a slim pixie, thin and forlorn

(This one, as all of mine, you'll have to click the pictures to see them larger. But this one, unlike more of mine, will only show you part of the original picture until you click.)

I find myself alone, of all my friends, alone, and not entirely sure whether I want to be or not. Strange things are shifting in the deeps, relationships, employment, old connections resurfacing, and I needed the comfort of the doll.

Every doll is different. My version of the doll is cool to the touch, porcelain-cool, porcelain-smooth. She has wires and springs, lengths of rubber tubing and gears, or the nearest facsimile. Because I'm not, completely, a doll. I'm not, completely, anything. That's the nature of changing so often, shifting forms, shifting ideas, turbulence trapped under tendon and skin.

But tonight I needed to be that cool smoothness, hold that slightly distant gaze. Be the doll. Be a little less...caring.



I'm not entirely sure this was the right move, in retrospect. Especially when my small doll feet found the door of the Haunted Dollhouse.

So many little bloodied handprints on the walls as I walked in...so many little voices, echoing so oddly from upstairs. I took a while, walking around, composing myself for what I might see. I allowed myself to be trapped in one of the lifesize painting chambers, and looked out on the world as art, for a bit.



A seance was in progress, haunts flickering in and out of the doll's perception. My gaze was drawn to a book by one side, and I stood, listening to the tiny voices, idly turning pages.



I do believe some of these spells could actually work...



I wandered back to the kitchen, barren of virtually anything. A few scattered books, and a knife, chopped into a bloodstained cutting board.

I didn't truly want to know what flesh it cut into last, be it beast or reasoning being. I turned and left the kitchen.



I'm upstairs, the word read. Upstairs. Where the voices of the children could be heard. I sighed and began the slow trek upstairs.



The bed was levitating when I ascended to the second floor. It was so startling, this sudden motion jarring with the the motionless downstairs, that I didn't even see the small child on the bed at first. Then her head spun around three times and she stared at me, her mouth drawn back in a grimace. I took a deep breath and looked around the rest of the room.



Dolls having a tea party. More abandoned books. Something in two corners, I wished to examine closer. I carefully stepped my way towards the back of the room.



In the alcove were....very disturbing things. The teddy floating in air still unnerves me. I didn't know teddies had bones, for one thing. The ghostly woman tending to...the...thing....in the cradle was suspicious, but did not impede me. The...thing....in the cradle...



I accidently nudged the terror with my foot, setting the cradle to rock. It...roared at me, and I backed quickly away, looking around the room.



As if anything there had my best interests at heart.

Doll, or not.



You can see the Haunted Dollhouse for yourself, if you'd like. It's a small but surprisingly effective haunt...



Trust me on this...