Doll

I sat there, still catching my breath, trying to make sense of what I just saw. Out of all the things that could've appeared in that void—monsters, gods, spirits—why the hell was that thing in a suit?

It was almost absurd. A twisted, faceless entity dressed like a businessman. Did nightmares have fashion sense now? Or was it trying to look formal for some reason?

I ran a hand through my hair, still damp with sweat. Maybe it was meant to look human. Maybe it wanted me to think it was something I could understand.

But the suit didn't make it less terrifying. If anything, it made it worse. The contrast between something so unnatural and something so normal made it feel even more wrong.

I exhaled, forcing myself to shake off the lingering unease. I could sit here all night questioning a faceless man's fashion choices, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. The real question was: Why did it ask me what I desire?

And more importantly—did it already know the answer?

I leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Survive. That's all there is to it, isn't it?

I never had some grand purpose back in my old life. I wasn't some prodigy or some tragic soul with a past filled with hardship and revenge. I was just… there. I lived, I ate, I studied just enough to pass, and I worked just enough to sustain myself. I wasn't aiming for greatness, just stability.

No family to return to. Friends? Sure, I had some, but not the kind that would go out of their way for me. A lover? Hah. Not worth mentioning.

Then, I ended up here—this cursed world where even basic things like a proper toilet are a luxury.

A world where death lurks around every corner, where people put faith in gods that may or may not care about them, and where I now dig graves as part of my daily routine.

And yet, despite everything, despite the faceless man in a suit whispering to me in the void, my answer is simple.

I want to live. Not just exist, not just endure—I want to live. Even if this world is cursed. Even if I have to claw my way through whatever fate throws at me.

If there's something inside me trying to take control, then it can damn well fight me for it.

There's no way they would take it from me, right?

I just want a peaceful life. That's all.

I never asked for power. I never asked to be transported to some godforsaken world where the dead don't stay dead and prayers might just drive you insane. I never wanted any of this.

But now, something is inside me—something watching, something waiting. And that suited figure, that thing with my face, it asked me what I desired.

I said I wanted to live, but will it even let me? Or will it take that away too?

No.

No one is taking this from me.

I have nothing else. No past worth mourning, no future worth fearing. Just the present, just survival.

A peaceful life. That's all I want.

But in this world… is that even possible?

I froze.

The knock was soft. Almost polite. But in this darkness, in this silence, it was the loudest sound in the world.

No one should be here.

Not at this hour.

Not in this graveyard.

I clenched my fists, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs. There were no lanterns outside, no torches, no light—just the thick, suffocating darkness that made it impossible to see anything beyond the window. Yet… I felt something.

Watching.

Waiting.

Another knock.

I swallowed hard. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. My body screamed at me not to open that door.

But what if it was Father Lucian? What if it was someone from the church? A messenger?

No.

No one sane would come here at this hour.

I pressed my back against the wall, staring at the door as if it might burst open on its own. My fingers twitched, itching to grab something—anything—to defend myself. But against what?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I just wanted to sleep.

Another knock.

This time, it was louder.

I had nothing.

Not even a decent kitchen knife. No weapons, no tools—just a few books stacked on the rickety table beside my bed.

My eyes darted to them.

Knowledge is power, right? But how the hell was I supposed to use a book against whatever was knocking on my door at midnight?

Throw it?

Read it out loud and bore the thing to death?

The thought almost made me laugh, but the fear pressing down on my chest was too real.

I took a slow step toward the table, reaching for the thickest book I had. The leather cover felt solid, but it wasn't reassuring. If I was up against something human, maybe I could smash it into their face. But if it wasn't…

Another knock.

Louder.

More impatient.

My breath hitched.

I took another step back. My fingers gripped the book tighter, but it felt useless. This wasn't a weapon. This wasn't protection. It was just paper and ink, completely powerless against the unknown standing on the other side of that door.

I needed to think. I needed to—

Silence.

The knocking stopped.

