The Eerie Gift

7. The Eerie Gift

Jamie stared at the small porcelain tooth resting inside the box, an inexplicable unease creeping into her chest.

It was pristine—smooth, spotless, almost as if it had just fallen from a child's mouth moments ago.

She took a slow, deep breath, closed the lid, and asked in a low voice, "Sandra, did you leave this on my desk?"

Sandra walked over, coffee in hand. She glanced at the box, then frowned. "What the hell is that?"

She picked it up, examining the tiny tooth carefully. It was cold, unnaturally smooth, and felt more like fine ceramic than actual enamel.

"Did you go out and buy another creepy antique?" Sandra asked dryly, giving Jamie a pointed look.

Jamie shook her head, her voice slightly hoarse. "It appeared on my desk by itself."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Sandra set the box down, her expression turning thoughtful. After a moment, she said, "You remember where we buried the doll?"

Jamie nodded. "Of course."

Sandra pressed her lips together. "Maybe… we should go back and check."

8. A Disturbance in the Grave

That night, Jamie and Sandra returned to the abandoned graveyard, flashlights cutting through the darkness.

The wind rustled through the overgrown weeds, a soft shhh whispering through the empty night.

Jamie lifted her flashlight and aimed it at the spot where they had buried the doll days ago—

The ground had been disturbed.

The soil had been dug up, leaving behind a small, gaping hole—like something had crawled out.

A sharp chill ran down Jamie's spine. She swallowed hard and whispered, "Sandra… look."

Sandra's face hardened. She crouched down, pulling on a pair of gloves before carefully sifting through the loose dirt.

Her fingers brushed against something solid.

She pulled it out and held it up to the light—

A tiny porcelain arm.

The severed limb was smooth and eerily intact, as if something had deliberately detached it rather than breaking it.

Jamie and Sandra exchanged a tense glance.

The doll's body was gone.

9. Watching from the Darkness

They quickly scanned their surroundings, their flashlights sweeping across the graveyard. The only sound was the dry creaking of tree branches swaying in the wind.

Sandra stood up, her voice low. "It's not here anymore."

Jamie nodded, preparing to leave. But then—

A sound drifted through the air.

"Hehehe…"

A child's giggle.

Soft. Playful.

It echoed from somewhere in the distance, as if someone was hiding just out of sight, covering their mouth to suppress their laughter.

Jamie's heart dropped.

She tightened her grip on the flashlight and turned sharply, the beam cutting through the shadows—

A small figure stood behind a tombstone.

Half-hidden in the darkness, a pale, porcelain-like face peered at them, its black glassy eyes wide and unblinking.

Jamie's breath hitched.

Sandra stiffened beside her, her voice a sharp whisper: "Run."

They turned and bolted.

Behind them, the giggling grew louder.

"Hehehe…"

"Sister, don't run away…"

Jamie's pulse pounded in her ears. She forced herself not to look back, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.

Then—

Something brushed against her sleeve.

Like small, cold fingers tugging at her.

Jamie yanked away and ran faster, finally reaching the car.

They threw themselves inside, slamming the doors shut just as Sandra floored the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the gravel as they sped off.

Jamie dared one final glance in the rearview mirror—

At the entrance of the graveyard, the small figure still stood there.

Still wearing the faded red dress.

Still staring directly at them.

And slowly, its lips curled into a smile.

10. Epilogue: The Second Gift

Jamie barely slept that night.

The next morning, she groggily walked into the living room—

And froze.

Sitting neatly on the table was another small box.

Her stomach twisted. She forced herself to step closer and slowly lifted the lid—

Inside lay a tiny porcelain hand.

Identical to the one they had found in the grave.

Her breath caught as she noticed something else beneath it—

A small, folded note.

Hands trembling, she picked it up and unfolded it.

The handwriting was childish, uneven. Just one short sentence:

"Sister, you forgot about me."