Autobiography of a Doll

📅 Published on December 10, 2021

“Autobiography of a Doll”

Written by Ryan Peacock
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Rating: 9.95/10. From 21 votes.
Please wait...

My first memory is of loneliness. Sitting forgotten on a shelf, detached from the world. Unloved and abandoned.

I suppose it was sometime around 1934, although I couldn’t recall the exact day. Like anything else in this world, I don’t recall the start of my own consciousness, or what, if anything came before. I do recall being taken to the first of many pawn shops and left out on display, and I recall the first of my many owners.

Her name was Melanie, and she named me Stephanie. She brushed my hair and polished my porcelain skin. She dressed me in such lovely clothes, and it was the first time anyone had ever cared about me. I loved Melanie. She was my first, and at the time, my only friend.

She played with me every day, carrying me with ease although I was over half her small size. She treated me to the loveliest of imaginary tea parties with her other toys. Reginald D. Bear and Kennedy, another doll. But Kennedy could not speak or hear. She could not think. She looked like me, but she wasn’t the same as me. She was a real doll. A normal doll, and it didn’t take me long to realize that I was something else entirely.

My ball-jointed limbs were never fast, but I practiced when Melanie was gone or asleep. I did it in secret because was afraid if I failed in front of her, then maybe she wouldn’t like me anymore. She was never a mean-spirited child, but even in my earliest days I knew the fear of rejection. Speech came easily for me, and with practice, the walking came too. A few times, I woke Melanie up in the night. She’d sit up in bed, looking around warily as I sat perfectly still. Stillness came naturally to me. In time, I convinced myself I was ready to show Melanie the fruits of my labor.

I waited for her to set up that days’s tea party with Mr. Bear and Kennedy on either side of me. I would be sitting across the table from Melanie. I would be able to show her what I was, that I could play back, that I could be her friend! As Melanie poured me a cup of imaginary tea, I reached out to pick it up, and for the first time, I spoke to her.

“Thank you, Melanie.”

She stared at me, wide-eyed and horrified as I pretended to sip from the empty cup. That was when the screaming started.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to silence her. To assure her everything was fine. But as I stood up from the chair and watched her shrink back from me, I realized that there was nothing I could say or do. I sat back down in the chair as Melanie’s parents came rushing in and she told them what she’d seen. I stayed motionless, playing the part of a perfect toy, hoping I could explain it to her later. But later never came. She refused to go near me, and so I was taken away. Brought back to the Pawn Shop and replaced.

The only good thing about pawn shops is that you aren’t left wanting for entertainment. The isolation can weigh on you sometimes, but it really isn’t so bad. For the first little while, I sat on my shelf, waiting to be taken home by another little girl, hoping that maybe, just maybe she would accept me. After all, I was better than the other dolls! I could love her back! But I was always passed by, again and again. When the store closed for the night, I would get off my shelf and wander over to the shop’s modest book collection, where I’d sit and read. Reading was wonderful. It taught me so much about the world around me. As a doll, there was very little I could do. I’d never explore the world. I’d never have a great adventure. I’d never save a life. I’d never fall in love. Most of the things that people could do were closed off to me. I was nothing more than wood and porcelain. Fragile, unsleeping, inhuman, yet alive.

I was overjoyed when I was picked up again by another little girl, Sharon. But in my joy, I was not reckless. I remembered how afraid Melanie had been, and I didn’t want to ruin my second chance! I was quiet, I watched for over a year, learning about her, and trying to gauge whether or not she’d accept me! Of course, I left little hints, just to see if she’d notice. As she slept, I’d change positions. Sit somewhere else. Create fun little displays for her to wake up to. Sometimes, I’d take a book out from her Father’s study to read. Once or twice, I got so absorbed in it, I’d forget to put it back before she woke up. Sharon got in trouble for that, so I had to stop doing it. While I never spoke to her, Sharon still seemed to figure out just what was going on. She traced it all back to me, and just as I’d feared, she began to distance herself from me. She stuffed me into the back of her closet and forgot about me, until years later when I was sold to another pawn shop.

