Cracked Doll Novels & Stories

“Let go! Don’t touch it! I told you not to touch it!” That doll was my eighteenth birthday present. Damien had specially ordered it custom-made for me from abroad. The intricate embroidery on its clothes was handcrafted by a master artisan and had required a four-month waiting list. It meant the world to me as it was a symbol of how much my brother adored me. Seeing me trying to crawl back up, Lucy slammed her foot right onto my back. I was forced flat against the floor, left with no choice but to watch Grace throw the doll against the floor, creating a deep crack across the doll’s surface.

She had closed every gap, one morning at a time, with coffee and chalk and a map on a wall and her hand in mine at a writing table until dawn. There was nothing for the disc to hold. I closed my fist. The metal cracked. I had not expected it to crack that easily. Seraphine's work was old and precise and the discs were made to last decades. This one cracked on the first squeeze because the metal had been designed to hold a compulsion, and when the compulsion found nothing to hold, the metal had nothing to be. It cracked. It cut my palm. The blood ran down the inside of my hand and onto the desk and onto the oilcloth that had been wrapped around the thing Diana Cole had paid her mother to make

Now, standing in this elevator, facing Damien’s cold stare, a rage I’d never felt before burned in my chest. He walked toward us slowly. Each step was a claim of ownership. "A perfect piece of porcelain," his voice was a low hiss. "Such a shame it breaks so easily." He stopped in front of me. He reached out to touch my face. "But it's still my porcelain to break."

We decided to step into one of the shops, a bell tinkling as we entered. The interior was cramped and dusty, filled to the brim with all manner of strange objects. Dolls with eerily lifelike eyes stared at us from shelves, while jars of wet specimens lined the walls. “Creepy,” I muttered, picking up a small figurine that seemed to be made of bones. Chris nodded, examining a collection of ‘cursed’ amulets. “Yeah, but kind of fascinating too, don’t you think?”

All at once, Lee broke away from the group, making his way to one of the time-stilled conveyor belts. “I bet the grandkids would like this.” He said to his wife, picking up one of the nearly finished dolls and twisting it this way and that in observation. “I don't know, it's not even painted all the way.” Martha noticed the doll had bright red hair and pale skin, its sculpted face somehow reminding Tina of a hedgehog she had kept as a child. It was paint or no paint, pretty adorable. “That adds to it, don't you think?” Lee asked. “Makes it more special, part of history.”

The silicone began to deteriorate almost immediately, the surfaces turning cloudy, then cracking. "You're destroying them," she whispered. "I'm burning the past." I took her hand and pulled her out of the room, closing the door behind us. Through the small window in the door, we watched the dolls collapse in on themselves, their perfect forms crumbling into ruin. When it was done, the room was silent again, filled only with the soft hum of the ventilation system clearing the mist. I turned to Celeste. She was pressed against the wall, her chest heaving, her eyes fixed on the destruction inside the room. I moved closer, placing one hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in.

I nodded and carefully held the letter, then. CRASH! The sound of glass shattering echoed through the hall, I turned sharply. Anita? She stood there with a dark expression, lips twisted upward. “What are you doing?!” she yelled. The waitress flinched in fear. The crowd turned, whispers rising instantly, but my feet had already moved, I needed to know what was going on. When I reached her, my lips parted, but paused...I saw it. A doll...It looked exactly like Anita, but pins and needles were stabbed into its body, worse blood soaked through it.

Only because he is a fallen angel, everything is full of sad … But that fallen angel had one chance in life that she was given. The roots of the law controversy go all the way back to the fallen angel, Lucifer. He became a corrupt shadow of his former self - a fallen angel trusted neither by Heaven nor Hell. Demon awaiting the Fallen Angel Shaher's revival was killed in battle at the Hall of Corruption by Alphonse. While not a Fallen Angel in the formal sense, it's depressed price relative to the growing fundamental case for silver makes it worth considering.

he retorted sarcastically, frustration seething in his voice. He then placed a grimy, tattered box in front of me, wrapped haphazardly. I opened it and peered inside, my eyes narrowing as I examined the contents. The box resembled a child’s plaything, but the items within were unsettling. The plastic knife and screwdrivers were chipped and stained, the nuts were rusted, and the doll’s skin was scratched, as if it had been dragged across a rough surface. "The doll was dismantled, and the nuts were shoved inside its eyes before she found the box and hid it. Isn’t that strange?" Hudson said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.