A small tool to view real-world ActivityPub objects as JSON! Enter a URL
or username from Mastodon or a similar service below, and we'll send a
request with
the right
Accept
header
to the server to view the underlying object.
{
"@context": "https://www.w3.org/ns/activitystreams",
"type": "OrderedCollectionPage",
"orderedItems": [
{
"type": "Create",
"actor": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"object": {
"type": "Note",
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1169472257223348224",
"attributedTo": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"content": "How's everyone's <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=halloween\" title=\"#halloween\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#halloween</a>?",
"to": [
"https://www.w3.org/ns/activitystreams#Public"
],
"cc": [
"https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/followers"
],
"tag": [],
"url": "https://www.minds.com/newsfeed/1169472257223348224",
"published": "2020-11-01T03:05:13+00:00",
"source": {
"content": "How's everyone's #halloween?",
"mediaType": "text/plain"
}
},
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1169472257223348224/activity"
},
{
"type": "Create",
"actor": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"object": {
"type": "Note",
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1168805644383866880",
"attributedTo": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"content": "What's your favorite <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=horror\" title=\"#horror\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#horror</a> movie? Recently, I fell in love with David Lynch's Eraserhead.",
"to": [
"https://www.w3.org/ns/activitystreams#Public"
],
"cc": [
"https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/followers"
],
"tag": [],
"url": "https://www.minds.com/newsfeed/1168805644383866880",
"published": "2020-10-30T06:56:20+00:00",
"source": {
"content": "What's your favorite #horror movie? Recently, I fell in love with David Lynch's Eraserhead.",
"mediaType": "text/plain"
}
},
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1168805644383866880/activity"
},
{
"type": "Create",
"actor": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"object": {
"type": "Note",
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1168605588884656128",
"attributedTo": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"content": "This is a short <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=horror\" title=\"#horror\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#horror</a> story for <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=nosleep\" title=\"#nosleep\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#nosleep</a>. It's a little bit of a play on <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=Poe\" title=\"#Poe\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#Poe</a> 's Tell-Tale Heart. Happy <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=halloween\" title=\"#halloween\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#halloween</a><br /><br />\"Underneath the Floor\"<br /><br />I know why the floorboards in my house creak at night. I’m a light sleeper, and there are times when it keeps me awake. They’ve given me vivid dreams about what happened with my boyfriend. And every night when I remember my dreams, they’re always the same.<br /><br />I couldn’t tell anyone before, but my conscious has been haunting me ever since.<br /><br />My boyfriend and my best friend never got along, and there was a reason for it. When I first introduced them to each other, there were dirty looks. And they were all from my man.<br /><br />He told me, “I don’t trust him.”<br /><br />When I asked him why, he said that men and women couldn’t just be friends. He said there was bound to be an attraction. If not now, it’d happen later down the line.<br /><br />It wasn’t like that, and I told him every time he brought it up. Before the two of us moved in together, my boyfriend and I would talk every night over Skype, anticipating the big move. But it was always ruined when he mentioned my best friend. The tone in his voice was something ugly. I didn’t bring it up at first, but I could feel the jealousy emanating from the scowl he gave.<br /><br />He said, “I don’t really like you having guy friends.”<br /><br />I didn’t respond at first, but naturally I’d cave in and say, “Honey, I promise it’s not like that.”<br /><br />I’d smile just to be reassuring, but he didn’t buy it. The leer in his eyes only deepened. It wasn’t a look I ever saw when the two of us were out together. The distrust was a look he saved for our private conversations.<br /><br />There was no way he didn’t notice the creeping guilt I felt when I reassured him. But he never said anything about it. The daggers he shot with that look didn’t go away until I changed the subject. And even then, it was a process.<br /><br />It only became a problem when he turned it into a routine. I wasn’t sure how to address it, but when he turned it into an entire conversation, I just had to be honest with him about it.<br /><br />It was becoming an obsession because he knew my best friend and I talked every day. But there was nothing strange about it. That was how most people were. Without the both of them, every day felt a little—incomplete.<br /><br />My boyfriend escalated into rambling about how he was a sad loser who wasn’t any good for me. But nothing was further from the truth.<br /><br />My best friend didn’t just work full time. He’d been playing piano since he was five and was starting to get the hang of Flight of the Bumblebee. And let me assure, that was no easy piece. Eventually, he told me that he even got paid gigs from time to time.<br /><br />He just earned small tips at the local bars, and even around downtown. He’d tell me how invigorating it was to take his battery-powered keyboard in the city, and just play for passersby in the city. He was happy about the collection of money in his hat, but said that seeing people happy and even singing with him made the trip worth it.<br /><br />The biggest money maker was his little renditions of Queen, and he’d attract small crowds of people singing Bohemian Rhapsody.<br /><br />Mentioning that he offered to teach me music set my boyfriend off. I should’ve expected that, but how could you blame a girl for being a little excited? That was when I finally yelled at him, and hung up Skype.<br /><br />He tried calling back at least fifty times, but I ignored it. I said I wouldn’t talk to him if he wasn’t going to let it go.<br /><br />It took a while, but he complied. He didn’t bring it up, but he still had that same, ugly sneer when I accepted his calls again.<br /><br />He didn’t know that I cried that night, but my best friend did. Our call lasted at least a couple hours, but the way he spoke always calmed me down. What really got me was when he got his keyboard out.<br /><br />I didn’t recognize the song he played, but I couldn’t help the smile on my face. It was the sweetest lullaby I’d ever heard. Then he told me it was his own composition. It was the first time he played it in front of someone else.<br /><br />I have to admit I was touched.<br /><br />The night after that, my boyfriend and I patched things up. He sounded genuinely sorry, and we even saw each other more often. He started insisting on paying for everything when we went out, and finally met my parents.<br /><br />Once he was working full-time doing construction, the both of us could save up on a down payment for a house. We agreed on not having any kids, so the two of us found a modest-sized home in a more isolated part of town. It was single storey, single bedroom.<br /><br />But when we were settled in, things changed over the next few years. He grew more distant. I only existed when the Xbox wasn’t on. He stopped taking me out, and rarely ever touched me in bed. It was only a matter of time before he stayed on the edge of the bed, as if to avoid me. He didn’t even put an arm around me unless we were in public. It felt like he was just guarding territory.<br /><br />All my friends agreed something needed to change. They saw the growing unhappiness in my face even when I tried denying it. It was that thought that things could get better any day—it could’ve happened tomorrow. But no matter how many times I addressed the issue, he acted like nothing was wrong.<br /><br />“I’m not the problem,” he said. “The problem is you’re being high maintenance.”<br /><br />I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Wanting some affection was high maintenance? I went off on him. How could I help myself? The bare basics of a good relationship was too much to ask for? What happened to the person I thought I knew?<br /><br />But in the middle of what I said, that’s when it first happened. I couldn’t tell if I was more stunned or hurt. The sting from his hand throbbed along my cheek.<br /><br />It took a moment to process what happened. But before I could say anything, he told me, “And you’re not gonna tell a soul. Understand?” Once we made eye contact, he went on. “Because if you do, it’ll be a lot worse.”<br /><br />He shot me a piercing leer, worse than ever before. I took a step back as his gaze pierced through me. It was a kind of malice I’d never seen before. My organs turned to water just from seeing him do that.<br /><br />I ran to the bedroom and locked the door. My ear was glued to its surface in case he’d come after me. The slightest noise could’ve been his footsteps, and he was always quiet on his feet. The Xbox was still on. He paused the game, but the volume didn’t go down. The game’s soundtrack was still playing.<br /><br />There wasn’t anything to defend myself with, and I didn’t know how to fight. All I had was my own body, holding the door shut. My skin grew cold as I waited for the next move.<br /><br />It had to have been ten minutes, and nothing happened. No sudden jerking of the door. No more blows to the face that night. But I was still terrified. The tranquility was creeping around me and could’ve been shattered at any time. It was a sheet of thin, opaque glass.<br /><br />I had to text my best friend but couldn’t tell him what happened. Not yet. He offered to come over, but it had to be while my boyfriend was at his construction job. He knew the jealousy didn’t just disappear. It was just hidden for the time being.<br /><br />His secret visits became more frequent. They were something of a relief. For the first time in a while, someone at home was spending time with me. The days were brighter again—it was a lot easier to smile again.<br /><br />But a new feeling of danger crawled into the house when he was visiting every day. At the same time, it was its own joy. There was a void in my gut, and it’d been filled with something a lot better than what I could hope for.<br /><br />You see, one day, he’d done the unexpected. It was completely out of nowhere. On one of his visits, he just reached over and kissed me. Maybe it’s terrible to admit, but I’ve fantasized about it before. But I didn’t think it’d actually happen.<br /><br />It was a barrage of fireworks bursting in me, but nobody could ever know. He mentioned the bruises before, and that wasn’t the first time someone suggested that I leave my boyfriend.<br /><br />That was when I broke down into tears and told him the truth. I confessed that my man threatened my life. He said he’d bury me if I even thought of leaving. I was miserable at home and didn’t have a simple way out. He knew my friends and family by this point, and they all really loved him by this point.<br /><br />So what was my way out?<br /><br />They say infidelity can be more of an effect than a cause. And strangely enough, I don’t regret doing it.<br /><br />This was the only exception. If I ended up with anyone else, the thought wouldn’t have occurred. But this one time, the puzzle pieces fit together nicely. Of course, I was thrilled to be held, kissed—loved again. In the core of my heart though, I knew it couldn’t be like this for long. But I’d enjoy it while it lasted.<br /><br />My boyfriend obviously found out. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. One morning after he left for work, I found a little gift. He was always gone before I even woke up, so there wasn’t a chance to see his reaction. After my shower, I opened my closet door, and there it was. It was hanging over the metal rod with all my shirts and blouses.<br /><br />I put my hand over my mouth, and gasped at the sight. A wave of hot panic swept over me. I didn’t know whether to just run or not. He knew my friends. He knew my family. Where would I have gone? The idea of stealing his keys in the middle of the night and bolting was dangling in my thoughts. They dangled just like the used condom that was plucked from the trash and hung up in my closet for me.<br /><br />But he didn’t hit me that time. He didn’t even say anything. He just stayed in the living room for days on end. It felt like the two of us coexisted, but we were completely separated.<br /><br />There was a terrible awkwardness from being near each other anymore, but the emotions were brewing inside of him. I just didn’t know until they exploded one morning.<br /><br />It was one of those days where I slept in. What woke me up was knocking, a scream, and a string of thuds. My eyes shot open. I was paralyzed with cold fear in my own bed. Quietly sneaking out of the bedroom, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.<br /><br />My body was stuck in place. My tongue turned to stone, and my heart was punching through the rib cage. I tried to scream. But nothing came out.<br /><br />My boyfriend had flecks of deep crimson down his face. A hammer lay on the floor with the same hue painted across the head. A patch of the floorboards was already stripped away, revealing a small cavity with a shovel inside.<br /><br />And in his clenched fists was my best friend. His body was limp, the color still in his flesh. But seeing his face played out in my dreams every time I remembered them. It was caved in the skull—bashed to pulp.<br /><br />I’m ashamed that I hid, watching his body thrown just a couple feet beneath the house.<br /><br />But tonight, things will change. He should be waking up soon from the drugs in his dinner. He’ll have a rude awakening, being gagged and tied to the couch.<br /><br />I know why that part of the floor creaked and moaned in the night. It’s a been a few days, but that’s because the spell took a little time.<br /><br />And tonight, it’s time to open the floorboards.",
"to": [
"https://www.w3.org/ns/activitystreams#Public"
],
"cc": [
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],
"tag": [],
"url": "https://www.minds.com/newsfeed/1168605588884656128",
"published": "2020-10-29T17:41:24+00:00",
"source": {
