The Return of Annabelle

At three seventeen a.m., the museum alarm went off. Security rushed in.

The Annabelle case was open. The doll was gone. No broken glass.

No footprints. Then the radios crackled. She is sitting in my car.

The next morning, the car was found abandoned. Doors locked. Engine cold.

Annabelle was back in her case. Smiling. The logbook had one new entry,

written in red: I don't like being alone.