

That night, Emily brought the doll home, placing it on a chair in her living room. She told herself it was just a doll, just an old, worn-out toy that didn't mean anything. But as she sat on the couch, sipping her tea, she couldn't shake the feeling that the doll's glassy eyes were following her.

She tried to ignore it, but the unease grew. Eventually, she got up and turned the doll around, so it faced the wall. Only then did she feel like she could relax.

When Mark came home later that evening, he barely noticed the doll. They ate dinner in silence, still angry from their argument earlier in the day. Emily didn't bring up the doll, and Mark didn't ask.

That night, as Emily lay in bed, the rain tapping softly against the window, she heard it.

A soft, sweet melody drifted through the apartment—like a lullaby being played on an old music box. It was faint at first, so quiet she thought she might be imagining it. But as the sound grew louder, Emily sat up, her heart racing.

The doll.

She hadn't wound it up. She hadn't even touched it since bringing it home. But the lullaby continued to play, a haunting, melancholy tune that echoed through the apartment.

Emily threw off the covers and rushed into the living room. The doll was still sitting in the chair, facing the wall, but now its head was slightly tilted, as if it were listening to something.

Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the doll. The music stopped the moment she touched it. For a moment, everything was silent. Then, as she turned the doll back around to face her, she saw something that made her blood run cold.

The doll was smiling.

Its tiny, painted lips had curled into a faint smile that hadn't been there before. Emily stumbled backward, her pulse racing. She hadn't imagined it—the expression had changed.

She didn't know what to do. The shopkeeper's warning echoed in her mind: Don't play the music.

But she hadn't played it. The doll had done it on its own.

Over the next few days, strange things began to happen in the apartment. Emily would come home to find the doll in different places—sometimes on the couch, sometimes in the kitchen, once even in the bedroom. She hadn't moved it, and neither had Mark, who seemed oblivious to the doll's unsettling behavior.

The worst part was the lullaby. It would play at random times—always at night, always when Emily was alone. No matter where she hid the doll, the music would find her, creeping through the walls like a ghostly echo.

One evening, after yet another sleepless night, Emily decided to confront the shopkeeper. She stormed into Old Time Oddities, clutching the doll in her arms.

"What did you sell me?" she demanded, slamming the doll onto the counter. The shopkeeper looked at her with sad, knowing eyes.

"I warned you not to play the music," he said softly.

"I didn't! It plays by itself! It's... it's doing things on its own."

The old man sighed and removed his glasses, wiping them with a cloth. "The doll is... special. It was made with a great deal of love, but also with a great deal of grief. The mother who made it was so heartbroken that some say her spirit became attached to it."

Emily stared at him, her skin crawling. "Attached? You mean it's... haunted?"

The shopkeeper nodded solemnly. "In a way. But it's not the mother's spirit you need to fear. It's the child."

Emily's heart skipped a beat. "The child?"

"The mother made the doll to comfort herself after her child's death. But something went wrong. The doll began to take on a life of its own, as if the child's spirit found a way back through it."

He pointed to the tiny key in the doll's back, the one that wound up the music box. "When the music plays, it calls the child. And the more it plays, the closer the child gets."

Emily felt a wave of nausea wash over her. "How do I stop it?"

The shopkeeper's face darkened. "You can't stop it. Not now."

That night, Emily did the only thing she could think of. She took the doll and locked it in a box, then buried it deep in the closet. She told herself it would be fine, that the music wouldn't play if the doll couldn't be touched.

But as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the familiar, haunting melody began to play.

The lullaby was louder now, clearer, as if the doll were right there in the room with her. Emily sat up, her breath catching in her throat.

And then, from the shadows at the foot of her bed, she saw her.

A small figure—a child—stood silently, watching her with glassy, lifeless eyes. The same eyes as the doll.

The child smiled.

And the lullaby played on.