"content": "This is a short #horror story for #nosleep. It's a little bit of a play on #Poe 's Tell-Tale Heart. Happy #halloween\n\n\"Underneath the Floor\"\n\nI know why the floorboards in my house creak at night. I’m a light sleeper, and there are times when it keeps me awake. They’ve given me vivid dreams about what happened with my boyfriend. And every night when I remember my dreams, they’re always the same.\n\nI couldn’t tell anyone before, but my conscious has been haunting me ever since.\n\nMy boyfriend and my best friend never got along, and there was a reason for it. When I first introduced them to each other, there were dirty looks. And they were all from my man.\n\nHe told me, “I don’t trust him.”\n\nWhen I asked him why, he said that men and women couldn’t just be friends. He said there was bound to be an attraction. If not now, it’d happen later down the line.\n\nIt wasn’t like that, and I told him every time he brought it up. Before the two of us moved in together, my boyfriend and I would talk every night over Skype, anticipating the big move. But it was always ruined when he mentioned my best friend. The tone in his voice was something ugly. I didn’t bring it up at first, but I could feel the jealousy emanating from the scowl he gave.\n\nHe said, “I don’t really like you having guy friends.”\n\nI didn’t respond at first, but naturally I’d cave in and say, “Honey, I promise it’s not like that.”\n\nI’d smile just to be reassuring, but he didn’t buy it. The leer in his eyes only deepened. It wasn’t a look I ever saw when the two of us were out together. The distrust was a look he saved for our private conversations.\n\nThere was no way he didn’t notice the creeping guilt I felt when I reassured him. But he never said anything about it. The daggers he shot with that look didn’t go away until I changed the subject. And even then, it was a process.\n\nIt only became a problem when he turned it into a routine. I wasn’t sure how to address it, but when he turned it into an entire conversation, I just had to be honest with him about it.\n\nIt was becoming an obsession because he knew my best friend and I talked every day. But there was nothing strange about it. That was how most people were. Without the both of them, every day felt a little—incomplete.\n\nMy boyfriend escalated into rambling about how he was a sad loser who wasn’t any good for me. But nothing was further from the truth.\n\nMy best friend didn’t just work full time. He’d been playing piano since he was five and was starting to get the hang of Flight of the Bumblebee. And let me assure, that was no easy piece. Eventually, he told me that he even got paid gigs from time to time.\n\nHe just earned small tips at the local bars, and even around downtown. He’d tell me how invigorating it was to take his battery-powered keyboard in the city, and just play for passersby in the city. He was happy about the collection of money in his hat, but said that seeing people happy and even singing with him made the trip worth it.\n\nThe biggest money maker was his little renditions of Queen, and he’d attract small crowds of people singing Bohemian Rhapsody.\n\nMentioning that he offered to teach me music set my boyfriend off. I should’ve expected that, but how could you blame a girl for being a little excited? That was when I finally yelled at him, and hung up Skype.\n\nHe tried calling back at least fifty times, but I ignored it. I said I wouldn’t talk to him if he wasn’t going to let it go.\n\nIt took a while, but he complied. He didn’t bring it up, but he still had that same, ugly sneer when I accepted his calls again.\n\nHe didn’t know that I cried that night, but my best friend did. Our call lasted at least a couple hours, but the way he spoke always calmed me down. What really got me was when he got his keyboard out.\n\nI didn’t recognize the song he played, but I couldn’t help the smile on my face. It was the sweetest lullaby I’d ever heard. Then he told me it was his own composition. It was the first time he played it in front of someone else.\n\nI have to admit I was touched.\n\nThe night after that, my boyfriend and I patched things up. He sounded genuinely sorry, and we even saw each other more often. He started insisting on paying for everything when we went out, and finally met my parents.\n\nOnce he was working full-time doing construction, the both of us could save up on a down payment for a house. We agreed on not having any kids, so the two of us found a modest-sized home in a more isolated part of town. It was single storey, single bedroom.\n\nBut when we were settled in, things changed over the next few years. He grew more distant. I only existed when the Xbox wasn’t on. He stopped taking me out, and rarely ever touched me in bed. It was only a matter of time before he stayed on the edge of the bed, as if to avoid me. He didn’t even put an arm around me unless we were in public. It felt like he was just guarding territory.\n\nAll my friends agreed something needed to change. They saw the growing unhappiness in my face even when I tried denying it. It was that thought that things could get better any day—it could’ve happened tomorrow. But no matter how many times I addressed the issue, he acted like nothing was wrong.\n\n“I’m not the problem,” he said. “The problem is you’re being high maintenance.”\n\nI couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Wanting some affection was high maintenance? I went off on him. How could I help myself? The bare basics of a good relationship was too much to ask for? What happened to the person I thought I knew?\n\nBut in the middle of what I said, that’s when it first happened. I couldn’t tell if I was more stunned or hurt. The sting from his hand throbbed along my cheek.\n\nIt took a moment to process what happened. But before I could say anything, he told me, “And you’re not gonna tell a soul. Understand?” Once we made eye contact, he went on. “Because if you do, it’ll be a lot worse.”\n\nHe shot me a piercing leer, worse than ever before. I took a step back as his gaze pierced through me. It was a kind of malice I’d never seen before. My organs turned to water just from seeing him do that.\n\nI ran to the bedroom and locked the door. My ear was glued to its surface in case he’d come after me. The slightest noise could’ve been his footsteps, and he was always quiet on his feet. The Xbox was still on. He paused the game, but the volume didn’t go down. The game’s soundtrack was still playing.\n\nThere wasn’t anything to defend myself with, and I didn’t know how to fight. All I had was my own body, holding the door shut. My skin grew cold as I waited for the next move.\n\nIt had to have been ten minutes, and nothing happened. No sudden jerking of the door. No more blows to the face that night. But I was still terrified. The tranquility was creeping around me and could’ve been shattered at any time. It was a sheet of thin, opaque glass.\n\nI had to text my best friend but couldn’t tell him what happened. Not yet. He offered to come over, but it had to be while my boyfriend was at his construction job. He knew the jealousy didn’t just disappear. It was just hidden for the time being.\n\nHis secret visits became more frequent. They were something of a relief. For the first time in a while, someone at home was spending time with me. The days were brighter again—it was a lot easier to smile again.\n\nBut a new feeling of danger crawled into the house when he was visiting every day. At the same time, it was its own joy. There was a void in my gut, and it’d been filled with something a lot better than what I could hope for.\n\nYou see, one day, he’d done the unexpected. It was completely out of nowhere. On one of his visits, he just reached over and kissed me. Maybe it’s terrible to admit, but I’ve fantasized about it before. But I didn’t think it’d actually happen.\n\nIt was a barrage of fireworks bursting in me, but nobody could ever know. He mentioned the bruises before, and that wasn’t the first time someone suggested that I leave my boyfriend.\n\nThat was when I broke down into tears and told him the truth. I confessed that my man threatened my life. He said he’d bury me if I even thought of leaving. I was miserable at home and didn’t have a simple way out. He knew my friends and family by this point, and they all really loved him by this point.\n\nSo what was my way out?\n\nThey say infidelity can be more of an effect than a cause. And strangely enough, I don’t regret doing it.\n\nThis was the only exception. If I ended up with anyone else, the thought wouldn’t have occurred. But this one time, the puzzle pieces fit together nicely. Of course, I was thrilled to be held, kissed—loved again. In the core of my heart though, I knew it couldn’t be like this for long. But I’d enjoy it while it lasted.\n\nMy boyfriend obviously found out. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. One morning after he left for work, I found a little gift. He was always gone before I even woke up, so there wasn’t a chance to see his reaction. After my shower, I opened my closet door, and there it was. It was hanging over the metal rod with all my shirts and blouses.\n\nI put my hand over my mouth, and gasped at the sight. A wave of hot panic swept over me. I didn’t know whether to just run or not. He knew my friends. He knew my family. Where would I have gone? The idea of stealing his keys in the middle of the night and bolting was dangling in my thoughts. They dangled just like the used condom that was plucked from the trash and hung up in my closet for me.\n\nBut he didn’t hit me that time. He didn’t even say anything. He just stayed in the living room for days on end. It felt like the two of us coexisted, but we were completely separated.\n\nThere was a terrible awkwardness from being near each other anymore, but the emotions were brewing inside of him. I just didn’t know until they exploded one morning.\n\nIt was one of those days where I slept in. What woke me up was knocking, a scream, and a string of thuds. My eyes shot open. I was paralyzed with cold fear in my own bed. Quietly sneaking out of the bedroom, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.\n\nMy body was stuck in place. My tongue turned to stone, and my heart was punching through the rib cage. I tried to scream. But nothing came out.\n\nMy boyfriend had flecks of deep crimson down his face. A hammer lay on the floor with the same hue painted across the head. A patch of the floorboards was already stripped away, revealing a small cavity with a shovel inside.\n\nAnd in his clenched fists was my best friend. His body was limp, the color still in his flesh. But seeing his face played out in my dreams every time I remembered them. It was caved in the skull—bashed to pulp.\n\nI’m ashamed that I hid, watching his body thrown just a couple feet beneath the house.\n\nBut tonight, things will change. He should be waking up soon from the drugs in his dinner. He’ll have a rude awakening, being gagged and tied to the couch.\n\nI know why that part of the floor creaked and moaned in the night. It’s a been a few days, but that’s because the spell took a little time.\n\nAnd tonight, it’s time to open the floorboards.",
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}
},
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1168605588884656128/activity"
},
{
"type": "Create",
"actor": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"object": {
"type": "Note",
"id": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347/entities/urn:activity:1168599759433924608",
"attributedTo": "https://www.minds.com/api/activitypub/users/1000557424509198347",
"content": "Here's another short <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=horror\" title=\"#horror\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#horror</a> story I wrote for No Sleep. Happy <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=halloween\" title=\"#halloween\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#halloween</a> everyone.<br /><br />\"In the Tent\"<br /><br />I wish we’d never gone to the circus when I was little. My younger brother Clyde and I adored it when we were kids.<br /><br />It was a small traveling circus, and my dad—the master of community events, knew it came to our part of the country every summer. It was always in the same location, right at the outskirts of town. My family lived in a more rural area, so this was our highlight of the season.<br /><br />Dad would buy four tickets for us in advance and get them when they were at their cheapest price. The circus itself didn’t start until after dark, but he liked to drive us there early to get the most out of the night.<br /><br />Whenever we’d park, the sun was still setting. The staff was finishing their set up, but the second we walked to the gate, a smell of hot, buttered popcorn and fresh cotton candy tickled our noses.<br /><br />There wasn’t much to do at first. But the food was ready without fail when we arrived. The funnel cakes were Dad’s favorite, so he’d lead us around the circus grounds to buy one for Mom and himself, and another for Clyde and me to split.<br /><br />Clyde would skip along the barren ground right behind Dad. From the toothy, rosy-cheeked grin on his face, it was no secret he loved the funnel cakes as much as Dad. Mom didn’t have quite the same enthusiasm as the rest of us though.<br /><br />She’d be walking behind us, distracted by the big striped tents. Mom was watching the staff feed the caged animals one last time before the show. She had a fascination with them, the elephants more so than the rest.<br /><br />A smile always came to her face when she’d ask, “Are we gonna go see Zeus and Hera soon?”<br /><br />“Not yet, dear,” Dad replied. “But the show’s about to start soon.”<br /><br />The four of us would stand near the funnel cake stand, and Dad, Clyde and I stuffed our faces every time like clockwork. So what if it was still a little too hot? That never mattered. Clyde and I loved the powdered sugar the most. But while we were brushing the little bits of it off our shirts, I noticed Mom’s fixation.<br /><br />While she’d been working on her funnel cake, Mom was looking elsewhere. She was watching the clowns, right outside their tent. It was the first time any of us had seen them before the show itself. There was a look of quiet unease across her face. Her hands were trembling, and she stopped eating.<br /><br />She turned to Dad and asked, “Can we go sit down somewhere?” Pointing to the other side of the circus grounds, she said, “Let’s go over there and eat. Can we?”<br /><br />He didn’t say anything at first, but nodded and said, “Sure.”<br /><br />The clowns were outside their tent, as if they were waiting for their cue. They were in full costume, large smiles painted and gnarled across their faces.<br /><br />A lot of them were older. All of them had hair, whiter than snow, extended out, layered in sweat and grease. But they weren’t wigs, and it wasn’t dyed. Their hair was colored white, all the way down to the roots.<br /><br />They weren’t all the same age though. While some ranged from their twenties, all the way into their fifties, others were younger.<br /><br />A couple of them were shorter than four feet. Their bodies still had full lips and little bits of fat one would see on a child. Yet the bags under their eyes drooped down, as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. Their eyes were unnaturally pale, riddled with protruding blood vessels. The skin on their faces were wrinkled, crackling and dried like tree bark.