Park Bench

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I was sitting on the park bench when it happened. A little girl about six came up to me, a piece of paper in her hand. "You know I have a friend. You know what her name is? Isobel. She's my favorite doll." "Okay. That's...nice." 

I watched her fiddle with her long, chestnut hair. "Isobel is very nice. She wants to be friends with you. She will show her face to you tonight." She grinned, then got up and walked off.

I shook it off and read my book. For the rest of the day, though, the girl's words haunted me. That night, I pulled the covers near my head and was about to close my eyes when I heard breathing. I slowly opened my eyes. The last thing I remember was the doll's hollow eyes.

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