The Doll That Came Back

The doll in my grandmother's attic blinked. I swear it did. Every night I stayed there,

I'd hear tiny footsteps above my room at exactly three AM. One morning, I found it at the

bottom of the stairs, its porcelain fingers pointed toward my bedroom door. My grandmother said

she threw that doll away thirty years ago after her sister disappeared. But here it was,

smelling like earth and decay. Last night, I woke to it sitting on my chest,

its cracked lips moving silently. I'm never going back.