“Excuse me, but could I see the doll?” I asked the portly woman.
The middle-aged woman who was browsing beside me side-eyed me before her eyes fell on the doll. An unholy gleam entered as I watched, and I wanted to tell her, “First come, first served.” But I remained silent, narrowing my eyes at her until she glared at me.
“It’s missing a hand, I’m afraid,” she said as she handed me the doll.
My competitor smirked at me and moved toward the next table.
Bitch.
“Twenty pounds,” the vendor said, and the woman’s smirk vanished.
“I’ll take it,” I heard myself say before inspecting the doll.
The vendor looked relieved, and I frowned as I glanced at the doll in my hand. I could ask Eric to source me a similar hand and still sell it on. The glass eyes were a perfect sky blue colour, and despite the doll's condition, its long burgundy Victorian dress and matching hat were immaculate.
The dark colour reflected her as a collector's item, as many children’s play dolls wore light clothing. Her dark brown hair was in curls, but the hair above her forehead was stringy. The painted pink lips were small, and the smile was creepy, but for twenty pounds, I didn't care.
“Do you know who the manufacturer was?” I asked as I placed the doll on the table to get the cash.
“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug, but avoided eye contact.
I handed her the money with a smile. It didn't matter because the doll was coming home with me. After all, this was part of the fun, finding out the history of my purchases.
???
The doll was stripped for inspection, and I found the manufacturer's branding hidden beneath her hair at the back of her neck. I stared at the blood-red letters for a moment, trying to shake off the coincidence of the numbers.
The number of the beast.
0666.00 WM
I tapped the information onto my laptop in the forum I used and hoped some online doll experts could help me. The doll would need a professional cleaning. I picked up her arm to inspect the wrist before taking a picture of the hole where the hand should have been before taking a photo of her other hand.
Once I found the manufacturer, I could send these pictures to Eric. My twenty-pound investment could pay off. I dressed Angelica, yes, I named her, and sat her on my desk. She was beautiful, yet mysterious. I smoothed her hair and placed her hat on her head.
How many people owned her over the last hundred years? What was her story?
She had an aura about her that was similar to an Edwardian ring I once had. It was the most stunning diamond ring I’d ever owned, but I had to let it go. There had been a great tragedy for the wearer of that ring, but I never managed to prove it.
I was smoothing her hair when an icy feeling crept up my fingertips. Shaken, I dropped her on my desk. My heart raced, and I nervously laughed to myself. The hollow sound echoed around my study. The corners had split further when I stared at her smiling pink lips. The fine cracks on the porcelain face became thin, black veins creeping toward her cheeks.
Had they always been that wide?
The cracks rippled, and I abruptly stood up, tearing my eyes away from Angelica to rush downstairs to put the kettle on. A cup of tea was required to help calm my nerves.
It was just a doll.
A doll that was playing a mind game.
No, it had to be a trick of the light.
But even as I denied what I saw, the vendor's eagerness flashed through my mind. I needed to restore the doll and be rid of it.
It was just a doll.
Determined that my imagination was getting carried away, I reached for the kettle, but my arm glinted under the sun’s rays from the window. The reflection on my arm was exactly like porcelain. I blinked, and it was gone. I rubbed my wrist and forearm to assure myself it was flesh.
Death by doll.
