Thanks to Laura over at Office Mango for yet another unnerving picture prompt for a piece of flash fiction.
She saw it twitch.
Was certain of it, but she said nothing – not wanting to appear the fool in front of her friends but sure that, before long, one of them was also bound to see it move.
Maybe by then though it would be too late, maybe it would be even more animated, perhaps moving quickly. In her mind’s eye it was already dragging itself across the wooden floor on its tiny claw-like hands, reaching up and grabbing the nearest leg it could reach as they all sat there, sinking sharp fangs into soft flesh, drawing blood quickly, drinking it down in thirsty gulps.
Or had the twitch been nothing but her imagination?
A by-product of her lack of good sleep, of the nights she spent at home holding her own doll tightly against the raging verbal war that her parents fought on the floor below her room?
Time away from home was what she needed – that’s what her friends had said. Just them, spending time together in the old rotting treehouse.
None of them knew who had used it before, but they’d left their toys behind.
It was like the ghost of a playroom, hidden high in the trees, on the edge of the woods.
The woods were full of legends, the area the subject of many stories and urban myths – none of which she believed in.
But it only took another glance across at the doll sat in the corner of the room, and the nagging doubt that it had winked at her, to send a cold chill up her spine as all of those stories potentially became very real indeed.