Dollhouse

Heat steamed over the sand, giving Sophie's surroundings the illusion of unsteady movement. She trudged across a nauseatingly yellow wasteland with no destination in sight save for a dot on the horizon. Oversized pieces of furniture, disproportionate clothing, and human-sized crayons littered the shapeless ground. Sophie's knee high socks sunk into the surface she crossed, slowing her down to a glacial pace. Her icy brown hair had, at one point, been secured at the nape of her neck in a ponytail, but had since fallen around her face in wispy strands. The light that reflected off the yellow ground pierced her pale eyes. She squinted, attempting to discern the features of the dot in the distance. A blank record played in her mind, empty of any memory that led to her current position. As she walked, Sophie wondered if she was not only asthmatic, but deaf as well.

Sophie found herself alone inside a silent, unmoving world. The skies were empty of birds, and no breath of wind provided relief from the scorching heat. She had called for help for what felt like hours. Though her vocal cords had vibrated with all their might, she made no sound. Her sweating had long ago ceased. Sophie had braced herself for a coming heatstroke, though no sun burned her skin. A searingly bright light washed over the wasteland, painting it a sick, jaundiced shade, but the sky was a flat blue. No time had passed since her arrival, for the single, slim shadow cast by the faraway dot had not moved. Yet, the dot had gained shape as she trudged on, becoming a faded, towering mansion. As Sophie walked, she grew aware of a problem with the substance beneath her feet.

With every step, Sophie's socks absorbed more of the matter beneath her. It sucked her socks into itself, always reluctant to let her go. The term "sand" didn't quite describe it. There was no grainy texture, or shift of particles as she disturbed the ground. It gave into her weight just enough to squelch beneath her toes with each step. Sophie shuddered, forcing herself to quicken her pace towards the structure in the distance.

A bolt of pain shot through Sophie's foot, causing the leg to buckle beneath her. She fell in a crumpled heap and clutched her foot, biting her lip to hold back tears. Her pulse throbbed beneath her hands, and she felt something slick oozing from her foot with each beat. Sophie pulled her hands away to reveal a shock of crimson against the pallid white of her palm. Something had torn a wide hole in her sock, revealing a large part of her foot. A gash tore through her skin, gushing over the ground. Blood pumped from the wound in time with her heart, causing Sophie's stomach to lurch. Less than a foot away, pale porcelain glinted in the light. Upon closer inspection, Sophie realized that it was a face.

The remains of a doll's porcelain head peered at her from the ground. An impish grin was left intact along with a single empty eye socket. Blood stained the broken pieces of the face as well as the mouth, making Sophie wonder how more of the face hadn't shattered beneath her foot. A chill slid down her spine, and she broke off an exposed jagged part of the mouth, tossing it into the distance. In the moment that she'd leaned over the face, Sophie had noticed that the doll's head was almost larger than that of a human's. The shadows of its empty eye socket were as big as Sophie's fist and could have easily held a snake or scorpion. Fear flew through her mind as she studied the head, looking for movement, be it real or imaginary. Finding nothing, Sophie removed her bloody sock and turned it inside out, gingerly blotting the wound with it. She hissed as the sock touched a collection of exposed nerves. The bleeding continued, so Sophie wrapped the sock around the wound twice and secured it atop her foot in a bulky knot. Sophie began to feel faint and pleaded with her body to carry her at least to the building ahead.

Struggling to her feet, Sophie brushed herself off and limped on. The spindles of the building reached higher and higher into the sky as she approached. Blackened and withering shingles hung in patches on the rooftop. The shutters of twenty or thirty windows decayed in silence, with a scant few left hanging open on broken hinges. Blotches of faded pastels peeled upwards, leaving sections of rotting wood visible from afar. Sophie's brain itched with memories buried under a thick fog.