Cold eyes

Chapter 3 {the curse}

The room was bathed in an eerie quiet broken only by the soft, persistent tapping sound. A young man, barely 17, stood before a glass window, his fingertips dancing in a rhythmic pattern against the transparent surface. His gaze was locked onto a doll seated on the other side, its soulless eyes fixed in an eternal stare, mirroring the boy's unwavering attention.

The tapping continued, a delicate and insistent rhythm, as if the young man sought to awaken something within the doll's unyielding form. Each touch on the glass sent tremors through the room, a strange, unsettling performance that stretched on and on.

In an abrupt twist of fate, the boy felt a sudden, unwelcome pressure on his shoulder. His body jolted with surprise, and he turned to meet the gaze of the doll's owner. The owner's expression held no trace of amusement; instead, it bore the weight of stern disapproval as he fixed his eyes on the young man.

A shiver of apprehension danced down the boy's spine as the realization washed over him – he had been discovered, caught in the act. In the tense silence that followed, he could only await the owner's next move, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The owner's countenance remained unyielding, his eyes locked onto the young man with an unwavering gaze. The boy, in the throes of guilt and unease, sensed the gravity of the situation. His fascination with the doll, with its haunting, soulless eyes, had led him to tap on the glass in a bid to provoke a response.

In the dimly lit, mysterious store, the owner addressed the 17-year-old with a tone of solemnity, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "I don't think it's a good idea to keep doing that, my boy," he cautioned, his words cloaked in a foreboding aura.

The boy, however, responded with a dismissive shrug, his smug expression betraying his defiance. "So? It's just a doll, it can't do anything," he retorted, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

The owner, bearing the knowledge of a darker reality, sighed deeply as he tried to impart a sobering truth to the young man. "You have no idea," he began, his voice laden with a sense of responsibility, "this isn't just any ordinary doll. There's a dark spirit that surrounds it, and it's my duty to keep it away from others, to protect everyone from the malevolent force it harbors. She is very dangerous, and you have no idea what she could do to you."

In the hushed, enigmatic depths of the store, an ominous truth hung heavily in the air, and the young man's fascination with the doll had unwittingly led him to the precipice of a sinister revelation.

The young man remained defiant, unimpressed by the owner's ominous words. His response was marked by an air of arrogance, and he retorted rudely, "Psh, yeah yeah. I don't need to hear any stories. Plus, it's probably all bullshit anyways." The boy's dismissive attitude further deepened the owner's sigh, and he shook his head, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

He issued one final, stern warning to the young man. "Suit yourself," he cautioned, "but please stop tapping the glass." With that, the owner turned and made his way to attend to other tasks in the mysterious store, leaving the young man to his own devices.

The boy, however, remained unswayed by the owner's words of caution. He cast a final, mocking glance at the doll, his voice hushed and laced with an audacious confidence. "I'm not afraid of you, doll," he taunted, "Even if you could do something, you're locked up. How pathetic. I could easily destroy you with my bare hands if I wanted to." His laughter echoed through the eerie atmosphere as he strolled towards the exit, a smile of triumph on his face, heedless of the ominous potential that lay shrouded in the darkness of the doll's glass prison.

The 17-year-old swung a leg over his sleek motorcycle, settling onto the saddle with a sense of familiarity. His eyes, keen and observant, scanned the surroundings before he fastened the safety of his helmet. In that contemplative moment, he couldn't help but notice the nearby trees, adorned with leaves that were embarking on their transformation into a vibrant tapestry of autumn hues. The green canopy was gradually giving way to a riot of reds, oranges, and yellows, painting the world with the colors of change. "Winter is coming," he murmured to himself, an acknowledgment of the season's inexorable approach.

With the helmet secured, he gave life to the engine, the motorcycle's mechanical heart roaring to life. As the machine rumbled beneath him, he released the brake and rolled onto the open road. The wind kissed his face, and the world stretched out before him, a path uncharted and inviting. It was a moment that spoke of transition and anticipation, as the young rider embraced the shifting seasons and the journey that awaited him.

The following day, the city was abuzz with tragic news. Reports of a harrowing motorcycle accident just outside the city limits had reached its somber conclusion. The victim, a mere 17-year-old boy, had been unable to reach the hospital in time, and the news of his untimely demise cast a shadow of mourning and grief over the community. The tidings spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of many, including the inanimate but ominous presence of a doll known as Annabelle.

Annabelle, sitting silently in her glass enclosure, caught wind of the grim news through the crackling radio broadcast. And while her inanimate form should have precluded any emotions, the very atmosphere around her seemed to shift. Unbeknownst to all but a select few, the dark spirit that cloaked her was a harbinger of misfortune and chaos, and its malevolent presence was no stranger to bringing sorrow to those it touched. As the news unfolded, a wicked, knowing smile spread across Annabelle's porcelain face, her dark spirit savoring the fruits of yet another ill-fated encounter.

Amidst the collective sadness and mourning that enveloped the city, Annabelle alone felt a perverse sense of satisfaction and glee. Her dark spirit had claimed another victim, and she reveled in the power it wielded over the lives of those who unwittingly crossed her path.

The owner, having shaken his head with a heavy heart, knew deep down that this tragedy was an inevitable outcome. He had attempted to warn the young man, to shield him from the malevolent force that dwelled within the doll. Still, the weight of empathy for the boy and his family bore down on him.

Yet, the owner was acutely aware of the dark spirit that inhabited Annabelle and the havoc it could wreak upon the outside world. He had willingly accepted the mantle of responsibility, guarding her from the curious and the innocent to ensure their safety.

With the motorcycle accident news reverberating through the city, the peril of Annabelle's dark spirit became undeniable. Its destructive force had manifested yet again, casting a chilling reminder of the perils lurking in the most unassuming forms, and the need to keep this malevolent presence tightly contained.