Cracked Doll Novels & Stories

“What’s in there?” He reached forward and, working the latch, lifted the lid. “You tell me.” “Dumb as shit slow chick,” he said. The bat fell. “A doll?” She glanced in to see the bent, broken body of Tits. “A really big doll? She’s naked. Why is she naked?” Missing the shoulder, the bat bounced off the front of Freckle’s head with a crack. “ ‘Why is she naked?’” he said, mocking her. “Why do you have a nasty doll?” She’d turned away. “That’s weird.”

The doll was on the floor, its dress smoking, its porcelain face cracked from temple to chin. "What did you do?" Paul shouted. I couldn't answer. I just stared at the cracked face. From inside the crack, something black oozed. Not liquid. Not smoke. Something in between. It dripped onto the carpet and sizzled. Paul grabbed the doll with a towel and threw it in a trash bag. He drove away. He was gone for an hour. When he came back, he said he had thrown it into the river. That was last night. Tonight, I'm lying in bed. Paul is asleep beside me. The room is dark. The shelf is empty.

“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.

" They remained standing idle, unaware of their next chances. "I think we could use this stool, provided it helps us dismantle the doll," opined Okayo, pointing at a heavy stool placed at one corner in the room. Gumba grabbed the stool and started thrashing the the doll. As he did it, the sound of the little girl crying emanated from outside the hut. It was such a hurting cry that it took them courage to break the wooden doll into its parts. When every part of it had finally separated from the rest, the hut shook greatly and the door leading to the bedroom opened.

… Meanwhile, in the basement of a windowless villa, the only source of light came from a dust-coated oil lamp beside a small altar. The wick had been drawn thin, its flame trembling at the slightest draft. Long shadows stretched across the stained walls, resembling dried streaks of blood. The altar itself was made of oak, its smooth surface faintly glinting under the weak lamplight. At its center sat a Krowonian doll. The doll, barely half a foot tall, wore a silk robe that glimmered faintly in the dim glow. Frayed golden threads unraveled down the fabric, revealing a dark underlayer that resembled dried veins.

The doll I found was broken It's arm was not there and her leg was broken. But luckily I found the broken arm lying in the box I pulled out the doll and fixed it with glue. The joints from where it was broken were visible but I covered it with a beautiful dress I myself stiched. So in short I got my own doll. A very beautiful one with blonde hair and green eyes. Right now she is here in my lap as I am writing. She is my first and most special possession and I will name it miracle. So diary meet miracle...my first and last doll...my one and only toy.

I am pressing him into the locker. "Let go of me!" he cries out in pain. "What's happening in here?" shouts coach Brimworth. I shoved Nate away. "I said, What's happening here?" Coach Brimworth's voice is louder. Coach Brimworth viewed me as I huffed, angry, and soon his gaze lowered to the floor, seeing my broken goggles. He goes to take up a piece. "Nate, is this yours?" he asks. "Yes, sir," I say. "My 10-year-old sister gave it to me before she died from cancer." Tears come down as I say it.

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.

With nothing else to focus on, she started making these dolls. I remember the way she smiled every time she finished painting one. She would show them to me every time I visited, and no matter how tired she looked, she’d beam like she had just done something amazing. Alec used to think they were creepy, and Mia didn’t really think much of them. But to me, they were beautiful, fragile little things. And oddly, there was this strange excitement that built inside me every time I touched them, the urge to want to break them. It didn’t make sense at that time but it was there. That feeling stayed with me until she passed away, and we ran.

You can't break down the wall! 'Bang!' Another in the same spot, only a small amount of concrete fell with it. Stop! You're going to hurt yourself before you can knock that wall down! 'Bang!' This time, bricks exploded from the place where Nathan had been pounding the wall. Not knowing what else to do, I let out a little squeal and tucked my head between my knees to protect my eyes. “Elana.”