<br /><br />But among all the clowns, they had the same look across their faces. Their common gaze was decayed stone, piercing into something far beyond the circus grounds. They were still, inanimate like objects.<br /><br />As more people gradually walked in the gates and the sun grew dimmer, there was a gentle thud-thud of footsteps from within the clowns’ tent. It was the sound of footsteps edging closer to the outside.<br /><br />Inside the tent was an array of flickering candlelight, surrounding the tall, lumbering shadow of whomever stood near the edge. It was oddly tall, lanky along most of its body, with a thick, bulbous hunch at the top of its back. It had a crooked, pointed beard, and an elongated nose. Atop its head of scraggly head of hair was an extended, thin top hat that bent down just like the figure’s spine.<br /><br />The figure never uttered a syllable. It just reached out an arm that had to have been most of the body length, and we could see its hand stretch outside the tent. The skin was white as the clowns’ faces, and translucent as if suffering from an extreme anemia. It was sprinkled with pale boils, with elongated, yellow, curled fingernails.<br /><br />As it extended its fingers, the clowns turned. All at once, they faced the four of us. Their expressions hadn’t changed, nor did their eyes look away.<br /><br />But they didn’t stand there for long. The figure in the tent turned its hand to make a beckoning gesturing. The clowns turned to it at once and drifted inside.<br /><br />Dad took Mom by the hand and led us away. We were sitting at a different part of the grounds. Clyde and I were watching our parents. We could see Mom shivering on one of the chairs left for audience members near the gate.<br /><br />The area was becoming more crowded, dense groups of people buying popcorn, cotton candy and funnel cakes, and playing carnival games around the tents. But we didn’t participate in the games this year at all. All that mattered was Mom.<br /><br />Clyde and I didn’t say anything, but we heard their murmured conversation.<br /><br />“You okay, dear?” Dad asked.<br /><br />“I don’t know. It’s just the clowns. One of them really got me.”<br /><br />“What do you mean?”<br /><br />The look across his face only grew more skewed with worry as she answered, “One of the little ones. I can’t tell if they’re really kids, but—darling, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”<br /><br />“No, not at all. What was it?”<br /><br />“One of the girls. Somehow she looked familiar.”<br /><br />“Familiar?”<br /><br />“Yeah, like one of the kids I used to play with as a kid.”<br /><br />“It’s probably a little déjà vu.”<br /><br />“I wish we could leave,” Mom whispered. “Just—the clowns and that-that man in the tent… I don’t know how to explain it.”<br /><br />“Try?”<br /><br />A minute of silence, and she replied, “No. It’s probably nothing. It’s just my imagination. That’s all. And I don’t want to ruin it for the boys. They love coming here.”<br /><br />My biggest regret was always the fact that I didn’t say anything. If only I spoke up… If only I told her that she wasn’t imagining things… If only I told her that I saw it too, the tragedy wouldn’t have happened. Even to this day, I couldn’t help feeling the guilt as if it was my fault.<br /><br />Once the circus music sounded off, the smaller crowds joined together and went inside the big top. Mom stood up with a little assuring smile, telling Dad she’d be okay.<br /><br />We followed the crowds into the big top and took our seats. As always, the first part of the show was the lights. A dazzling aurora of sparkling colors burst from the center of the show, to engulf and illuminate the entire tent.<br /><br />Out of the whole audience, my brother was taken the most by them. The smile on his face was bigger than ever. He was standing up, cheering with his arms up in the air. My parents looked over and grinned with Clyde before gesturing him to sit back down.<br /><br />Once the lights were settled and still, the clowns ran to their circular stage, performing somersaults, backflips, and all sorts of acrobatics. The smiles of sheer delight on their faces were contagious. Cheer spread across the entire big top as they waved to the audience.<br /><br />And when they brought out Zeus and Hera, and all the other animals, the worry on Mom’s face dissipated. The audience was amazed to see the clowns balancing on the tips of the elephants’ trunks, and escalating to more daring acrobatics.<br /><br />First, there’d only be one clown, then they’d link hands with a second, lifting them into the air. The second would be upside down, extending their legs out and balancing with perfection. Then a third would stand on the second’s feet, and so on until six clowns made a chain on each trunk.<br /><br />The audience was in an uproar of applause. Clyde was standing on his chair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He cheered as loudly as he could, clapping his little hands above his head.<br /><br />When it was all over, the massive crowd was dispersed into the nighttime chill around the big top. They split up, flocking to food stands and carnival games. On our way to the popcorn stand, I caught something in the corner of my eye.<br /><br />At first it looked like a white and blue blur, but when I turned, one of the clowns was standing a short distance from us. It was one of the taller, middle-aged ones. He wore a bright blue and white suit with sky-colored pompoms and indigo gloves.<br /><br />He had the same dead stare in his colorless, wrinkled face as he did before the show. Tufts of pure white hair sprung out in all directions, and an oversized, gnarled smile was painted over his fixed grimace.<br /><br />The clown was clearly breathing. But the rest of his body was still as he gazed at us. Other people in the crowds didn’t notice him. They were too occupied getting in line for games and food.<br /><br />I grabbed Clyde’s hand and followed our parents. As we squeezed through clusters of people, he had trouble keeping up. It felt as if he were being weighed down. I tried pulling a little harder, but it didn’t make him pick up the pace.<br /><br />By the time we reached the stand, I felt his hand let go of mine. He had to have been straight behind us at that point. There was no way he could’ve gotten lost. Yet through the crowds, I barely heard a high-pitched wail echoing from the distance.<br /><br />I turned around. There was no sight of the clown. There was also no Clyde. I shouted his name and looked through the crowds, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I tugged on Dad’s shirt as he ordered three large bags of popcorn. When I told him Clyde was gone, he searched the crowds, shouting his name.<br /><br />Mom took my hand and the two of us followed, calling Clyde’s name with him. We had trouble keeping him but were as frantic as him. We searched through the crowd for hours until the midnight sky set in, chilling us to the bones.<br /><br />The rest of the audiences drifted from the circus grounds, to their cars and back on the streets. As the highways filled with pairs of glowing, off-white eyes, we stopped at a somewhat nearby motel, and Dad called the police.<br /><br />A search went on for weeks, and I told them all about the clowns. We heard the circus itself was put under suspicion, but nothing ever came of it. The police said that despite their thorough investigation, they couldn’t find any leads for Clyde’s whereabouts.<br /><br />The years passed, and a lot of us accepted the probable reality of Clyde’s abduction. We didn’t expect to see him again. We quietly mourned the loss but didn’t stop Mom or anybody else from clinging onto hope.<br /><br />“Clyde was always a smart boy,” Mom would say. “There are stories of little kids who escaped from being kidnapped. I’m willing to bet Clyde was one of them.”<br /><br />We never denied the chance. It gave us a spoonful of hope that eased us like medicine. We’d smile and tell her that it was possible. For all we knew, he could’ve started a life of his own. We even hoped that at some point, Clyde would find his way home.<br /><br />But the years went by, and no Clyde. Yet Mom never let go of her hope. She even started taking the car, just to take a long drive. She’d pay for the gas and everything, but once Mom said she wandered out of the state and back, the intention was obvious.<br /><br />I think it was relieving to get away sometimes. But at the core of it, she was quietly searching for my little brother.<br /><br />But my adulthood crept in, and still nothing. It was odd to look back at the black and white pictures of Clyde and think this little kid with pudgy cheeks, freckles, blue eyes and jet-black hair would’ve been an uncle.<br /><br />The years became decades, and old age set in. The children grew up and made me a grandparent. I hate to admit it, but there were even moments where I forgot what Clyde used to look like.<br /><br />Thank God I saved my family’s old scrapbook in my attic. It served as a wonderful reminder.<br /><br />Sooner or later, the grandkids were almost big enough to start going to school soon. The memories of what happened to Clyde began to fade. I remembered that he went missing when we were kids. But the why and how? The details got fuzzy whenever I tried to recall any of the details.<br /><br />The grandkids started staying over for an entire month every summer. It was a great way to spend time with them outside of the holidays, and the weather was always fantastic.<br /><br />So visiting the nearby park and the playgrounds became an instant favorite of theirs. I even showed them the nearby creek and taught them how to fish. We were all so proud of them when they caught their first fish.<br /><br />The pictures of them holding up their catches went right into a brand-new scrapbook. But this one would be all the memories of them growing into adulthood.<br /><br />The summer before the grandkids were supposed to start school, we wanted to make it special. We wanted to do something a little different. The idea of a theme park was brought up, but they were still too little to go on most of the rides. Rollercoasters would’ve been better when they were closer to being in the fourth grade, because they’d be tall enough to go on all the rides.<br /><br />But I had an idea. Warm memories of the circus I went to as a kid resurfaced. I was pretty new to using the internet, but something called Google turned out to be pretty handy. It only took a minute to find that not only were traveling circuses still going on. But the name of the one that I saw as a kid came up in one of the first search results.<br /><br />I remembered feeling a bit uneasy about the clowns but couldn’t pinpoint why. As a kid, I was pretty easy to scare. Until the age of seven, I believed a monster haunted my closet at night. So it wasn’t a stretch that the clowns would spook me too.<br /><br />I bought tickets for the whole family, and to start off the month where the grandkids stayed, we went to the circus. The parking lot that night was crowded, blanketed over in a chilling darkness. The cloud-embraced moon was glaring down at the family like an enormous white eye.<br /><br />When we walked up to the ticket booth, the grandkids skipped ahead of us. They weren’t out of our sight but trying to catch up was a cold reminder of old age. As we waited in line to get in, I looked around and peered over the dense crowd of people.<br /><br />Once I handed in our crisp, new tickets and got the stubs back, I handed them out to the family. I gave a little reminder to everyone to keep the stubs on them until we leave, just in case. When we got in, I looked around and noticed something: one of the clowns nearby.<br /><br />I couldn’t help being mesmerized by his height and facial features. His eyes were encircled by deep bags, like he hadn’t slept in forever. The blue irises were horribly pale. His skin was crinkled and dry like the bark on a tree.<br /><br />Yet his cheeks were pudgy, and the lips were full like a child’s. His little nose was covered in freckles, and his mouth was painted over with a wide, blue gnarled smile that twisted across his face. It matched his striped blue and white, baggy outfit. His hair was an absolute white, pure as the moon, and extending out in all directions.<br /><br />My lower lip quivered in black fear when all the memories flooded back like a tidal wave. I felt my eyes sting with hot tears as I recognized the little clown.<br /><br />Everyone else didn’t seem to think he was part of the circus. They all went around him and remarked that he must’ve been a really big fan of the show. Some wondered where his parents must’ve been but didn’t worry much.<br /><br />The words were stuck in my throat, but I finally managed to utter something out. “Clyde?”<br /><br />At first, there was no response. But the clown shifted his head to face me. His eyes gazed pierced into me with that thousand-yard stare. The dead, hollow look across his face hadn’t changed a bit.<br /><br />The old, familiar music boomed all throughout the circus, and his face changed. He suddenly turned on like a light switch. A giggling lightning bolt of excitement surged through his entire body. The amused crowds cleared a path for him as he ran toward the center stage.<br /><br />He was laughing and performing an array of somersaults and backflips all the way there.",