I stood there, frozen, waiting for something—anything—to happen. My ears strained, trying to pick up even the faintest sound.

Nothing.

Just the wind. Just the graveyard. Just the suffocating silence.

I wanted to believe it was over. That it was just my imagination.

Should I open it?

Hell no.

This isn't some horror movie where the dumbass protagonist willingly walks into their own demise.

I ain't leaving this room.

I backed away from the door, gripping the book like it was a shield. The silence stretched on, pressing down on me, making me question if I'd actually heard the knocking in the first place. But I knew I did.

Something was there.

Or maybe it still was.

I glanced at the window. Pitch black. Nothing outside, nothing visible—just an empty void where the graveyard should be. The only thing worse than seeing something was not seeing it but knowing it was out there. Watching. Waiting.

I swallowed dryly.

Screw this.

I dragged one of the chairs across the room, wedging it under the doorknob. It wasn't much, but at least if something tried to force its way in, I'd hear it.

Then I sat down on the bed.

And waited.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. My grip on the book loosened, but I didn't dare put it down. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut up.

Who—or what—knocked?

Why now?

Was it something from the church? A lost traveler? Or was it the spirit I saw earlier, the one bathed in red, lurking in the graveyard?

A chill crawled up my spine.

I shook my head. No point in thinking about it. Not now.

I forced myself to lie down, staring at the ceiling, ears still trained on any noise outside.

Sleep would be impossible, but at the very least, I wasn't stupid enough to check the door.

Not tonight.

---

Sunlight pressed against my face, dragging me out of the fog of sleep. My body felt heavy, like I'd been buried under the weight of exhaustion.

I blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness, and slowly sat up.

Then I noticed it.

The chair.

It wasn't where I left it.

I distinctly remember wedging it under the doorknob last night, but now—it was off to the side, slightly turned, like someone had moved it and forgotten to put it back.

A cold sensation trickled down my spine.

Had I moved it? Did I wake up in the middle of the night and forget? No. I was too paranoid to forget something like that.

Then…

My gaze flickered to the door. It was still closed. Locked, even. Nothing looked out of place, but that didn't mean much.

I exhaled, rubbing my face.

Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe it was just fatigue messing with my mind.

The digging yesterday drained me more than I thought, and combined with the paranoia from that damn knocking, I must've just passed out.

I sighed. Whatever. I was still in one piece, and nothing had dragged me off in my sleep. That was good enough for now.

I stood up, stretched, and decided to start the day.

I hesitated before stepping outside. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth from the graves I dug yesterday. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before I finally twisted it open.

Something was here.

A small, battered straw doll.

It lay motionless in front of my door, its body frayed and weathered. The thing didn't have a face, just a rough, featureless head with loose strands of straw sticking out.

It wore a tiny, worn-out farmer's hat, the kind I'd seen on old men working the fields. But more importantly—its left arm and both legs were missing.

I stared at it.

I wasn't sure what I expected to find after last night, but a broken straw doll wasn't on the list.

My first thought was ridiculous—was this the one that knocked? The sheer absurdity made me scoff, but the unease in my gut didn't fade.

If it had been left whole, maybe I would've brushed it off as some weird prank or an offering left behind by a villager.

But it wasn't whole.

It was torn.

Who or what did that?

I crouched down, carefully observing it, but didn't touch it. There was no sign of fresh damage, no blood, no strange symbols. It wasn't giving off any visible aura or presence, either.

And yet…

I had a gut feeling about these things. I'd felt danger before—like the red spirit in the graveyard, the suffocating pressure of something wanting me dead.

This doll?

Nothing.

No malice, no weight in the air, no instinct screaming at me to run.

If anything, it felt… abandoned.

I exhaled through my nose, my breath misting slightly in the cool air.

Was this the work of a ghost? But Father Lucian had blessed this place—no spirits should be able to step foot inside. Unless… something had tried and failed?

I tapped my fingers against my leg, thinking.

Should I bring it inside? Burn it? Bury it?

Or just leave it?