Cracked Doll Novels & Stories

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.”

I was no longer that little girl though. And everyone knew. Everyone knew Danielle had changed. Derek's death broke something inside of me. Or better still – it finished an ongoing process inside of me. The loudest people had silent scars. Deep silent scars that they covered up with their loud aura's. Horror striken memories that should have never even existed. Afterall, there's a reason a masterpiece is made of different broken pieces.

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.

There was no broken window, no damaged lock, and nothing looked disturbed except for the baby’s cribs… and something else. Under one of the cribs was a rag doll. It was small, maybe around the size of my hand. The cloth was worn and the stitches were uneven. The fabric was faded, and stained in some places, and its button eyes looked too big for its face. It had a crooked mouth that had been sewn with red thread, like a kid’s art project gone wrong. I picked it up. It was heavier than I expected. It felt like there was something shifting inside so I turned it over. Then I saw the note.

As she was about to move to the room, her gaze lingered on the peonies in the vase. The white, pastel-pink flowers looking back at her. Amara's emotional dam weakened by the relentless pressure of fear and frustration, finally gave way. As her knees gave out and she fell on her knees, a wave of despair crashed over her. It wasn't just tears that streamed down her face; it was the breaking of something deep within. Her heart shattered into countless pieces, the pain echoing through every fiber of her being.

They taught her the basic ones and she never thought she’ll be given this chance to put it in real use. She returned to her room with the small purplish vial. It’s what the witches call a Bonecrack. One small drop of this into a beverage would make the drinker be weak and without any strength. She was planning to do it the next day. For Brayden. To get rid of him. And to forever belong to Damon.

I whisper. “I'm sorry-” Anger rises in me. He just keeps damn pushing, like a broken record. “No you're not!” I snap. “You don't care about me.” I swat his hand away. “All you care for is what I am! Your perfect china doll you've stowed away in the attic next to a hammer for the day you feel like smashing it. But you've forgotten something: that doll is adamantine. That doll cannot break.” His eyes flash. “You are the thing I hold dearest, Janet. My finest creation. Of course you are indestructible.”

ok now wipe your tears and find her. if you can't. then you will not get her for years. find her soon. I am waiting for you to suffer more and more. ____ why? why? why it has to happen to me? what I did. I just dig the matter to reveal the truth to the world. but now. what I will do. suddenly a doll got my attention. I moved towards it. it was a joker doll. but why it is looking so different. and the doll was surrounded by blood.

Even though I was dead, remembering what he did to me made me shudder all over. He had hung me up and sliced my body bit by bit, watching as the blood flowed. He called me his "Beautiful Flower". As the pain vividly stabbed at me, I hugged myself. The marks on my fingers were still there. Every inch of my fingers and knees, too, had been broken. Yarick had said that using a real person as a doll made it more lifelike. He had dislocated every joint, manipulating my body like a puppet. A gust of wind brushed past, and I felt a wave of dizziness.