The Dollmaker's Son | lrh ✔️

Six

That same night, more than half of the children that lived in Presley Grove went missing.

It was a mystery. Something nobody could fathom, for there were no leads- no traces, no clues left behind.

There were just missing children, who went to bad after eating the candy they'd gathered that night, children who never woke up in the same place they'd fallen asleep.

All of the beds had been neatly primmed, as if untouched. There were no signs of struggle. Just the sound of wailing parents, and police sirens, and the loud thump of my father's footsteps as he burst into Corey's room the next morning and let out a cry of relief at the sight of my little brother tucked safe underneath the covers.

The entire town of Presley Grove fell apart after that. Nobody knew where those children had gone. I doubt anybody on the coastal shore was convinced they were even alive.

Although a thorough investigation was launched, the police found nothing, with no apparent evidence in the works to put in their findings. It was a hopeless case.

Eventually, people started to move away. Most of the families whose kids had been taken left, out to seek new beginnings, or just out to forget what had happened to them. I couldn't blame them, because I would have done the same.

By the time a year had passed, the investigation began to die down. My father and his force decided enough was enough; they weren't getting anywhere, after all. They were just chasing an invisible tail and they figured that it was finally time to call it quits.

Then the strangest thing happened.

A couple of weeks after the public announcement that the investigation was no longer taking place, an establishment that hadn't been getting any recognition due to how it's target audience had disappeared, suddenly began to pick up again.

The Hemmings' Doll Emporium had new stock in store, a new vibe that surrounded it's dusty front. And as soon as I walked through those glass doors, hand in hand with my little brother, I knew that something was off.

Fresh new dolls lined the mahogany shelves. Each one, more realistic than the last. With shiny eyes and synthetic locks of soft blonde, brown and black, I couldn't help but freeze and stare.

Because on the shelves, with porcelain skin drenched in resin and cracked lips painted in glue, were childlike dolls in preserved costumes.

As Corey and I walked down the aisle, I felt a wrenching feeling begin to tear through my gut.

Slowly, we passed a ballerina, standing permanently upright on her tiptoes. A blank face accompanied her fair skin.

And we passed a soldier, a doll the exact same height as Corey, dressed in camo, it's eyes a worried stare.

We even passed an astronaut; it's gloved hand interlocked with another doll, this one adorning a familiar set of bright eyes and a puffy pink dress.

I felt sick to my stomach. I grabbed Corey by the hand and pulled him straight out of the Emporium, feeling nothing but unease creeping up like bile in my throat.

I guided him away from the window, away from the dolls, away from the High Street. I needed to get away- I didn't know where to go, or what to do, but I knew I couldn't stay there much longer.

I felt tears in my eyes as I looked back, trying to ignore my little brother's small protests of returning to gaze some more at the porcelain faces.

And in the store window, I could see a familiar figure standing; facing in our direction, it's shoulders slumped, blue's in a gaze aimed at us.

I saw black thread through pink lips, and as the person held a hand up to wave a sad goodbye my way, I gasped; stunned and repulsed at the view of the same black thread woven through Luke's sore fingertips.

END.