Story 1039: Demon of the Dollhouse

They said the dollhouse was once a gift for a grieving girl. Hand-carved. Hand-painted. Each miniature piece crafted to perfection, down to the teacups and velvet drapes. No one knew who built it—or how it ended up in the attic of the Gravenhurst Orphanage.

But when the screaming began, the whispers followed.

And the dollhouse waited.

Elsie, small for her age and too quiet for comfort, found it while hiding from bullies in the attic one storm-heavy night. Lightning flashed across the sky as her hands brushed the dust away from the roof, revealing spindly spires and blood-painted shutters. She was drawn to it, heart pounding.

Inside, tiny figures stood frozen—a mother, a father, a child, and… something else. A dark figure crouched in the nursery, its face obscured by strands of human hair and its hands sewn together with black string.

The child figure looked just like her.

Elsie reached for it.

The attic door slammed shut.

That night, no one saw Elsie at dinner.