Gemotions

The air grew thin as she hauled herself up into the attic. Cobwebs brushed her face, and she swatted them away impatiently, intent on finding the Christmas decorations. Then she saw it: a box marked 'Personal.' Its lid was slightly ajar.

She froze. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. A morbid curiosity warred with an overwhelming sense of dread. She knelt slowly, peering into the box.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed tissue paper, was a collection of dolls. Porcelain dolls. Each one with a vacant, unsettling gaze. Her breath hitched. She slammed the lid shut. She wanted nothing to do with this.