The hungry doll(4) [final]

Zhiyan barely spoke the next day. She kept stealing glances at Xiaoxiao, her stomach twisting every time she saw the doll sitting on her shelf.

It was different now. She could feel it.

Its stitched smile seemed stretched—wider, looser. Its button eyes, once dull, now glistened as if wet. She told herself it was just her imagination, but deep inside, she knew something was wrong.

That night, she didn't want to sleep. But exhaustion pulled at her, and eventually, she drifted off.

Then, at midnight—

"I'm still hungry, Zhiyan."

Her eyes flew open.

The voice was right beside her.

Heart hammering, she turned her head.

Xiaoxiao was sitting on her chest.

Zhiyan's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't move. Cold terror gripped her limbs as the doll's stitched smile seemed to pulse, its black button eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"Rice is not enough anymore," it whispered.

Zhiyan gasped, shoving the doll off her and scrambling out of bed. Her hands were shaking. Her throat was dry.

The doll lay on the floor, motionless.

But she knew better now.

She grabbed Xiaoxiao and ran downstairs. The house was silent—her parents and grandmother fast asleep. The kitchen door creaked as she pushed it open.

Without thinking, she grabbed the biggest knife from the counter.

Clutching the doll in one hand and the knife in the other, she whispered, "You're not real. You're just a stupid doll."

Xiaoxiao's stitched mouth twitched.

"Don't you love me, Zhiyan?"

Zhiyan let out a choked sob and raised the knife. "I'm not feeding you anymore."

She brought it down.

The blade sank into soft fabric.

For a moment, silence filled the kitchen. Then—

A scream.

Not Zhiyan's. Not her parents'.

But something… else.

It was high-pitched, piercing, full of rage and hunger. The doll convulsed in her grip, black liquid seeping from the torn fabric. Its button eyes cracked, leaking something thick and dark.

Zhiyan didn't stop. She stabbed again and again, her breath ragged, tears streaking her face. The black liquid oozed onto the kitchen floor, pooling around her feet.

Then—silence.

Zhiyan sat there, gasping. The doll lay in tatters before her, its stitched mouth torn open in an empty scream. The black liquid had already begun to dry, leaving behind a sticky residue.

It was over.

Or so she thought.

The next morning, when she woke up in bed, she felt something cold against her cheek.

A whisper slid into her ear.

"You shouldn't have done that, Zhiyan."

Her blood ran cold.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Xiaoxiao was sitting beside her.

Its smile was whole again.

And it was wider than ever.