10,000 Doors

Door 12

Her hand found the new handle much easier than most of the other doors, and she hardly paused before pulling the door open. The room was dark, but as Femie stared in, the same ethereal white light from the other rooms flashed into life.

This room was peculiarly brighter than all the others, as the walls were painted in the same white pains as the corridor. It was a tiny, cramped room and each white wall was covered completely by shelves. On top of these were many, many, porcelain dolls. Delicate, white faces wearing dainty, pastel-coloured dresses lined each shelf, and their eyes all seemed to be staring at the door, where Femie was standing.

Femie was suddenly drawn back to her Quinceañera, and the gift her grandmother had presented to her: a beautifully detailed porcelain doll that resembled her own dace, complete with her Quinceañera dress. It was an incredibly rare doll, and Femie couldn't even begin to think of how expensive it must have been. She has cherished that doll, and had displayed it with pride in her mother's living room.

For some reason, Femie was tempted to enter the room. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord, yet she made no attempt to stop them. As she crossed the threshold, she started to feel a sense of dread overcome her.

The doll's eyes were following her every move. They almost closed in around her as the room was so tightly packed. Femie tried to tell herself that it was just her imagination getting the better of her, but she couldn't convince herself with the mouse beginning to tremble in her pocket again.

Femie's head turned this way and that trying to calm herself, yet all she could feel was terror. In a final bid to keep her head straight, she violently reached out and snatched one of the dolls. She wore a beautifully sewn, royal blue dress with white frills at the hems, with a matching bonnet. Femie brushed her thumb across the doll's delicately painted, azure eyes. Painted - not real. Not moving.

Femie stared at the doll, panting as she finally accepted that it was just her imagination. She brushed the doll's soft, blonde hair back as she had messed it up when she grabbed it. Her eyes remained fixed on its face as she placed it back onto the shelf.

Femie kept facing the dolls as she backed out of the room. In spite of herself, she was still slightly afraid of them.

Once she had returned to the corridor, Femie slowly pushed the door closed. The light snapped back off as she did so, and Femie could finally take her eyes out of the room. That is, until one of the dolls was fiercely thrown through the small gap which remained. 

The same doll that Femie had held was now in the corridor with her.

Its face had changed.

The blue paint of the eyes had been scratched away, so that very little of it remained. The tiny, protruding nose has been smashed in so that there was a hole in the centre of the face, and the cracks radiated over the whole head. The beautiful dress had been torn to shreds, and small pieces of fabric lined the path where the doll had been thrown. One of its arms was hanging on by a thread and the bonnet was gone, leaving a tangled mess of straw blonde hair with a gap where it had once been.

Femie immediately understood her previous dread over the dolls. There must have been something else in the room with her, and she hadn't noticed it. She didn't dare touch the doll again, and instead locked the door, in case whatever was in there wanted out.