Shivers...

My Doll

My eyelids begrudgingly fluttered open from the sunlight that filtered through my window, but immediately I turned over to my side to seize a few more minutes of sleep

"Valerie Verona!" a deafening yell resounded through the house

A mix of a yawn and a groan passed my lips as I hoisted myself off from my mattress. I shuddered as my toes touched the cold wooden floor.

"Coming!" I hollered back.

I made a beeline for the bathroom, but not before giving the porcelain doll on my bed a smile and an air kiss.

-----

"You absolutely have to read the new best seller!" my acquaintance Lisa exclaimed. My obvious dismissal of her request apparently meant "You are completely right! I will read it right now!" because she continued speaking.

"It won ten different awards. Thousands of critics praise how hauntingly realistic it is. Plus it's dark and terrifying, which is identical to your personality!" Lisa pressed, not noticing how I took longer and quicker strides to get out of her hair. Admittedly, my lips curved into the faintest of smiles at her truthful description of me.

I rolled my eyes for the dramatic effect. "I have no interest in horror books, especially when said book is called 'Shivers'. What kind of stupid title is that?"

"I'll give you my copy! If you read it, I promise I won't talk to you about it ever again," she pleaded, clasping her fingers together and pouting her lips. Despite my cold exterior, I always fell for Lisa's goddamned puppy face.

I looked to the heavens above and prayed for myself. "Fine!"

That was the only word she needed before shoving a hardcover book into my hands. I, in turn, crammed it into the deep abyss of my backpack and hoped that it would disintegrate. If only I had such luck.

-----

The entire rest of the school day, the book plagued my mind like a festering disease, so when I got home, I immediately snatched it out of my bag and flung it onto my bed without sparing it a single glance. Its blood red cover taunted me, as if coercing me to read it, as if it living. Maybe that's why so many people were drawn to the book.

The book in my suddenly freezing hands, I opened the cover to the dedication, which I almost always read.

"To my family members, who encouraged me to share my ideas, and to my doll, which was my source of inspiration."

I flipped the page again.

"Based on a true story."

My eyes perused these five words as my mind tried to understand its hidden meaning. I read the first page, then the second, then the sixty-two pages that followed. A string of nonsensical sounds was written all over the page, with the only command to "say these words out loud if you dare." My tongue tripped over itself as I painfully finished the last syllable.

However, the minute I flipped to the sixty-sixth page, I came across something that chilled me to the marrow in my bones. My eyes burned holes into the paper as I stared hard at it. Then, I lifted my head up to look at my own doll. My eyes shifted from the doll back to the book. Then to the doll. Then the book. This vicious cycle continued until I confirmed one thing: there was an exact picture of my doll in the book, down to the little crack beneath its eye.

Its pupil shifted so slightly, I wasn't sure if I had imagined it.

My heart threatened to leap out of my throat. Under the portrait was a caption: "To the person who has my beloved doll, I want it back. I am coming for you. We are coming."