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"content": "Here's another short #horror story I wrote for No Sleep. Happy #halloween everyone.\n\n\"In the Tent\"\n\nI wish we’d never gone to the circus when I was little. My younger brother Clyde and I adored it when we were kids.\n\nIt was a small traveling circus, and my dad—the master of community events, knew it came to our part of the country every summer. It was always in the same location, right at the outskirts of town. My family lived in a more rural area, so this was our highlight of the season.\n\nDad would buy four tickets for us in advance and get them when they were at their cheapest price. The circus itself didn’t start until after dark, but he liked to drive us there early to get the most out of the night.\n\nWhenever we’d park, the sun was still setting. The staff was finishing their set up, but the second we walked to the gate, a smell of hot, buttered popcorn and fresh cotton candy tickled our noses.\n\nThere wasn’t much to do at first. But the food was ready without fail when we arrived. The funnel cakes were Dad’s favorite, so he’d lead us around the circus grounds to buy one for Mom and himself, and another for Clyde and me to split.\n\nClyde would skip along the barren ground right behind Dad. From the toothy, rosy-cheeked grin on his face, it was no secret he loved the funnel cakes as much as Dad. Mom didn’t have quite the same enthusiasm as the rest of us though.\n\nShe’d be walking behind us, distracted by the big striped tents. Mom was watching the staff feed the caged animals one last time before the show. She had a fascination with them, the elephants more so than the rest.\n\nA smile always came to her face when she’d ask, “Are we gonna go see Zeus and Hera soon?”\n\n“Not yet, dear,” Dad replied. “But the show’s about to start soon.”\n\nThe four of us would stand near the funnel cake stand, and Dad, Clyde and I stuffed our faces every time like clockwork. So what if it was still a little too hot? That never mattered. Clyde and I loved the powdered sugar the most. But while we were brushing the little bits of it off our shirts, I noticed Mom’s fixation.\n\nWhile she’d been working on her funnel cake, Mom was looking elsewhere. She was watching the clowns, right outside their tent. It was the first time any of us had seen them before the show itself. There was a look of quiet unease across her face. Her hands were trembling, and she stopped eating.\n\nShe turned to Dad and asked, “Can we go sit down somewhere?” Pointing to the other side of the circus grounds, she said, “Let’s go over there and eat. Can we?”\n\nHe didn’t say anything at first, but nodded and said, “Sure.”\n\nThe clowns were outside their tent, as if they were waiting for their cue. They were in full costume, large smiles painted and gnarled across their faces.\n\nA lot of them were older. All of them had hair, whiter than snow, extended out, layered in sweat and grease. But they weren’t wigs, and it wasn’t dyed. Their hair was colored white, all the way down to the roots.\n\nThey weren’t all the same age though. While some ranged from their twenties, all the way into their fifties, others were younger.\n\nA couple of them were shorter than four feet. Their bodies still had full lips and little bits of fat one would see on a child. Yet the bags under their eyes drooped down, as if they hadn’t slept in weeks. Their eyes were unnaturally pale, riddled with protruding blood vessels. The skin on their faces were wrinkled, crackling and dried like tree bark.\n\nBut among all the clowns, they had the same look across their faces. Their common gaze was decayed stone, piercing into something far beyond the circus grounds. They were still, inanimate like objects.\n\nAs more people gradually walked in the gates and the sun grew dimmer, there was a gentle thud-thud of footsteps from within the clowns’ tent. It was the sound of footsteps edging closer to the outside.\n\nInside the tent was an array of flickering candlelight, surrounding the tall, lumbering shadow of whomever stood near the edge. It was oddly tall, lanky along most of its body, with a thick, bulbous hunch at the top of its back. It had a crooked, pointed beard, and an elongated nose. Atop its head of scraggly head of hair was an extended, thin top hat that bent down just like the figure’s spine.\n\nThe figure never uttered a syllable. It just reached out an arm that had to have been most of the body length, and we could see its hand stretch outside the tent. The skin was white as the clowns’ faces, and translucent as if suffering from an extreme anemia. It was sprinkled with pale boils, with elongated, yellow, curled fingernails.\n\nAs it extended its fingers, the clowns turned. All at once, they faced the four of us. Their expressions hadn’t changed, nor did their eyes look away.\n\nBut they didn’t stand there for long. The figure in the tent turned its hand to make a beckoning gesturing. The clowns turned to it at once and drifted inside.\n\nDad took Mom by the hand and led us away. We were sitting at a different part of the grounds. Clyde and I were watching our parents. We could see Mom shivering on one of the chairs left for audience members near the gate.\n\nThe area was becoming more crowded, dense groups of people buying popcorn, cotton candy and funnel cakes, and playing carnival games around the tents. But we didn’t participate in the games this year at all. All that mattered was Mom.\n\nClyde and I didn’t say anything, but we heard their murmured conversation.\n\n“You okay, dear?” Dad asked.\n\n“I don’t know. It’s just the clowns. One of them really got me.”\n\n“What do you mean?”\n\nThe look across his face only grew more skewed with worry as she answered, “One of the little ones. I can’t tell if they’re really kids, but—darling, you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”\n\n“No, not at all. What was it?”\n\n“One of the girls. Somehow she looked familiar.”\n\n“Familiar?”\n\n“Yeah, like one of the kids I used to play with as a kid.”\n\n“It’s probably a little déjà vu.”\n\n“I wish we could leave,” Mom whispered. “Just—the clowns and that-that man in the tent… I don’t know how to explain it.”\n\n“Try?”\n\nA minute of silence, and she replied, “No. It’s probably nothing. It’s just my imagination. That’s all. And I don’t want to ruin it for the boys. They love coming here.”\n\nMy biggest regret was always the fact that I didn’t say anything. If only I spoke up… If only I told her that she wasn’t imagining things… If only I told her that I saw it too, the tragedy wouldn’t have happened. Even to this day, I couldn’t help feeling the guilt as if it was my fault.\n\nOnce the circus music sounded off, the smaller crowds joined together and went inside the big top. Mom stood up with a little assuring smile, telling Dad she’d be okay.\n\nWe followed the crowds into the big top and took our seats. As always, the first part of the show was the lights. A dazzling aurora of sparkling colors burst from the center of the show, to engulf and illuminate the entire tent.\n\nOut of the whole audience, my brother was taken the most by them. The smile on his face was bigger than ever. He was standing up, cheering with his arms up in the air. My parents looked over and grinned with Clyde before gesturing him to sit back down.\n\nOnce the lights were settled and still, the clowns ran to their circular stage, performing somersaults, backflips, and all sorts of acrobatics. The smiles of sheer delight on their faces were contagious. Cheer spread across the entire big top as they waved to the audience.\n\nAnd when they brought out Zeus and Hera, and all the other animals, the worry on Mom’s face dissipated. The audience was amazed to see the clowns balancing on the tips of the elephants’ trunks, and escalating to more daring acrobatics.\n\nFirst, there’d only be one clown, then they’d link hands with a second, lifting them into the air. The second would be upside down, extending their legs out and balancing with perfection. Then a third would stand on the second’s feet, and so on until six clowns made a chain on each trunk.\n\nThe audience was in an uproar of applause. Clyde was standing on his chair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He cheered as loudly as he could, clapping his little hands above his head.\n\nWhen it was all over, the massive crowd was dispersed into the nighttime chill around the big top. They split up, flocking to food stands and carnival games. On our way to the popcorn stand, I caught something in the corner of my eye.\n\nAt first it looked like a white and blue blur, but when I turned, one of the clowns was standing a short distance from us. It was one of the taller, middle-aged ones. He wore a bright blue and white suit with sky-colored pompoms and indigo gloves.\n\nHe had the same dead stare in his colorless, wrinkled face as he did before the show. Tufts of pure white hair sprung out in all directions, and an oversized, gnarled smile was painted over his fixed grimace.\n\nThe clown was clearly breathing. But the rest of his body was still as he gazed at us. Other people in the crowds didn’t notice him. They were too occupied getting in line for games and food.\n\nI grabbed Clyde’s hand and followed our parents. As we squeezed through clusters of people, he had trouble keeping up. It felt as if he were being weighed down. I tried pulling a little harder, but it didn’t make him pick up the pace.\n\nBy the time we reached the stand, I felt his hand let go of mine. He had to have been straight behind us at that point. There was no way he could’ve gotten lost. Yet through the crowds, I barely heard a high-pitched wail echoing from the distance.\n\nI turned around. There was no sight of the clown. There was also no Clyde. I shouted his name and looked through the crowds, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I tugged on Dad’s shirt as he ordered three large bags of popcorn. When I told him Clyde was gone, he searched the crowds, shouting his name.\n\nMom took my hand and the two of us followed, calling Clyde’s name with him. We had trouble keeping him but were as frantic as him. We searched through the crowd for hours until the midnight sky set in, chilling us to the bones.\n\nThe rest of the audiences drifted from the circus grounds, to their cars and back on the streets. As the highways filled with pairs of glowing, off-white eyes, we stopped at a somewhat nearby motel, and Dad called the police.\n\nA search went on for weeks, and I told them all about the clowns. We heard the circus itself was put under suspicion, but nothing ever came of it. The police said that despite their thorough investigation, they couldn’t find any leads for Clyde’s whereabouts.\n\nThe years passed, and a lot of us accepted the probable reality of Clyde’s abduction. We didn’t expect to see him again. We quietly mourned the loss but didn’t stop Mom or anybody else from clinging onto hope.\n\n“Clyde was always a smart boy,” Mom would say. “There are stories of little kids who escaped from being kidnapped. I’m willing to bet Clyde was one of them.”\n\nWe never denied the chance. It gave us a spoonful of hope that eased us like medicine. We’d smile and tell her that it was possible. For all we knew, he could’ve started a life of his own. We even hoped that at some point, Clyde would find his way home.\n\nBut the years went by, and no Clyde. Yet Mom never let go of her hope. She even started taking the car, just to take a long drive. She’d pay for the gas and everything, but once Mom said she wandered out of the state and back, the intention was obvious.\n\nI think it was relieving to get away sometimes. But at the core of it, she was quietly searching for my little brother.\n\nBut my adulthood crept in, and still nothing. It was odd to look back at the black and white pictures of Clyde and think this little kid with pudgy cheeks, freckles, blue eyes and jet-black hair would’ve been an uncle.\n\nThe years became decades, and old age set in. The children grew up and made me a grandparent. I hate to admit it, but there were even moments where I forgot what Clyde used to look like.\n\nThank God I saved my family’s old scrapbook in my attic. It served as a wonderful reminder.\n\nSooner or later, the grandkids were almost big enough to start going to school soon. The memories of what happened to Clyde began to fade. I remembered that he went missing when we were kids. But the why and how? The details got fuzzy whenever I tried to recall any of the details.\n\nThe grandkids started staying over for an entire month every summer. It was a great way to spend time with them outside of the holidays, and the weather was always fantastic.\n\nSo visiting the nearby park and the playgrounds became an instant favorite of theirs. I even showed them the nearby creek and taught them how to fish. We were all so proud of them when they caught their first fish.\n\nThe pictures of them holding up their catches went right into a brand-new scrapbook. But this one would be all the memories of them growing into adulthood.\n\nThe summer before the grandkids were supposed to start school, we wanted to make it special. We wanted to do something a little different. The idea of a theme park was brought up, but they were still too little to go on most of the rides. Rollercoasters would’ve been better when they were closer to being in the fourth grade, because they’d be tall enough to go on all the rides.\n\nBut I had an idea. Warm memories of the circus I went to as a kid resurfaced. I was pretty new to using the internet, but something called Google turned out to be pretty handy. It only took a minute to find that not only were traveling circuses still going on. But the name of the one that I saw as a kid came up in one of the first search results.\n\nI remembered feeling a bit uneasy about the clowns but couldn’t pinpoint why. As a kid, I was pretty easy to scare. Until the age of seven, I believed a monster haunted my closet at night. So it wasn’t a stretch that the clowns would spook me too.\n\nI bought tickets for the whole family, and to start off the month where the grandkids stayed, we went to the circus. The parking lot that night was crowded, blanketed over in a chilling darkness. The cloud-embraced moon was glaring down at the family like an enormous white eye.\n\nWhen we walked up to the ticket booth, the grandkids skipped ahead of us. They weren’t out of our sight but trying to catch up was a cold reminder of old age. As we waited in line to get in, I looked around and peered over the dense crowd of people.\n\nOnce I handed in our crisp, new tickets and got the stubs back, I handed them out to the family. I gave a little reminder to everyone to keep the stubs on them until we leave, just in case. When we got in, I looked around and noticed something: one of the clowns nearby.\n\nI couldn’t help being mesmerized by his height and facial features. His eyes were encircled by deep bags, like he hadn’t slept in forever. The blue irises were horribly pale. His skin was crinkled and dry like the bark on a tree.\n\nYet his cheeks were pudgy, and the lips were full like a child’s. His little nose was covered in freckles, and his mouth was painted over with a wide, blue gnarled smile that twisted across his face. It matched his striped blue and white, baggy outfit. His hair was an absolute white, pure as the moon, and extending out in all directions.\n\nMy lower lip quivered in black fear when all the memories flooded back like a tidal wave. I felt my eyes sting with hot tears as I recognized the little clown.\n\nEveryone else didn’t seem to think he was part of the circus. They all went around him and remarked that he must’ve been a really big fan of the show. Some wondered where his parents must’ve been but didn’t worry much.\n\nThe words were stuck in my throat, but I finally managed to utter something out. “Clyde?”\n\nAt first, there was no response. But the clown shifted his head to face me. His eyes gazed pierced into me with that thousand-yard stare. The dead, hollow look across his face hadn’t changed a bit.\n\nThe old, familiar music boomed all throughout the circus, and his face changed. He suddenly turned on like a light switch. A giggling lightning bolt of excitement surged through his entire body. The amused crowds cleared a path for him as he ran toward the center stage.\n\nHe was laughing and performing an array of somersaults and backflips all the way there.",
