Book Dollhouse Murders Novels & Stories

With a resigned gesture, he slaps his palms together, the sound echoing in the tense silence, and leans forward on his knees, his posture a mix of frustration and anticipation. "Underground whispers suggest that she is the final remaining Doll, a human safeguard for the Elders of the Lombardi family. Years ago, the Lombardis implemented a sinister program to brainwash children, conditioning them to retain critical information that could only be accessed through carefully chosen phrases or intense emotional distress. The last recorded Doll, Lorelei Lombardi, mysteriously vanished after she courageously leaked crucial information. Rumour has it that she dedicated herself to mastering the abili

Without a second thought I got on my tippy toes and reached for Sykler’s ear, yanking and twisting it. “Ow! What the fuck,” he shouted. I put my hands on my hips as Chance laughed. “Sit down sis,” Hunter said, motioning to the chair. “I’ll sit when I’m dead. Talk,” I said, my best scowl face on display. Chance cleared his throat. “Ben is investigating a voodoo doll that was found in the house. We uhm, found a couple more. They look like you and they have different spells on them,” Chance said, looking down at me.

Her life had lost colour completely and her days as a child were over. The front door was an old heavy wooden door that creaked when it was opened. The strong scent of mothballs and dust filled the house. There was a lounge to the left with chairs covered in faded red velvet in front of a fireplace. The walls were covered from top to bottom with books. To the right, she smelled pork chops, potatoes, beef stroganoff, lamb chops, and steak. She remembered the kitchen was behind the dining room area. Her Grandmother appeared from the kitchen with a sympathetic smile and showed her upstairs where there were two bedrooms and one bathroom. The bedrooms were full of antique furniture. The room wher

Her hands tightened around the case files, the paper crumpling beneath her grip. Was Damian Voss a suspect? Or was he something worse? Evelyn leaned back in her chair, rubbing her head, the weight of the evidence pressing down on her. It wasn’t enough to make an arrest, but it all pointed in one direction—Damian Voss. Billionaire. Businessman. Untouchable. And somehow, connected to these murders. Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise—something shifting outside her window. Evelyn tensed, reaching for her gun. She lived on the fourth floor. No one should be out there.

I couldn’t. The memory of what I’d just seen lingered like poison: journals with blood crusted in their bindings, surgical tools gleaming with dried crimson, and the tanks. Those awful, humming tanks filled with suspended bodies. Children. Dragon-born. Altered, broken, twisted. Transformed against their will. Subjects. And now, the heartbeats. Thirteen of them, moving through the castle’s veins when there should’ve been none. No guards, no staff. Ryden had ordered the Dollhouse locked down in preparation for the next trial in the morning.

she says. A sign for her to interpret. Why did she decide this was a sign for her, when I’m the one who did it? I’m the one who committed the crime. Not her, not my doll. I’m the one who took something helpless, something I loved, and threw it away into darkness.

Not hers. My hands started shaking. 'Are they selling off coma patients' bodies?' All those stories from school came flooding back. My skin crawled. I fought the nausea and fear, forced myself to finish cleaning her up. I was about to leave when I saw it—the music box on her nightstand. Ms. Deinert had told me not to mess with it. But my hand moved anyway. I popped it open. No music. Just velvet at the bottom. Then I saw it—tiny crumbs near the edge. Crackers, maybe?