Cracked Porcelain Doll Novels & Stories

Jumping from this height would either kill me or leave me crippled. Summoning every bit of courage, I grabbed the porcelain doll off the shelf and threw it out the window with all my strength. There was a loud crack as the porcelain shattered, followed by a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. Strangely, the scream came from the other side of the door. It seemed like the doll and whatever was outside were somehow connected. I didn't have time to figure out who put that doll in my room. The thing outside was pissed now. Its voice wasn't Grandma's anymore. It sounded strange and wild, and it began kicking the door.

Behind that perfect smile was a black heart, and once she stepped into our home, she started taking everything away from me. The first thing she took was my most precious possession: my doll. I still remember that day like it was playing right in front of my eyes. Kruska’s fingers had brushed over the hand-stitched dress, her eyes gleaming with greedy fascination. “I like that doll,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “It’s so pretty.” I smiled proudly, hugging it closer. “It’s very special. My grandma spent almost a year making it and she gave it to me before she passed away, so I treasure it with all my heart. It reminds me of her and makes me feel like she’s still here with us.”

Holding firm to her belief that as long as she did not feel awkward, it would not directly affect her, Camellia quickly averted her gaze and focused on the burial artifacts before her. The most striking piece was a tall greenish-white porcelain soul jar that was over three feet tall. Its top featured a crane, the neck encircled by a coiled cloud dragon, with twelve figurines standing below the dragon. Camellia's eyes lit up with excitement, convinced that this trip was more than worth it.

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?”

Mikael was in complete shock at her study; it was beautiful in an almost morbid, macabre way. We both took a seat next to each other on the couch while Sajida sat on the other side of her desk in her throne. She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder and just grinned at us; she enjoyed being right. She knew I would come here. All she had to do was wait. Before Mikael and I could say anything, we both saw small shadows under a console table by the wall underneath a window. Mikael jumped slightly, but I knew what they were - the small dolls that I met the last time we were here. There were three of them - one with a pentagon on its belly, another with a triple moon, and the last one with a t

I have to know, but I don’t want to know. The phone stops its advance when a small, stuffed babydoll comes into view. It is smeared with blood, and its stuffing is puffed out where slash marks have cut into the delicate, pale pink fabric. A tiny, sweet hand, with chipped glittery pink nail polish, is tucked up under the doll’s arm—but there’s no little girl’s body anywhere in sight.

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."

And hugged me. “I miss Daddy,” it said in a small, hoarse voice, like from inside a coffin not yet sealed. I slowly pulled away, forcing the doll to fall from my arms. The dull thud when it hit the floor sounded more like flesh than fabric. Not cotton. Not cloth. But something wetter... more alive. My hands shook. I stepped back and aimed the flashlight at its face. Its lips were torn into a crooked smile. Its nose was dented. And on its chest—stitched in small thread: A.

he asked shamelessly as he walked up to me. Dr. Dane’s grip on my wrist loosened. Mr. Rolex grabbed the bottle. “The price is two thousand five hundred dollars,” his voice sounded like a warning, like he was waiting to punish me after this deal. My eyes snapped at him, did he have to mention the price again since it was visible to everyone? “I’ll buy both,” Dr. Dane replied coldly. “I want a night with your worker, Ava, and I want the drink.”

"Good job. Here's your tip." I figured I'd never cross paths with those three nutjobs again, content to globe-trot with my fortune and live freely. But as it turned out, the world was smaller than I'd thought. At a high-end auction, I encountered them once more—those three men I'd once both loved and hated. They had wasted away, appearing gaunt and hollow with deep-set eyes, as if all their vitality had been drained. At that point, they were engaged in a fierce bidding war over a crystal bracelet that I had once worn, driving the price well past the $10-million mark. Seated in the back corner with wide sunglasses on, I raised my paddle calmly. "20 million."