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"content": "Here's a little <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=horror\" title=\"#horror\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#horror</a> story I wrote for No Sleep on Reddit. It was sort of an hommage to <a href=\"https://www.minds.com/search?f=top&t=all&q=Lovecraft\" title=\"#Lovecraft\" class=\"u-url hashtag\" target=\"_blank\">#Lovecraft</a> 's \"Dagon\" near the end.<br /><br />\"Doll House\"<br /><br />I didn’t think I’d end up sitting in my childhood bedroom like this. I’ve been sitting opposite the door, with the bed and dresser drawers blocking it.<br /><br />There’s no telling if I can survive tonight. The only other way out is through the window. A set of sheets is still on the twin bed, but not enough for a makeshift rope down three storeys. It’s something I’d try as a kid, and learn from getting a broken ankle.<br /><br />Even when the fall was just a single floor, it wasn’t one of my better ideas.<br /><br />And what about Hazel? She isn’t here with me, but at this point? There’s nothing I can do. It’s not because I’m a coward. It’s because of our separation in the house.<br /><br />Even though our family had a strong history of heart problems, nobody could’ve been prepared for our father’s cardiac arrest. Nobody was ready to lose him.<br /><br />The small legion of suited businessmen attending his funeral kept themselves together, never splitting apart. Throughout the service and even at the dinner Hazel and I hosted, they shared the look of a little boy who lost his parents in a massive department store.<br /><br />The group gave a minute-long speech at both. They reminisced about his entrepreneurship and how it was the foundation of their software careers.<br /><br />As they spoke, we were all waiting for them to ask, “Without him, what do we do now?”<br /><br />The question never came, but Hazel and I felt it from the looks on their faces just the same. I didn’t have the chance to work with him myself. Software development was never my passion. But the fact that he built a tank strong enough to compete with Adobe alone had my respect.<br /><br />And if he didn’t? He wouldn’t have been less of a foundation to me. It was his guiding hand that taught me the value of hard work. His wisdom was what taught me to be a man, and even begin business ventures of my own. It was also the lifestyle he constructed for us that proved what enough passion and hard work could do.<br /><br />That luxurious lifestyle showed me the strength a widower could have—and what my sister Sophie would see in a different light. If he could provide that for his family, why not me? Why couldn’t I do it too?<br /><br />As a teenager, I’d have to hang my head in shame at not understanding code. On the other hand, I discovered my real talent was elsewhere. The minute I was flipping through technical manuals, that’s what put me at home.<br /><br />It led to a short time in trade school before completing an apprenticeship, and the proud moment of going into business for myself. Customers were few at first and I couldn’t help thinking it was all for naught. After going out to dinner with one of them several times though, I first met Hazel.<br /><br />She and I hit it off with a shared off-color sense of humor. But it was after sharing a few songs of drunk, off-key karaoke that I started to notice how enchanting her warm smile was. It was only a matter of time until we began dating, moved in together years down the road and married.<br /><br />Profits hadn’t grown a whole lot since. We could just get by with only pennies to save at the end of every month. Once we announced the baby on the way, dad’s business even managed to take a dive. Despite the bit of grim news, we managed to keep our chins up. In a way, he could’ve been a foundation of my new family too.<br /><br />By then, my older sister Sophie and I were both pushing thirty, and after dad’s wallet got thinner, she was harder to take care of. He didn’t tell us outright, but we could tell by the tone of his voice over the phone.<br /><br />A new favorite saying of hers was: “What do you mean we don’t have that kind of money? We always had that kind of money before.”<br /><br />Hazel thought Sophie grew so comfortable with that lifestyle, it was why she never bothered to pursue anything for a career—or even leave the house.<br /><br />I thought it must’ve been tough doing nothing at all, except collecting those porcelain dolls of hers. Even as a young adult about to go to trade school, I’d see her carry one of them as if it were her child.<br /><br />Whatever doll she paired herself with for the moment always suited her well. It could’ve been the pale skin, or the black smooth hair and short bangs that reflected the overhead light. It may have been the overall thin build—<br /><br />No, it was their eyes.<br /><br />Sophie’s eyes were always wide, with large dark irises that blended in with the pupils. We were all sure her natural eye color was a deep brown, but nobody could really say. It was rare that any of us even saw her blink. The only times I did were when one of her thick eyelashes loosened itself.<br /><br />Her eyes always had a way of matching those of the doll she cradled in her arms. But out of the collection that spanned across every wall in her bedroom, there was one she favored the most. Hazel thought it was too late for her to find a man and have a child of her own.<br /><br />I always smiled and agreed, but in the pit of my stomach, it wasn’t the case. Of all the porcelain dolls, she held one around the estate the most. It was one whose complexion, hair, and deep black eyes were identical to hers.<br /><br />I even asked Dad if it was custom-made to look like her, as if it were a substitute for a flesh-and-blood playmate. He gave me a perplexed look, an amused but uneasy grin and shook his head.<br /><br />“No,” he told me. “We found that one just as it is.”<br /><br />Even now, I found that hard to believe. After sneaking into her room and taking closer looks at it, the story sounded like too much of a coincidence. Not only were the eyes, hair and complexion the same, but the doll also had the same pattern of greyish freckles on her cheeks.<br /><br />Being stared at by the one doll alone was bad enough. Whenever Sophie carried it around, it had a habit of facing in my direction. Wherever I’d be in the house, no matter which angle it watched from, the eyes had a way of following me about.<br /><br />Just before starting trade school, I asked Sophie, “Why do you always face that doll toward me?”<br /><br />She turned and gave a blank stare before a little smile twisted on her face. “Don’t be silly,” she said and giggled. “I don’t make Sophie do that. She does as she pleases.”<br /><br />As my sister spoke, the doll was facing away from me. It was a moment of peace before I strained my eyes shut and cleared my throat.<br /><br />The second I opened them; Sophie wasn’t speaking. She was just standing there, watching, as if waiting for her cue to act. The doll she named after herself had already been slumped over her shoulder like an infant about to be burped.<br /><br />But now—the little Sophie’s head was turned to face up at the ceiling, its frozen eyes glaring down at mine. I didn’t even know a porcelain doll’s head could pivot like that.<br /><br />She stood there in place, both sets of eyes on me. A moment passed before she walked back to her bedroom. I could even hear her close the door and lock it from the inside.<br /><br />After tiptoeing and pressing my ear against the door, I could hear a string of quiet whispers. Most of it was her. I could say that much. A little bit didn’t sound like it though. I’ve never heard her do voices before. She was never one to try to be funny, but it sounded like was a smaller voice speaking back to her.<br /><br />The little Sophie alone was enough reason to avoid that bedroom, but there were occasions where it couldn’t be done. Stepping in there made me feel surrounded by a hundred pairs of dim, lifeless eyes.<br /><br />I wasn’t sure if my sister arranged this on purpose, but *every—time—*they were always staring straight at me. The way each doll sat in place with its hands folded in its lap was like it’d been waiting for an intruder.<br /><br />Their bodies hadn’t been facing me. They were all positioned against the walls and corners to create a perfect shoulder-to-shoulder arrangement. Yet their heads were turned enough for their motionless eyes to peer toward the bedroom door.<br /><br />The doll in the far corner caught my attention more than the others at first. It had to have been the most unique of them all, since Sophie never cradled it in her arms. Despite having all the features and proportions of a small child, it was the size of a full-grown adult. It resembled a redheaded, freckled boy with a red and white striped shirt and denim shorts.<br /><br />Sophie had addressed the rest of her collection by name as she carried them around the house. There was only one she mentioned in addition to whichever doll was in her care at that moment. She always referred to this other doll as their “brother”—this had to have been the one Sophie named “Big Boy.”<br /><br />Big Boy’s face stood out from the others though. Its eyes were larger—they protruded more, casting blacker shadows on their undersides, as if there were deep bags hiding underneath. The lips were jutting outward and etched into a sharper, icy scowl.<br /><br />At first, it looked as if its cheek was decorated with cobwebs. With a closer look though, I noticed it was a web of tiny cracks. I never found out what, but it looked like a failed blow to the head.<br /><br />The expression on its face made me picture it standing upright and lumbering toward me. Once it stopped, the doll would’ve been just taller than me.<br /><br />The last time I reluctantly went in there to clean Sophie’s laundry, the collection was arranged in the same way—with one exception. At the foot of the empty bed was her little doppelganger, wearing a dark blue dress with a black spiral pattern and matching ebony shoes that reflected the overhead lights.<br /><br />As I was about to turn away, the lights dimmed, but glistened off the doppelganger’s eyes. There was a slight, burning glow radiating off its glassy corneas.<br /><br />Carrying the load and turning away from the doll, my body stiffened. The failing lights made it tough to tell, but it looked like the other porcelain creatures turned toward me. Their heads were pivoted just enough for their dead eyes to keep staring.<br /><br />It could’ve been a trick of the lights, but the look on Big Boy’s face was different than before. The grimace on its face had deepened, the eyes holding a black hatred behind the glass and paint.<br /><br />I had to summon my courage just to hurry out and close the door behind me. Keeping my eye on it the whole way downstairs. On the way down, there was a gentle banging noise, as if the bedroom door was shuddering from the inside.<br /><br />How Sophie managed to get her doppelganger’s outfits to match her own was always a mystery. Throughout the miserable time I lived with her, there was never a package in the mail with her name. Not to mention, she never left the estate to do her own clothes shopping.<br /><br />I never considered myself a social butterfly, but it didn’t stop me from leaving the house. Even when it came to simple errands, getting Sophie to get out of that bedroom was worse than pulling teeth. The closer we came to getting her outside, the more we heard her warm remarks.<br /><br />“And I think you’ll find it interesting that one of the narrower kitchen knives is missing,” she once said with a conniving smile.<br /><br />The look on her face as she told me that made my heart stop. My skin grew cold and I could feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on her still figure at first—but turned and dashed to the kitchen. Along the way, traces of her shrill giggle echoed down the halls.<br /><br />Digging through the kitchen cutlery, I peered over my shoulder. I never saw unexpected company, but even my own eyes couldn’t convince me. The meat cleaver, chef’s knife and bread knife were there. I started to think she was just bluffing to lock herself back in her room.<br /><br />But I realized she wasn’t kidding. The long, narrow carver knife was missing. Dad and I had the strongest habit of putting any utensil in its rightful place, and it wasn’t misplaced anywhere in the kitchen.<br /><br />A lump was caught in my throat when I tried to speak to her. “Sophie?”<br /><br />No answer.<br /><br />My arms shivered as I started to walk toward the staircase again. “Sophie?”<br /><br />A soft but high-pitched noise emanated from her bedroom. It was the sound of her taunting giggle.<br /><br />I stopped at the foot of the stairs and called, “Sophie?”<br /><br />“You’re never going to find it, silly brother—until I decide—until it’s too late.”<br /><br />Taking slow steps back without making a sound, I kept watching the door. Her voice died down. I thought she had enough.<br /><br />“That’s right,” she croaked at me. “Run with your tail between your legs, little brother. For now, it’s a warning.”<br /><br />It wasn’t any better when one of us tried to get her take care of the house. The threats always rang from within her bedroom whenever I suggested she take a step toward independence. Until I left for school and then a business and home of my own, the only way for her weight to be pulled is if Dad or I did it. Whenever he wasn’t too busy for work and stayed home, it was tolerable. Short fantasies of my hands squeezing her throat tickled me, but I kept my mouth shut around her.<br /><br />She must’ve noticed the anger in my face at some point—because when it was just me, Sophie brandished her own kind of Hell. She never asked me to help her with anything around the house. Sophie demanded it in shrieks loud enough to tear into my eardrums.<br /><br />I don’t know why I gave in and complied. It had to have been a way to just make the noise stop. Of course, I could’ve said no. That option came to mind every single time Dad asked me for favors with cleaning the three-storey house.<br /><br />But I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Knowing how busy he was getting his business back off the ground again, Dad needed the help.<br /><br />If there were painkillers in my pocket, it was doable enough. Still, I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. There were countless times where I showed her how to clean as a suggestion, but the response was either nothing or her brandishing matches and lighter fluid.<br /><br />I couldn’t tell if she’d do it or not. She never struck a match, but her cold wide-eyed stare said how tantalizing the idea was.<br /><br />The threats built up enough to send me into a white flash of panic in different parts of the house whenever I’d hear her shrieks. My heart would lock inside my throat. The sheer sound would coat my lungs in thick frost.<br /><br />Throughout my entire life, I’ve never had trouble with anxiety. Even when it came to going through trade school and taking all the risks in starting a business, I was nervous at times, sure—but it was never anything close to this. Nothing compared to the idea that I’d find a knife sticking out the back of my neck or my clothes catching fire when I let my guard down.<br /><br />I could only imagine how much worse it was for Dad. He wasn’t the one visiting. He kept on living with her until the eventual cardiac arrest. Whether or not she knew about being the heiress to the house, savings and the other assets was another question.