Page 10 of Dolls of Ruin

Nothing moved.

The air felt thick, charged, like the shop was holding its breath.

I grabbed my phone again, typing out a quick text to a friend:“You’re not gonna believe this. Someone sent the doll back—no note, no nothing. Creepy AF. Drinks tonight?”

I shoved the phone into my pocket and turned back to the dolls, my fingers itching to shove the golden one back into the box and tape it shut.

But instead, I placed him back on the workbench, in the empty spot where he’d sat before.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then his head tilted—just slightly, the motion so unnatural I stumbled back with a sharp gasp. The air around me seemed to crackle, like static on the edge of hearing, and a chill swept up my spine.

The air felt colder, pressing against my skin like icy fingertips. My eyes darted to the other dolls, but they hadn’t moved. Their faces were still, their painted expressions frozen in place.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching me.

Eight

The bar was buzzing,warm light pooling across polished wood tables as glasses clinked and laughter bubbled from nearby booths. The faint scent of citrus and spice lingered in the air, cutting through the heavier notes of beer and whiskey. It was the kind of place Riley always chose—comfortable but trendy enough to keep out the riffraff.

I spotted her in a corner booth, her gin and tonic already half-empty. She waved me over, her ponytail bouncing as she gestured impatiently.

“You’re late,” she said, raising her glass like a queen chastising her subject.

I dropped into the booth with a sigh, my jacket sticking briefly to the leather seat before I peeled it off. “I had a day.”

Riley quirked an eyebrow, swirling the ice in her drink. “Define ‘a day.’”

“There was this guy,” I started, leaning forward. “He came into the shop yesterday. Bought one of the dolls. But the way he looked at it, Riley…” I shook my head, the memory sending a chill down my spine. “It was like he thought it was alive. And then he stood outside the shop, staring through the window like some kind of psycho.”

Her lips twitched like she was holding back a laugh. “Creepy. What happened next?”

I hesitated with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration, as I traced a circle in the condensation forming on the table. “The doll showed back up today. In a package.”

Riley’s glass froze mid-air. “What?”

“There was no sender information, no note, nothing. Just my address on the box,” I said, leaning back as if distance could make the whole thing sound less ridiculous.

Riley snorted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bitch. Dolls don’t just jump into boxes and ship themselves. The dude sounded weird. Check it for cum stains and forget about it.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Why are you like this?”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Because I’m right. Weird guy. Creepy doll. Case closed.”

“It’s not just that,” I said, dropping my hands to the table. The sticky surface made me grimace, but I didn’t bother wiping my palms on my jeans. “The camera footage from last night is useless—static and flickers—and the rest of the dolls…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “They feel different. Heavier, almost. Like they’re pissed at me for separating them because the ones that looked like they belonged to the same set seemed angry, but the rest couldn’t care.”

Riley leaned back, the dim light casting shadows across her sharp features. “Pissed? Claire, you’re talking about porcelain and fabric. You can’t seriously believe?—”

“I don’t believe anything,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. “It’s just… a feeling.”

Riley rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “You’re acting like they’re puppies. Claire, they’re creepy little tchotchkes that you’re letting take over your life… No! Don’t give me that look—I heard that tone in your voice, the all-sappyone when you find a new thing to fix.Sellthem to people whocareabout that stuff. Doll collectors or whatever. Just… get them out of your shop before you end up starring in your own horror movie as the villain who snapped and killed someone in a paranoid fit.”

I frowned, her words landing heavier than I wanted to admit. The clink of glasses and bursts of laughter from a nearby table seemed suddenly too loud, too sharp.

I thought about Wealth. The smudge on his foot. The way the others had felt sharper this morning, their painted faces somehow cutting into me like accusations.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said finally, though the words tasted bitter. “But if I sell them, I’m doing it carefully. No random buyers. I’ll keep them together as much as I can.”

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