Posessed Porcelain: The Curse of the Doll

It was a typical Saturday morning when I walked into the antique store. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but something caught my eye as soon as I walked in. It was a porcelain doll, sitting in the corner of the store. Its face was pristine, its dress was perfectly pressed, and its hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon.

I had always loved dolls as a child, and this one was particularly beautiful. I asked the shopkeeper how much it was, and he told me it was $50. It was a steal, considering how well-preserved it was.

I brought the doll home and placed it on my dresser. As the days passed, strange things began to happen in my apartment. I would come home from work to find the doll in a different position than I had left it. Its eyes seemed to follow me around the room, and I could swear I heard it whispering in the dead of night.

At first, I tried to ignore it. I convinced myself that it was just my imagination running wild. But then, things started to get even more bizarre.

One night, I woke up to find the doll sitting on my chest, its eyes staring into mine. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I could feel its cold porcelain fingers closing around my throat, squeezing the air out of me.

I managed to break free and throw the doll across the room. It landed with a thud and shattered into a million pieces. I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.

The next day, I woke up to find the doll had somehow pieced itself back together. Its eyes were now a bright red color, and its dress was torn and tattered. I could hear it laughing, a high-pitched cackle that sent shivers down my spine.

I knew I had to get rid of it. But no matter what I did, the doll always found its way back to me. It would show up in my car, at my office, even in my dreams.

I started to research the doll's history, hoping to find a way to break the curse. That's when I discovered that the doll had belonged to a little girl who had died in a house fire. The doll had been her favorite possession, and she had been buried with it.

I decided to go to the graveyard where the little girl was buried, hoping to find some answers. When I arrived, I found the doll sitting on top of the girl's grave, its eyes glowing in the moonlight.

I approached the doll, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I had to destroy it once and for all. As I reached out to grab it, the ground beneath me started to shake. I looked up and saw the ghost of the little girl standing before me.

She was holding out her hand, begging me to take the doll. "Please," she whispered. "Take care of her for me."

I knew what I had to do. I took the doll and held it close to my chest. The ghost of the little girl smiled at me, and then she vanished into thin air.

From that day on, the doll no longer haunted me. It sat on my dresser, just like it had when I first bought it. But now, I knew the story behind it. And I knew that the little girl's spirit was at peace, finally reunited with her beloved doll.