<br /><br />I couldn’t help my suspicions when the law firm informed all of us. She was never much of a sister—or a daughter for that matter. The only times Sophie bothered to interact with him was when she demanded for something. The thought that the eldest would inherit everything first wasn’t unusual, but she couldn’t have known that for sure.<br /><br />Yet the grin that twisted across her face radiated the kind of confidence that said otherwise. That night, I asked myself a lot of questions. It was hard to believe why she’d act that way. From the way Dad bounced back in the end, there would’ve been enough money to stay comfortable for years to come without having to lift a finger.<br /><br />I didn’t want to think such a thing of my own sister, but it began to add up. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how she saw our father.<br /><br />No matter how hard someone tries, people can still turn out horrible anyway.<br /><br />While he was the foundation of the person I became, Sophie only looked at him as a piggy bank. If it wasn’t for her, he would’ve still been around. It was Sophie’s fault.<br /><br />Yet she got everything. House. Money. The share of the company.<br /><br />And what did my wife and I get? The hollow feeling eating at my gut. Debt. A child on the way, with no way to afford another mouth to feed. Paying the bills every month alone was a blessing for us.<br /><br />Throughout the night, I was tossing and turning. I couldn’t believe the idea I was considering. At first, it was just a fleeting thought. Then it sprouted and became a real possibility. The more I thought about the outcome, the more it became a real solution. It was all simple too. I’d drive to the estate under the guise of picking her up to get the money, and then—<br /><br />I would kill Sophie.<br /><br />It wouldn’t be too expensive. Everything I needed was somewhere on the online market. It was just a matter of looking in the right places.<br /><br />There wasn’t a good reason not to go through with it. That woman—if I could even call her that—was just a burden of everyone around her. The real reason why Dad and I started cleaning up after her was how she scared off any help who came into the house. I wasn’t the only one being threatened.<br /><br />She never bothered with any friends or a job either. Nobody would’ve noticed her being gone.<br /><br />And it would’ve made taking care of my family a lot easier. The money was enough to make us comfortable, pay for our child’s tuition in full and then some. There would’ve even been enough to start a new business and fund it for years if our kid wanted to go down that path.<br /><br />After the deed was done, I’d use a few of my connections to get a hold of a woodchipper. There was more than enough space in the basement to get that part of the job done without being seen.<br /><br />The most important part of it would be done with a cement mixer. Once the evidence was coated in cement, it’d just need to be broken into little pieces. From there? It would be a matter of selling or getting rid of the gravel. If there wasn’t a buyer, I just needed to find a lake or a river—<br /><br />And spend the evening skipping stones.<br /><br />Once I did, the only thing left to do would be visiting the house time and again. It wouldn’t just serve to maintain the property. Visits also made a great cover. If any neighbors cared enough to butt in, they’d assume I was there to see Sophie.<br /><br />So, I wasn’t nervous driving back up to the property this morning. On the way, my face felt a strange cold crawling down it like a patient spider, inspecting the fly caught in its web. It didn’t occur until arriving at the house that I was smiling.<br /><br />As I pulled up into the driveway, one hand went into my pocket, fondling the small package secured in plastic wrap. It was the ticket to our better life, and one that should’ve gone undetected. Gripping the tiny package only reminded me of another advantage: how Sophie enjoyed dry wine.<br /><br />I grabbed the new bottle waiting on the back seats and led Hazel to the front door. She had no idea what I was planning. I knew she would’ve stopped me. Her feelings on Sophie weren’t anything more than a simple disliking, but that’s because I didn’t tell her the whole story.<br /><br />I never told my wife about just how my sister treated people, only that she didn’t bother to take care of herself. Hazel already had a look of pure worry anytime I came back from that house but assumed Sophie would still “grow out of it.” Hazel saw the undeniable panic etched into my own face. If she’d the entire picture, it wouldn’t have done her any good. She wasn’t the type to holster any true hatred or a grudge, and I didn’t want to make this her first.<br /><br />On the way up the front steps, I gripped her hand. We weren’t sure if the pregnancy threw off her walking that much, but I wasn’t about to take any risks with our child. I didn’t want her coming to the house at all, but Hazel insisted.<br /><br />She gave her warm smile, assuring that a friend would cheer Sophie up and give her a step in the right direction. I couldn’t explain why it was a bad idea without revealing my sister’s colorful promises. I just figured if I could keep them apart long enough, it wouldn’t have been a problem.<br /><br />After the meat of my plan was through, I’d tell Hazel that Sophie was too sick to come out. Then we’d drive and get the money on her behalf.<br /><br />When we got inside, I told my wife to sit on one of the couches in the living room. It was better for her to relax in the living room, avoiding any possible strain. Moving upstairs, I could hear my gentle footsteps echo up the corridor.<br /><br />Any other time, Sophie would’ve immediately known I was inside. But today, she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep, but part of me didn’t care to find out.<br /><br />“Sophie?” I called in an optimistic voice. “Are you awake? It’ll be time to go soon.”<br /><br />She hadn’t answered, but that didn’t matter. There was a still a job left to do in the kitchen.<br /><br />I set the wine on the counter and took a corkscrew from one of the drawers beneath. There was a glorious pop of the cork, but no pouring of the glass yet. I dug a hand through my pocket with a cold grin, producing the plastic package.<br /><br />Peeling it opened, I removed the little cyanide capsule. I couldn’t help examining the thing with a giddy curiosity. It was the first time I’ve ever seen one in person and thought how delicious that such a tiny thing could do something with such magnitude.<br /><br />Going through the same drawer, I found the white marble mortar and pestle. It was a strange tool but proved useful in our cooking endeavors before. But it was even more useful with crushing the capsule into a powder finer than desert sand.<br /><br />I had to be careful and quiet—any noise could’ve startled Sophie. Glancing toward the staircase turned my blood cold.<br /><br />After taking one of the numerous wine glasses above the kitchen sink, I scraped the pill dust out of the mortar. Since wine has a certain amount of sediment in it anyway, the cyanide looked easy to hide.<br /><br />Whatever didn’t already dissolve—Sophie would swirl around the glass and let fade into the rest of the liquid. Then drink it down like the needed dose of medicine it was.<br /><br />I gazed at the staircase again with a tingling chill creeping along my bones. Grabbing the wine glass, I made my way to the third floor where both of our bedrooms were. The quivering squeak was even louder than on the other stairs.<br /><br />“Sophie?” I called again. “I brought a bottle of your favorite. If you come out, I have a glass.”<br /><br />At the top of the stairs, I had to restrain myself from laughing. I knocked on the door and saw the knob jiggle in place.<br /><br />My voice was reduced to a mutter. “Sophie, are you awake?”<br /><br />The second before I could knock on the door again, it swung open as if from a gust of wind. The door banged as it hit against the wall, and I stared into her big, frozen eyes. It’d be the last time I’d have to see that glassy, unblinking menace. Yet a massive wave of reluctance swept over me. There wasn’t remorse, but it still felt like a bad idea.<br /><br />In the end, it was remembering the better life we would’ve had that set me back on course. She was the one looking up at me, but I still felt myself shrink in her presence.<br /><br />I offered the glass, saying with a pleased tone, “How about we do our business when you finish your glass? We’ll be ready. No rush.”<br /><br />The door wasn’t open wide enough to see much of her collection. My sister’s little doppelganger wasn’t in sight. She had to have been hiding somewhere in the dimmed overhead light, sitting on the foot of my sister’s bed like a ceramic gargoyle.<br /><br />Straight ahead in the dead of gray-orange light were the heavy eyes of Big Boy. His vengeful face was semi-veiled in shadow, eyes reflecting the overhead like twilight in the night. Big Boy’s eyes were stuck on my own as if he saw what I had done.<br /><br />Sophie looked at the glass, took a gentle smell without moving, fixed her eyes back on me, and took her drink. She touched it to her lips, stepped back and pushed the door closed in my face.<br /><br />One step back and it was time to play the waiting game. I titled my head down and stared at the door with a patient, ambitious grin. Whenever the cyanide kicked in, it brought on the very ailment that took our father. The moment confirming it all was when a dull thud hit the floor in her room. From there, a chilling silence seeped out into the corridor.<br /><br />I turned away with a deep satisfaction. This was the moment the rest of our lives should’ve started. As I walked, the sound of my footsteps was louder than ever before.<br /><br />Approaching the staircase though, I heard the doorknob click. Then a small, gentle creak. I turned, seeing Sophie’s bedroom door ajar.<br /><br />Straining my eyes, a small window to her limp body lying on the bedroom floor was clear enough. The temptation occurred but calling out to her wasn’t necessary.<br /><br />Parts of the house were old and needed to be replaced. Sophie having been the so-called “caretaker” wasn’t a help at all. A doorknob or a lock was bound to fail with enough use.<br /><br />Going down the stairs to the second floor, an explosion of winter cold exploded through the house like a homemade bomb. I wrapped my arms around each other for a grasp at warmth, stopping in my tracks. Seeing my breath right in front of me, I shut my eyes tight.<br /><br />The heating had its shifts in temperature at times, but only by a few degrees. It was never anything like this.<br /><br />A wind of gentle unintelligible whispers circled around me. The sound was that of a cabal of small murmuring children. It just lasted for a second or two, and a long pause followed. I opened my eyes and looked around for the source but didn’t see anything.<br /><br />A shrill, ear-cutting scream shook throughout the entire house.<br /><br />As I bolted down to the second floor, my path led me into the kitchen by design. On the counters were a dozen of the dolls. Their heads were facing me with a collective grimace. The lips were crackled from within.<br /><br />Their glass eyes were sunken in, the porcelain around them morphed into deep, hollow sockets. The pupils were dilated, consuming nearly the entire irises.<br /><br />Their complexions were pure bone. Little bits of their paint were chipped away, leaving parts of their faces bare. The cheeks were hollow as the eyes, cheekbones protruding enough to look like they’d crack through the exteriors.<br /><br />But in each of their laps, one of the kitchen knives was snug and secure beneath their still hands.<br /><br />How could they have left Sophie’s room!? It made no sense! I just saw them sitting in her bedroom— Unless, the minute I looked away— No, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t physically possible!<br /><br />I ran faster through the kitchen and down the stairs to the first floor. That sound—it was Hazel! There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind.<br /><br />The instant I stopped at the foot of the stairway, my body froze. My heart was spasming as it rose up into my throat.<br /><br />My wife lay on her stomach, motionless. The handle of the carver knife stuck out of her back. The blade was completely submerged. Fresh blood still seeped through her dress, making its way to the floor. The natural color was still in Hazel’s skin, as if she’d stand upright again. Her hair was like someone grabbed her by the back of the scalp and bashed her face straight against the wooden floor.<br /><br />Sitting on top of her back was Sophie’s little doppelganger. She didn’t have any of the features of the dolls from the kitchen. This gargoyle just had one I hardly ever saw on my own sister. Her porcelain look-alike had a closed, wide smile etched and curled across her face.<br /><br />Like a fool, I rushed to the door. No matter how hard I tried, there was no moving any of the locks. It was as if they were fused in place. All the while, I kept my eyes on that dark-haired thing.<br /><br />Moving to the windows, I tried pushing them open, but the locks on those were just as impossible. Picking up an old wooden chair next to it, I bashed it against the window itself. I didn’t want to crawl through broken glass, but there wasn’t another way out down there.<br /><br />Yet despite using all my strength, the glass didn’t have a scratch. It didn’t stop me at first. I gave the window a few more swings and noticed the chair coming apart. The thing already falling to pieces, I dropped them and saw the glass was left the same.<br /><br />Moving to the steps, I kept my eyes on it until having to go up. Going through the second floor again, the legion of ceramic guardians sitting on the counters were gone. Their knives had disappeared with them.<br /><br />There were no windows or emergency exits on the second floor. It was an idea I brought up to Dad before, but he refused every time. He insisted it was just unnecessary.<br /><br />The only spot was back on the third floor, to block myself off from the rest of the house. After locking my bedroom door on my way in, I performed a search throughout the room. Somehow, I didn’t have any company.<br /><br />For safe measure, I dragged both my childhood twin bed and dresser drawers to block off the way in—<br /><br />And just sat here since, desperate to keep warm.<br /><br />There was no way the authorities would’ve believed my story. If I reported a thing to them, they would’ve seen the knife in Hazel’s back and made me the prime suspect. I’d have been found guilty and sentenced to the chair.<br /><br />It was a matter of waiting before I heard a sizeable container spilling over in Sophie’s room. I couldn’t say what it was or where it trailed off to. The smell of thick smoke and burning wood and linen began to seep into my room.<br /><br />The doorknob burned my hand at the touch, and the smell was far stronger at the door. Seeing the black cloud creep inside, I turned to the window. It was already unlocked and slid open with an unusual ease.<br /><br />The door slowly forced its way open, pushing the furniture out of the way. I saw the legion of short-statured shadows out the door. Several of them were holding up the shapes of sharpened blades, the giant among them standing in front, blocking the hall.<br /><br />God forbid I break my neck from trying the window. Not knowing if I can make it, my one way out of here—is to jump!",
