Cracked Doll Novels & Stories

Monica lowered her head and looked at the mess that Felix had created when a ceramic doll that had been broken in half caught her attention. “Ah, didn’t Sister-in-law make this herself?”

“He hung me up, I think. My throat’s been weird this whole morning. I thought I was coming down with something, but it felt kind of suffocating? So I think the doll probably got hung from something.” “Like those sunny dolls? What kind of kink is that?” I frowned and softly touched the doll’s neck. There was a sewing crease there, so it made sense for wrinkles to appear around that area. I could imagine the doll being tied up and hanging like a sunny doll. The more I looked, the more the sight of the crease began to irritate me. It almost looked like someone had wrapped a rope around its neck. I wanted nothing more than to smooth it out.

Honestly, Doll just wanted to be left alone and take a nice long nap so when he awoke he could tell himself all the important things he wanted to keep in his memory. He gave the answer he could parrot from class. "I am a small god. I am here to give my power to my beloved toms." No, no! His soul ached. He only had one beloved tom and that tom would never ask him to give up what these monsters were asking. The things that made him whole and real. "And we accept your gift." The tom began the needle treatment. Doll's hopes were dashed when he looked to see if this tom might be wearing the strange bracelet.

The doll cackled fiendishly, it's cackling was so loud that my windows began to vibrate. “JESUS CHRIST!” I blurted and quickly reached for the remote; turned down the volume and covered my eyes with my fingers. Through the tiny slits in my fingers, I peeked as the doll pounced on the girls face. A grotesque, cheshire smirk upon it's pale-white face. It's rows of terribly stained teeth flashed like daggers under a full moon. As the doll tried to plunge it's spiky teeth into the girls flawless face, the brightness from the television disappeared and the house plunged into total darkness.

Due to that, he hobbled around, nearly as good as crippled. Resentment simmered between them: Sean with his grudges, Rowena with her cold shoulder. Nancy confided in me that the pair, though housemates, were at each other's throats daily, stirring up a racket that could wake the dead. The stillborn they brought home did not last long before it decayed, swarming with maggots, filling the house with a stench worse than a sewer. Rowena's grip on sanity started to slip, her days filled with wild outbursts. A video of one such episode, self-recorded, went viral and, bizarrely, turned a profit.

So this was it, the system was trying to get use to kill ourselves. A small smirk crept to my lips. We get to do the dirty work while the system keeps its hands clean. Someone shouted, “This is insane!” He was absolutely right, the game was insane alright— insanely fun. The doll tilted its head. More like it's neck did a 180°c turn— creating a grotesque sight. The sound of its creaky wood echoing across the living room “You think this is insane?” it chuckled. “Love is what is insane. If a relationship is easily broken then it's not worth keeping.

A little girl's voice, sweet and sad. "Mommy, please. I just wanted to live." I lowered the bottle. Tears streamed down my face. "You're not her," I said. "I could be," the doll said. "You could help me. You could let me out." "How?" "Break the shelf. Break the doll. But not like he said. Not with hate. With love. Break me open, and I'll be born. A real baby. Your real daughter. The one you lost." I stood there, shaking. I wanted to believe her. God help me, I wanted to believe her. But then I remembered the scratches on my arms. The whispers. The way she watched Paul with something that looked like hunger, not love.

“This is a doll that our finest crafter has created. He specializes in creating replicas. He is detailed down to the mere centimeters. Each is a perfect copy-“ Mykhol explains in a prominent voice that carries through the room. But here he stops to look over his shoulder at the doll. And as if on cue, his smile drops. A furrow bends his brow as if he only noticed the problem. “But I see the maker has made a grievous error. “ Mykhol carries on as if it was also a shock to him. He moves to take my bread into his hand. “Such an error.” Mykhol goes again. Behind him, I hear a snicker. “What a shame, “ Someon eles follows before they stifle a laugh.

He stood, bowed deeply, and tiptoed out of the basement like someone fleeing a slumbering beast. The basement door closed softly behind him, emitting a long, creaking groan before falling silent. The flame slowly steadied, bathing the doll in a warm amber glow. The doll remained still at the center of the altar. Its crimson robe shimmered with an unnatural gleam in the dimness, and the curve of its smile seemed to stretch wider. The macarons on the altar had somehow dried and blackened, as if all their moisture had been drained away. A black fuzz floated atop the cup of water, identical to the tiny hair that dangled from the doll's hairpin.

The crimson kimono shimmered eerily in the dimness, and the smile on its face grew even more pronounced. At some point, the flan on the offering table had shriveled and blackened, as if all its moisture had been sucked out. In the bowl of clear water, a layer of fine black fuzz floated, identical to the bead hanging from the doll's hairpin. A strange laughter echoed through the basement. This doll was the very same Evil Doll that had escaped from Carl's hands. Ever since it was injured that time, it had been recuperating, constantly interacting with humans, fulfilling their wishes, feeding on their souls, and accepting their offerings.