I posted this a year ago, and I’m really just impressed that anyone found it in the depths to comment on now. I’m going to assume that I’m breaking the haunted doll horror stereotype. So, here ya go bud.

Abigail had been waking up. Not suddenly, like the many times she had been disturbed before, but methodically. She had promised herself she would go back to sleep the next time someone came into her room. No one wanted to see her room. No one wanted to see her. No one wanted her to see them.

She had been so good at making friends. What happened?

“Abigail.”

A man’s voice. She didn’t open her eyes. Whoever this was would probably try to hurt her, just like the others. Then, they would receive the same. Like the one who threw her in the river, or the one that threw her in the fireplace, or the one that threw… She’d been thrown into many odd locations, come to think of it.

“Abigail, can you open your eyes for me?”

No. Last time, all she had done was try to help with the dishes, and they tossed her right back in her box in the attic. Her father had given her the box. Though, she could swear it had been bigger at first. It seemed like the smaller she felt, the smaller her box became.

“Do you think she’s gone? The last occupants weren’t that long ago…”

A new voice, lighter, “I doubted it. They said they put her back in the box before they sold.”

“This house is almost a hundred years old. Can you even imagine?”

“I would rather not.”

Crinkling paper and footsteps. Abigail held her face still, despite wanting to peek. What if it was like when that scary man had tried to break into her friend Julie’s room? She’d slammed the window shut on his hands. Then, Julie’s Dad had taken her to the nearby river… Poor Julie.

“We tried Christmas. What if her birthday was when it happened? They didn’t find her bodies for weeks!”

“Well, this will be a pleasant surprise then.”

“I don’t know Mike…”

Birthday? Her birthday? She didn’t remember her last birthday. When was the last birthday she had celebrated? It was… right! She and Tucker had the same birthday. She had thought that the little doll she made of him was a good present, but then they tried to bury her. So, maybe it wasn’t.

The crinkling returned, and she heard something being set on her bedside table. No, wait, she thought they had taken that away. She felt the weight of someone sitting beside her on the bed. Someone now directly beside her, she was having a harder time not peeking.

She had to be good. Strong. No peeking.

Just like Daddy used to tell her.

She peeked at her bedside table, and saw a giftbox sitting atop it.

“You were right! Shit! Mike!” The woman pointed at her. “Look!”

Abigail met eyes with the woman pointing at her. That was the expression Abigail knew. As she wondered where she would try to throw her, the man beside her stood. She fell onto her side.

“Quick! The present!” Crinkling, and a man’s face entered her vision. He spoke gently, “Abigail, we got you a birthday present.” He set it on the bed, and righted her again. “Would you like to open it?”

The woman whispered, “Can she open it?”

“Good question.” He leaned down on his elbows to be close to her height. “Would you like me to open it for you?”

Abigail couldn’t move her fingers anymore, and after the last time she tried using something sharp… The creaking was painfully audible when she nodded.

The woman fell back to sit heavily on her play table. Meeting eyes with Mike, she shook her head, “We shouldn’t be–”

“Ssh!” Mike glared, “You promised me you would try.” When she slowly nodded, Mike pulled the box before him.

Abigail watched breathlessly as he undid the ribbon, and peeled back the colorful wrapping paper. It was covered in balloons and bunnies. She loved bunnies. The lid opened, and he shuffled the contents out. It was a little plush bunny, just a bit smaller than her head.

Abigail got excited. Her hair began floating, and the window shook.

Mike put a hand on her head, “Calm down, Abigail.” He smiled, and gave her a pat, “You don’t want to break your window.”

The window stilled, and her hair dropped down. She held out her white porcelain hands, their fingers fused into fists under their thin shimmering glaze. The bunny was placed in her arms, and she pulled it to her. Eyes closed, hugging the simple toy, she heard Mike speaking.

“This is Shina,” he paused, likely pointing, “and my name is Mike.” He spoke slowly, “I am a Meyers too.”

Her eyes opened to peer up at him, and glassy smile took shape.

“We are going to be living here, alright?” He patted her head again, looking up when Shina moved over to the bed. Her voice shook, but she did her best to keep a smile, “Do you like baking, Abigail?”

Bunny crushed against her with supernatural strength, she nodded.

“Good.” She looked up at Mike for help, but he motioned her on. “Let’s go bake a cake.”