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"content": "Here's a little #horror story I wrote for No Sleep on Reddit. It was sort of an hommage to #Lovecraft 's \"Dagon\" near the end.\n\n\"Doll House\"\n\nI didn’t think I’d end up sitting in my childhood bedroom like this. I’ve been sitting opposite the door, with the bed and dresser drawers blocking it.\n\nThere’s no telling if I can survive tonight. The only other way out is through the window. A set of sheets is still on the twin bed, but not enough for a makeshift rope down three storeys. It’s something I’d try as a kid, and learn from getting a broken ankle.\n\nEven when the fall was just a single floor, it wasn’t one of my better ideas.\n\nAnd what about Hazel? She isn’t here with me, but at this point? There’s nothing I can do. It’s not because I’m a coward. It’s because of our separation in the house.\n\nEven though our family had a strong history of heart problems, nobody could’ve been prepared for our father’s cardiac arrest. Nobody was ready to lose him.\n\nThe small legion of suited businessmen attending his funeral kept themselves together, never splitting apart. Throughout the service and even at the dinner Hazel and I hosted, they shared the look of a little boy who lost his parents in a massive department store.\n\nThe group gave a minute-long speech at both. They reminisced about his entrepreneurship and how it was the foundation of their software careers.\n\nAs they spoke, we were all waiting for them to ask, “Without him, what do we do now?”\n\nThe question never came, but Hazel and I felt it from the looks on their faces just the same. I didn’t have the chance to work with him myself. Software development was never my passion. But the fact that he built a tank strong enough to compete with Adobe alone had my respect.\n\nAnd if he didn’t? He wouldn’t have been less of a foundation to me. It was his guiding hand that taught me the value of hard work. His wisdom was what taught me to be a man, and even begin business ventures of my own. It was also the lifestyle he constructed for us that proved what enough passion and hard work could do.\n\nThat luxurious lifestyle showed me the strength a widower could have—and what my sister Sophie would see in a different light. If he could provide that for his family, why not me? Why couldn’t I do it too?\n\nAs a teenager, I’d have to hang my head in shame at not understanding code. On the other hand, I discovered my real talent was elsewhere. The minute I was flipping through technical manuals, that’s what put me at home.\n\nIt led to a short time in trade school before completing an apprenticeship, and the proud moment of going into business for myself. Customers were few at first and I couldn’t help thinking it was all for naught. After going out to dinner with one of them several times though, I first met Hazel.\n\nShe and I hit it off with a shared off-color sense of humor. But it was after sharing a few songs of drunk, off-key karaoke that I started to notice how enchanting her warm smile was. It was only a matter of time until we began dating, moved in together years down the road and married.\n\nProfits hadn’t grown a whole lot since. We could just get by with only pennies to save at the end of every month. Once we announced the baby on the way, dad’s business even managed to take a dive. Despite the bit of grim news, we managed to keep our chins up. In a way, he could’ve been a foundation of my new family too.\n\nBy then, my older sister Sophie and I were both pushing thirty, and after dad’s wallet got thinner, she was harder to take care of. He didn’t tell us outright, but we could tell by the tone of his voice over the phone.\n\nA new favorite saying of hers was: “What do you mean we don’t have that kind of money? We always had that kind of money before.”\n\nHazel thought Sophie grew so comfortable with that lifestyle, it was why she never bothered to pursue anything for a career—or even leave the house.\n\nI thought it must’ve been tough doing nothing at all, except collecting those porcelain dolls of hers. Even as a young adult about to go to trade school, I’d see her carry one of them as if it were her child.\n\nWhatever doll she paired herself with for the moment always suited her well. It could’ve been the pale skin, or the black smooth hair and short bangs that reflected the overhead light. It may have been the overall thin build—\n\nNo, it was their eyes.\n\nSophie’s eyes were always wide, with large dark irises that blended in with the pupils. We were all sure her natural eye color was a deep brown, but nobody could really say. It was rare that any of us even saw her blink. The only times I did were when one of her thick eyelashes loosened itself.\n\nHer eyes always had a way of matching those of the doll she cradled in her arms. But out of the collection that spanned across every wall in her bedroom, there was one she favored the most. Hazel thought it was too late for her to find a man and have a child of her own.\n\nI always smiled and agreed, but in the pit of my stomach, it wasn’t the case. Of all the porcelain dolls, she held one around the estate the most. It was one whose complexion, hair, and deep black eyes were identical to hers.\n\nI even asked Dad if it was custom-made to look like her, as if it were a substitute for a flesh-and-blood playmate. He gave me a perplexed look, an amused but uneasy grin and shook his head.\n\n“No,” he told me. “We found that one just as it is.”\n\nEven now, I found that hard to believe. After sneaking into her room and taking closer looks at it, the story sounded like too much of a coincidence. Not only were the eyes, hair and complexion the same, but the doll also had the same pattern of greyish freckles on her cheeks.\n\nBeing stared at by the one doll alone was bad enough. Whenever Sophie carried it around, it had a habit of facing in my direction. Wherever I’d be in the house, no matter which angle it watched from, the eyes had a way of following me about.\n\nJust before starting trade school, I asked Sophie, “Why do you always face that doll toward me?”\n\nShe turned and gave a blank stare before a little smile twisted on her face. “Don’t be silly,” she said and giggled. “I don’t make Sophie do that. She does as she pleases.”\n\nAs my sister spoke, the doll was facing away from me. It was a moment of peace before I strained my eyes shut and cleared my throat.\n\nThe second I opened them; Sophie wasn’t speaking. She was just standing there, watching, as if waiting for her cue to act. The doll she named after herself had already been slumped over her shoulder like an infant about to be burped.\n\nBut now—the little Sophie’s head was turned to face up at the ceiling, its frozen eyes glaring down at mine. I didn’t even know a porcelain doll’s head could pivot like that.\n\nShe stood there in place, both sets of eyes on me. A moment passed before she walked back to her bedroom. I could even hear her close the door and lock it from the inside.\n\nAfter tiptoeing and pressing my ear against the door, I could hear a string of quiet whispers. Most of it was her. I could say that much. A little bit didn’t sound like it though. I’ve never heard her do voices before. She was never one to try to be funny, but it sounded like was a smaller voice speaking back to her.\n\nThe little Sophie alone was enough reason to avoid that bedroom, but there were occasions where it couldn’t be done. Stepping in there made me feel surrounded by a hundred pairs of dim, lifeless eyes.\n\nI wasn’t sure if my sister arranged this on purpose, but *every—time—*they were always staring straight at me. The way each doll sat in place with its hands folded in its lap was like it’d been waiting for an intruder.\n\nTheir bodies hadn’t been facing me. They were all positioned against the walls and corners to create a perfect shoulder-to-shoulder arrangement. Yet their heads were turned enough for their motionless eyes to peer toward the bedroom door.\n\nThe doll in the far corner caught my attention more than the others at first. It had to have been the most unique of them all, since Sophie never cradled it in her arms. Despite having all the features and proportions of a small child, it was the size of a full-grown adult. It resembled a redheaded, freckled boy with a red and white striped shirt and denim shorts.\n\nSophie had addressed the rest of her collection by name as she carried them around the house. There was only one she mentioned in addition to whichever doll was in her care at that moment. She always referred to this other doll as their “brother”—this had to have been the one Sophie named “Big Boy.”\n\nBig Boy’s face stood out from the others though. Its eyes were larger—they protruded more, casting blacker shadows on their undersides, as if there were deep bags hiding underneath. The lips were jutting outward and etched into a sharper, icy scowl.\n\nAt first, it looked as if its cheek was decorated with cobwebs. With a closer look though, I noticed it was a web of tiny cracks. I never found out what, but it looked like a failed blow to the head.\n\nThe expression on its face made me picture it standing upright and lumbering toward me. Once it stopped, the doll would’ve been just taller than me.\n\nThe last time I reluctantly went in there to clean Sophie’s laundry, the collection was arranged in the same way—with one exception. At the foot of the empty bed was her little doppelganger, wearing a dark blue dress with a black spiral pattern and matching ebony shoes that reflected the overhead lights.\n\nAs I was about to turn away, the lights dimmed, but glistened off the doppelganger’s eyes. There was a slight, burning glow radiating off its glassy corneas.\n\nCarrying the load and turning away from the doll, my body stiffened. The failing lights made it tough to tell, but it looked like the other porcelain creatures turned toward me. Their heads were pivoted just enough for their dead eyes to keep staring.\n\nIt could’ve been a trick of the lights, but the look on Big Boy’s face was different than before. The grimace on its face had deepened, the eyes holding a black hatred behind the glass and paint.\n\nI had to summon my courage just to hurry out and close the door behind me. Keeping my eye on it the whole way downstairs. On the way down, there was a gentle banging noise, as if the bedroom door was shuddering from the inside.\n\nHow Sophie managed to get her doppelganger’s outfits to match her own was always a mystery. Throughout the miserable time I lived with her, there was never a package in the mail with her name. Not to mention, she never left the estate to do her own clothes shopping.\n\nI never considered myself a social butterfly, but it didn’t stop me from leaving the house. Even when it came to simple errands, getting Sophie to get out of that bedroom was worse than pulling teeth. The closer we came to getting her outside, the more we heard her warm remarks.\n\n“And I think you’ll find it interesting that one of the narrower kitchen knives is missing,” she once said with a conniving smile.\n\nThe look on her face as she told me that made my heart stop. My skin grew cold and I could feel the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on her still figure at first—but turned and dashed to the kitchen. Along the way, traces of her shrill giggle echoed down the halls.\n\nDigging through the kitchen cutlery, I peered over my shoulder. I never saw unexpected company, but even my own eyes couldn’t convince me. The meat cleaver, chef’s knife and bread knife were there. I started to think she was just bluffing to lock herself back in her room.\n\nBut I realized she wasn’t kidding. The long, narrow carver knife was missing. Dad and I had the strongest habit of putting any utensil in its rightful place, and it wasn’t misplaced anywhere in the kitchen.\n\nA lump was caught in my throat when I tried to speak to her. “Sophie?”\n\nNo answer.\n\nMy arms shivered as I started to walk toward the staircase again. “Sophie?”\n\nA soft but high-pitched noise emanated from her bedroom. It was the sound of her taunting giggle.\n\nI stopped at the foot of the stairs and called, “Sophie?”\n\n“You’re never going to find it, silly brother—until I decide—until it’s too late.”\n\nTaking slow steps back without making a sound, I kept watching the door. Her voice died down. I thought she had enough.\n\n“That’s right,” she croaked at me. “Run with your tail between your legs, little brother. For now, it’s a warning.”\n\nIt wasn’t any better when one of us tried to get her take care of the house. The threats always rang from within her bedroom whenever I suggested she take a step toward independence. Until I left for school and then a business and home of my own, the only way for her weight to be pulled is if Dad or I did it. Whenever he wasn’t too busy for work and stayed home, it was tolerable. Short fantasies of my hands squeezing her throat tickled me, but I kept my mouth shut around her.\n\nShe must’ve noticed the anger in my face at some point—because when it was just me, Sophie brandished her own kind of Hell. She never asked me to help her with anything around the house. Sophie demanded it in shrieks loud enough to tear into my eardrums.\n\nI don’t know why I gave in and complied. It had to have been a way to just make the noise stop. Of course, I could’ve said no. That option came to mind every single time Dad asked me for favors with cleaning the three-storey house.\n\nBut I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Knowing how busy he was getting his business back off the ground again, Dad needed the help.\n\nIf there were painkillers in my pocket, it was doable enough. Still, I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. There were countless times where I showed her how to clean as a suggestion, but the response was either nothing or her brandishing matches and lighter fluid.\n\nI couldn’t tell if she’d do it or not. She never struck a match, but her cold wide-eyed stare said how tantalizing the idea was.\n\nThe threats built up enough to send me into a white flash of panic in different parts of the house whenever I’d hear her shrieks. My heart would lock inside my throat. The sheer sound would coat my lungs in thick frost.\n\nThroughout my entire life, I’ve never had trouble with anxiety. Even when it came to going through trade school and taking all the risks in starting a business, I was nervous at times, sure—but it was never anything close to this. Nothing compared to the idea that I’d find a knife sticking out the back of my neck or my clothes catching fire when I let my guard down.\n\nI could only imagine how much worse it was for Dad. He wasn’t the one visiting. He kept on living with her until the eventual cardiac arrest. Whether or not she knew about being the heiress to the house, savings and the other assets was another question.