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Whispers in the night

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It's on top of the shelf in grandmother's bedroom. It's been there for as long as I can remember and it's always scared the crap out of me.

Whenever mom asked me to go get something in there, or later on when grandmother was ill and she made me carry glasses of water, I did my best to not look at the doll.

I swear I once heard grandmother speak to it, and I'm sure I heard the doll answer her. When I knocked on the door the whispers stopped and grandmothers looked to be asleep as I quietly placed a glass of water on her nightstand.

The night she died I stood outside her door, my crazy obsession with that creepy doll had given me insomnia. The whispering was intent all the way to her last breath, wheezing and troubled she kept on telling the doll secrets. I could not make them out, it drove me crazy not knowing.

After the funeral mom asked me if I wanted to move into grandmother's room. I couldn't speak a word. I stared at her. I wished she would leave me alone.

She took my silence as acceptance and now I spend my nights staring at the doll on the shelf. Refusing to hear her whispers. I won’t kill my family. I will not.


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