Ragdoll Maker

One

Cynthia climbed upstairs excitedly, her long black hair whipping around as she charged upwards. Her small child legs carried her up one step at a time as her soft blue dress brushed against her knees with every movement. Her mother and father walked up quietly behind her. Her father's eyes were dark from lack of sleep and her mother moved sluggishly. Cynthia didn't mind, however, and waited patiently as the top of the steps for her parents to catch up with a huge grin on her face.

Recently, Cynthia's parents had bought her a new doll. It had long plastic blonde hair and a permanent grin. Cynthia actually didn't like it too much, as its plastic eyes made her feel creeped out, but she was glad that her parents would finally get to hang out with her and decided to put up with the doll anyway. Ever since they moved, Cynthia's parents have had a huge workload and no time to spend with their seven year old daughter, often leaving her alone in the house at night. And Cynthia was having a hard time talking to the other children at her school, so she didn't have any friends either. But finally, her parents had a small break and had agreed to spend it with their daughter.

She ran to her room and sat on the floor, the doll already in her hand. Her mother sat down in front of her, and her father was about to take a seat before his phone started ringing. He grumbled a short apology and fished the phone out of his pocket. Cynthia's heart fell. Every time dad had a phone call, he would have to go back to work or do some stupid paperwork at home.

"Hello?" her father spoke into the phone. An angry- or maybe just loud- voice shouted on the other end about something Cynthia didn't understand. Her father, on the other hand, understood perfectly fine as his eyes widened and he growled profanities under his breath. "Okay, yes- yes, I'll be there- yes, I'll get it done- I understand, sir- okay. Bye," he stammered, hanging up and letting out a deep sigh. "Honey? What's wrong?" Cynthia's mother asked.

"I can't believe it- all of my work! Gone!" her father exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "My computer at work got some kind of bug. All of my files have been deleted, and I have to go get them back somehow. Most of them should be on my backup, but some of it I'll have to redo..." he groaned, laying a hand over his eyes. "Not to mention all of the emails I'll have to send to the other departments to make sure they still have what I've sent them..."

Both of her parents stood up, and Cynthia grasped at her mother's dress with pleading eyes. "Can't you at least stay?" she begged. Her mother sighed and pulled the child's hands away. "Sorry, sweetie, but daddy can't do all of this on his own. Mommy's gonna have to go help, so we need you to sleep right now while we're out. But we can play with your dolly tomorrow!" her mother promised with a hopeful smile. "No! You always say that!" Cynthia cried out, throwing the doll on the floor. "You never get to play with me! And I don't even have friends to play with anymore!" she wailed. "I wish we never moved!"

Her father sighed. "Cynthia, I'm sorry, but I do what I do because I love you..." he murmured. Cynthia huffed and ignored him, jumping into her bed and throwing the covers over her head. Her parents gave each other a look and left, turning the lights off and closing the door before leaving.

They only returned after two in the morning. Both of them were drained and exhausted as they pulled up into the driveway. Her mother looked up and gasped, both in astonishment and anger. Cynthia's bedroom light was on, and they could faintly hear her giggling. Livid, her mother rushed inside and stormed into her child's room. Cynthia gasped, turning to her mother with wide eyes and quickly hiding something under the covers. "Hi mommy," she squeaked. Her mother crossed her arms and glared. "What are you hiding?" she asked sternly. Cynthia's hands shifted for a moment as she looked down with a guilty expression. "Give it to me," her mother demanded.

Cynthia sniffed, holding back tears that threatened to spill over her eyes as she held out the item in question. It was a rag doll, with a fair complexion and long black hair made of yarn. The doll wore a blue dress made of some kind of soft fabric, and had a mouth that was stitched into a frown. The doll's button eyes seemed to stare up at the ceiling blankly. What threw her mother off the most, however, was the fact that the doll had an uncanny similarity to her daughter. Her mother blinked in confusion before looking back to her daughter. "Where did you get this?" she whispered.

"My friend gave it to me," Cynthia answered meekly. Her mother blinked once more. "What friend? And when did they get here?" she asked, confusion spread over her features.

"He calls himself the Ragdoll Maker," Cynthia explained, not making eye contact with her mother. "He came here right after you guys left and promised that we could be friends. He said that he would come back later and he would make me his best friend, and show me his other friends."

A deep fear struck in her mother's heart. Someone had somehow broken into her house while she was away, and given her daughter such a creepy doll. Of course, Cynthia could have been letting her imagination get the better of her, but then how could she explain the sudden appearance of the doll? To hear that he would be returning at some point terrified her. "You're gonna sleep with mommy and daddy tonight, okay honey?" her mother whispered. Cynthia pouted. "But what if my friend comes back tonight?" she asked. Her mother glared. "That man, whoever he is, won't lay a hand on you!" her mother hissed angrily, pulling her daughter away. She threw the doll into a corner of the room, causing Cynthia to wail in dismay and try to pull herself away.

With her daughter safe in her room, Cynthia's mother took time to speak to her husband about the matter. They decided to call the police; who, unfortunately, could not find any conclusive data. Whoever had entered must have been able to leave without a trace. They ruled it off as a child's imaginary friend, but could not explain the doll.

Cynthia's mother was not so easily convinced. Someone had spoken to her daughter and was planning on coming back.

Night after night, Cynthia's mother would be awoken in the middle of the night by a faint tapping at the window to her daughter's room. Night after night, Cynthia's mother would run over to scream at the mystery person to stay away, only to find an empty room. Night after night, the Cynthia doll would be sitting on Cynthia's bed with a note that read: "Friend? Where are you?"; even if her mother was sure she had thrown the hellish doll out the window and ripped up the note. And every time in the morning, Cynthia would beg her mother to be able to sleep in her own room again so that she could see her friend. The tapping on the window would get more insistent with every passing day, keeping her mother awake at night in fear. Sometimes, Cynthia's mother would even be sure that she could hear footsteps in the hallway. Cynthia's father would always dismiss his wife's fears as paranoia and overprotectiveness however, being unable to hear the noises that rang in her head like an unending alarm.

Slowly, however, the noises began to quiet down and eventually stop. The doll and the note stopped mysteriously returning to Cynthia's room. After a few days without incident, Cynthia's father had finally convinced her mother to allow their daughter to sleep alone in her old room again, on the condition that they would at least keep a baby monitor in the room.

Around midnight, Cynthia's mother was awoken by a strange noise. It sounded like a window being closed. She quickly awoke her husband and ran over to Cynthia's room, only to be greeted with an unholy sight.

Their daughter was lying on the bed, the covers neatly made. Blood had splashed on the walls and bed sheets. Cynthia's mouth was stitched up into a smile, blood still pouring out of the wounds. Large black buttons had been stitched into her eyes. A large bloody gash was torn into her chest; one that had been stitched closed and filled with cotton. And sitting on her chest, were two rag dolls. One of them was the one of Cynthia, but with a bloodied smile sewn on her face instead of a frown and stitches over her strangely enlarged chest, having a strange lump that seemed to stain the doll with red from the inside. And sitting right next to that doll, was one with brown hair, pale skin and stitches across the arms and legs. The doll wore a green t-shirt and brown pants. One of the doll's most striking features, however, was its mismatched eyes. Its right eye was a black button while its left was olive green. Cynthia's mother looked down, finding a note. She wept once she read it, dropping to her knees.

The police were called. Once they arrived, both of the dolls had disappeared. All that was left was the body, which had the heart torn out as the police had discovered, and the note.

Now she won't ever be alone again!
~The Ragdoll Maker