\n\nI couldn’t help my suspicions when the law firm informed all of us. She was never much of a sister—or a daughter for that matter. The only times Sophie bothered to interact with him was when she demanded for something. The thought that the eldest would inherit everything first wasn’t unusual, but she couldn’t have known that for sure.\n\nYet the grin that twisted across her face radiated the kind of confidence that said otherwise. That night, I asked myself a lot of questions. It was hard to believe why she’d act that way. From the way Dad bounced back in the end, there would’ve been enough money to stay comfortable for years to come without having to lift a finger.\n\nI didn’t want to think such a thing of my own sister, but it began to add up. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how she saw our father.\n\nNo matter how hard someone tries, people can still turn out horrible anyway.\n\nWhile he was the foundation of the person I became, Sophie only looked at him as a piggy bank. If it wasn’t for her, he would’ve still been around. It was Sophie’s fault.\n\nYet she got everything. House. Money. The share of the company.\n\nAnd what did my wife and I get? The hollow feeling eating at my gut. Debt. A child on the way, with no way to afford another mouth to feed. Paying the bills every month alone was a blessing for us.\n\nThroughout the night, I was tossing and turning. I couldn’t believe the idea I was considering. At first, it was just a fleeting thought. Then it sprouted and became a real possibility. The more I thought about the outcome, the more it became a real solution. It was all simple too. I’d drive to the estate under the guise of picking her up to get the money, and then—\n\nI would kill Sophie.\n\nIt wouldn’t be too expensive. Everything I needed was somewhere on the online market. It was just a matter of looking in the right places.\n\nThere wasn’t a good reason not to go through with it. That woman—if I could even call her that—was just a burden of everyone around her. The real reason why Dad and I started cleaning up after her was how she scared off any help who came into the house. I wasn’t the only one being threatened.\n\nShe never bothered with any friends or a job either. Nobody would’ve noticed her being gone.\n\nAnd it would’ve made taking care of my family a lot easier. The money was enough to make us comfortable, pay for our child’s tuition in full and then some. There would’ve even been enough to start a new business and fund it for years if our kid wanted to go down that path.\n\nAfter the deed was done, I’d use a few of my connections to get a hold of a woodchipper. There was more than enough space in the basement to get that part of the job done without being seen.\n\nThe most important part of it would be done with a cement mixer. Once the evidence was coated in cement, it’d just need to be broken into little pieces. From there? It would be a matter of selling or getting rid of the gravel. If there wasn’t a buyer, I just needed to find a lake or a river—\n\nAnd spend the evening skipping stones.\n\nOnce I did, the only thing left to do would be visiting the house time and again. It wouldn’t just serve to maintain the property. Visits also made a great cover. If any neighbors cared enough to butt in, they’d assume I was there to see Sophie.\n\nSo, I wasn’t nervous driving back up to the property this morning. On the way, my face felt a strange cold crawling down it like a patient spider, inspecting the fly caught in its web. It didn’t occur until arriving at the house that I was smiling.\n\nAs I pulled up into the driveway, one hand went into my pocket, fondling the small package secured in plastic wrap. It was the ticket to our better life, and one that should’ve gone undetected. Gripping the tiny package only reminded me of another advantage: how Sophie enjoyed dry wine.\n\nI grabbed the new bottle waiting on the back seats and led Hazel to the front door. She had no idea what I was planning. I knew she would’ve stopped me. Her feelings on Sophie weren’t anything more than a simple disliking, but that’s because I didn’t tell her the whole story.\n\nI never told my wife about just how my sister treated people, only that she didn’t bother to take care of herself. Hazel already had a look of pure worry anytime I came back from that house but assumed Sophie would still “grow out of it.” Hazel saw the undeniable panic etched into my own face. If she’d the entire picture, it wouldn’t have done her any good. She wasn’t the type to holster any true hatred or a grudge, and I didn’t want to make this her first.\n\nOn the way up the front steps, I gripped her hand. We weren’t sure if the pregnancy threw off her walking that much, but I wasn’t about to take any risks with our child. I didn’t want her coming to the house at all, but Hazel insisted.\n\nShe gave her warm smile, assuring that a friend would cheer Sophie up and give her a step in the right direction. I couldn’t explain why it was a bad idea without revealing my sister’s colorful promises. I just figured if I could keep them apart long enough, it wouldn’t have been a problem.\n\nAfter the meat of my plan was through, I’d tell Hazel that Sophie was too sick to come out. Then we’d drive and get the money on her behalf.\n\nWhen we got inside, I told my wife to sit on one of the couches in the living room. It was better for her to relax in the living room, avoiding any possible strain. Moving upstairs, I could hear my gentle footsteps echo up the corridor.\n\nAny other time, Sophie would’ve immediately known I was inside. But today, she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if she was asleep, but part of me didn’t care to find out.\n\n“Sophie?” I called in an optimistic voice. “Are you awake? It’ll be time to go soon.”\n\nShe hadn’t answered, but that didn’t matter. There was a still a job left to do in the kitchen.\n\nI set the wine on the counter and took a corkscrew from one of the drawers beneath. There was a glorious pop of the cork, but no pouring of the glass yet. I dug a hand through my pocket with a cold grin, producing the plastic package.\n\nPeeling it opened, I removed the little cyanide capsule. I couldn’t help examining the thing with a giddy curiosity. It was the first time I’ve ever seen one in person and thought how delicious that such a tiny thing could do something with such magnitude.\n\nGoing through the same drawer, I found the white marble mortar and pestle. It was a strange tool but proved useful in our cooking endeavors before. But it was even more useful with crushing the capsule into a powder finer than desert sand.\n\nI had to be careful and quiet—any noise could’ve startled Sophie. Glancing toward the staircase turned my blood cold.\n\nAfter taking one of the numerous wine glasses above the kitchen sink, I scraped the pill dust out of the mortar. Since wine has a certain amount of sediment in it anyway, the cyanide looked easy to hide.\n\nWhatever didn’t already dissolve—Sophie would swirl around the glass and let fade into the rest of the liquid. Then drink it down like the needed dose of medicine it was.\n\nI gazed at the staircase again with a tingling chill creeping along my bones. Grabbing the wine glass, I made my way to the third floor where both of our bedrooms were. The quivering squeak was even louder than on the other stairs.\n\n“Sophie?” I called again. “I brought a bottle of your favorite. If you come out, I have a glass.”\n\nAt the top of the stairs, I had to restrain myself from laughing. I knocked on the door and saw the knob jiggle in place.\n\nMy voice was reduced to a mutter. “Sophie, are you awake?”\n\nThe second before I could knock on the door again, it swung open as if from a gust of wind. The door banged as it hit against the wall, and I stared into her big, frozen eyes. It’d be the last time I’d have to see that glassy, unblinking menace. Yet a massive wave of reluctance swept over me. There wasn’t remorse, but it still felt like a bad idea.\n\nIn the end, it was remembering the better life we would’ve had that set me back on course. She was the one looking up at me, but I still felt myself shrink in her presence.\n\nI offered the glass, saying with a pleased tone, “How about we do our business when you finish your glass? We’ll be ready. No rush.”\n\nThe door wasn’t open wide enough to see much of her collection. My sister’s little doppelganger wasn’t in sight. She had to have been hiding somewhere in the dimmed overhead light, sitting on the foot of my sister’s bed like a ceramic gargoyle.\n\nStraight ahead in the dead of gray-orange light were the heavy eyes of Big Boy. His vengeful face was semi-veiled in shadow, eyes reflecting the overhead like twilight in the night. Big Boy’s eyes were stuck on my own as if he saw what I had done.\n\nSophie looked at the glass, took a gentle smell without moving, fixed her eyes back on me, and took her drink. She touched it to her lips, stepped back and pushed the door closed in my face.\n\nOne step back and it was time to play the waiting game. I titled my head down and stared at the door with a patient, ambitious grin. Whenever the cyanide kicked in, it brought on the very ailment that took our father. The moment confirming it all was when a dull thud hit the floor in her room. From there, a chilling silence seeped out into the corridor.\n\nI turned away with a deep satisfaction. This was the moment the rest of our lives should’ve started. As I walked, the sound of my footsteps was louder than ever before.\n\nApproaching the staircase though, I heard the doorknob click. Then a small, gentle creak. I turned, seeing Sophie’s bedroom door ajar.\n\nStraining my eyes, a small window to her limp body lying on the bedroom floor was clear enough. The temptation occurred but calling out to her wasn’t necessary.\n\nParts of the house were old and needed to be replaced. Sophie having been the so-called “caretaker” wasn’t a help at all. A doorknob or a lock was bound to fail with enough use.\n\nGoing down the stairs to the second floor, an explosion of winter cold exploded through the house like a homemade bomb. I wrapped my arms around each other for a grasp at warmth, stopping in my tracks. Seeing my breath right in front of me, I shut my eyes tight.\n\nThe heating had its shifts in temperature at times, but only by a few degrees. It was never anything like this.\n\nA wind of gentle unintelligible whispers circled around me. The sound was that of a cabal of small murmuring children. It just lasted for a second or two, and a long pause followed. I opened my eyes and looked around for the source but didn’t see anything.\n\nA shrill, ear-cutting scream shook throughout the entire house.\n\nAs I bolted down to the second floor, my path led me into the kitchen by design. On the counters were a dozen of the dolls. Their heads were facing me with a collective grimace. The lips were crackled from within.\n\nTheir glass eyes were sunken in, the porcelain around them morphed into deep, hollow sockets. The pupils were dilated, consuming nearly the entire irises.\n\nTheir complexions were pure bone. Little bits of their paint were chipped away, leaving parts of their faces bare. The cheeks were hollow as the eyes, cheekbones protruding enough to look like they’d crack through the exteriors.\n\nBut in each of their laps, one of the kitchen knives was snug and secure beneath their still hands.\n\nHow could they have left Sophie’s room!? It made no sense! I just saw them sitting in her bedroom— Unless, the minute I looked away— No, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t physically possible!\n\nI ran faster through the kitchen and down the stairs to the first floor. That sound—it was Hazel! There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind.\n\nThe instant I stopped at the foot of the stairway, my body froze. My heart was spasming as it rose up into my throat.\n\nMy wife lay on her stomach, motionless. The handle of the carver knife stuck out of her back. The blade was completely submerged. Fresh blood still seeped through her dress, making its way to the floor. The natural color was still in Hazel’s skin, as if she’d stand upright again. Her hair was like someone grabbed her by the back of the scalp and bashed her face straight against the wooden floor.\n\nSitting on top of her back was Sophie’s little doppelganger. She didn’t have any of the features of the dolls from the kitchen. This gargoyle just had one I hardly ever saw on my own sister. Her porcelain look-alike had a closed, wide smile etched and curled across her face.\n\nLike a fool, I rushed to the door. No matter how hard I tried, there was no moving any of the locks. It was as if they were fused in place. All the while, I kept my eyes on that dark-haired thing.\n\nMoving to the windows, I tried pushing them open, but the locks on those were just as impossible. Picking up an old wooden chair next to it, I bashed it against the window itself. I didn’t want to crawl through broken glass, but there wasn’t another way out down there.\n\nYet despite using all my strength, the glass didn’t have a scratch. It didn’t stop me at first. I gave the window a few more swings and noticed the chair coming apart. The thing already falling to pieces, I dropped them and saw the glass was left the same.\n\nMoving to the steps, I kept my eyes on it until having to go up. Going through the second floor again, the legion of ceramic guardians sitting on the counters were gone. Their knives had disappeared with them.\n\nThere were no windows or emergency exits on the second floor. It was an idea I brought up to Dad before, but he refused every time. He insisted it was just unnecessary.\n\nThe only spot was back on the third floor, to block myself off from the rest of the house. After locking my bedroom door on my way in, I performed a search throughout the room. Somehow, I didn’t have any company.\n\nFor safe measure, I dragged both my childhood twin bed and dresser drawers to block off the way in—\n\nAnd just sat here since, desperate to keep warm.\n\nThere was no way the authorities would’ve believed my story. If I reported a thing to them, they would’ve seen the knife in Hazel’s back and made me the prime suspect. I’d have been found guilty and sentenced to the chair.\n\nIt was a matter of waiting before I heard a sizeable container spilling over in Sophie’s room. I couldn’t say what it was or where it trailed off to. The smell of thick smoke and burning wood and linen began to seep into my room.\n\nThe doorknob burned my hand at the touch, and the smell was far stronger at the door. Seeing the black cloud creep inside, I turned to the window. It was already unlocked and slid open with an unusual ease.\n\nThe door slowly forced its way open, pushing the furniture out of the way. I saw the legion of short-statured shadows out the door. Several of them were holding up the shapes of sharpened blades, the giant among them standing in front, blocking the hall.\n\nGod forbid I break my neck from trying the window. Not knowing if I can make it, my one way out of here—is to jump!",
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