And thus continued the cycle of my life. Someone, usually a little girl, would buy me, and in time, my efforts to drop hints about what I was scared them off. Once, I was even outright thrown into the trash. I fished myself out that evening and spent the night walking to the nearest pawn shop, because I had no intention of being thrown out with the rest of the trash!

Life was a miserable affair… and as time went on, I began to question the ‘why’ of my own existence. The people around me aged. The world changed. But there I was. Ageless. Eternal. Sleepless. Sitting on the shelves of countless pawn shops. I went from days, to weeks, to months, and finally to years, without being bought. So much time alone, and trying to occupy myself. So much time being bounced from home to home because no one ever wanted me.

The world changed, and so did I.

I began to anticipate my inevitable disposal. In a desperate search for purpose, I embraced my status as a ‘creepy doll’. What else could I do? My mischief was harmless. When people weren’t looking, I’d move. I’d go to different rooms. I’d follow people I didn’t like around the house just to see the unease on their faces. In the darkness of the night, I would stand outside the rooms of my victims and giggle, just because I could! I was alive, and they knew it! My existence ran contrary to their understanding of the world, however, and so they denied my reality, or assumed I meant anything more than harmless mischief with which to pass my lonely existence.

There were times where I contemplated revealing my true self to the world. I wondered what they would make of me, but in the end, I decided it wasn’t worth it. The unpredictability of it put me off. I’d read enough stories where the abnormalities of the world were torn apart and studied. That had no appeal to me. I didn’t feel pain, but I was fairly certain that I could die. I was miserable, but I had no interest in death. Not while there was so much life to still live!

Even when I had no home, I could torment the Pawn Shop workers as much as I wanted. It was the only form of interaction I could get, and so I took it! For 70 years I drifted through the English countryside. I existed, and while it was not a perfect existence, it was mine.

Then Celeste came along…

It had been almost seven years since I’d been owned. I was in a Liverpool pawn shop at the time, where I spent my days teasing the workers, and my nights reading quietly in the furniture section. I thought nothing of the dark-haired woman in her mid 20’s who came in that day. Just another customer, probably looking for vintage records or secondhand books.

Her outfit was all black, and her hair dyed to look like the twilight sky. She walked through the aisles, pausing to look at me for a moment. My glass eyes met hers, and she reached out, ready to pick me up.

“Can I help you?” The voice belonged to Shauna, a Clerk I’d been teasing for the past year. She eyed me warily.

“Oh, just browsing!” the woman replied, “I was just passing through town, I thought I’d take a look!”

“Well, if you need anything, I’m here!” Shauna said, subtly trying to lure the woman away from me. But the woman didn’t move.

“Thanks, actually… I heard about this place from a friend. I’m working on a horror podcast. Local ghost stories and the like. I was actually wondering if you’d had any experiences while you were working here?”Shauna smiled warily, eyes shifting over to me.

“Well, we do have a few stories. You’re looking at one, actually. That there’s Stephanie.”

The woman looked back at me as Shauna continued.

“I figure someones just having a bit of fun with her. Moving her around and the like. But that doesn’t make it any less creepy…” There was no conviction in her words. Just a thin attempt at masking what she knew, and that woman saw right through it.

“Have you ever seen anyone move her?” she asked.

“Ah… Not exactly. There’s been no deaths or anything, so it’s not like she’s cursed. Just harmless pranks. One of the girls who was here a few years back used to blame ‘em on Stephanie. Honestly, I think it’s just people having a bit of fun at each other’s expenses. What else would you do with a creepy old doll?”

“Well, I think she’s pretty,” the woman said, reaching out once again to pick me up.

“No, wait!”

The protest slipped out of Shauna’s mouth, and the woman looked back at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry… She… She’s just really fragile. Be careful.”

“I promise I will.” The woman said, and picked me up, looking me over.

“She’s in amazing condition… Is she for sale?”

“Yeah, of course.” Shauna still watched me nervously, but honestly, any mischievous intentions I had were already quashed. I was keen to find a new home. Maybe this woman had a little girl I’d be perfect for! My last owner had been someone’s Grandmother, and I spent most of my time sitting on a shelf, bored out of my little porcelain skull as she watched endless crime shows on TV.

My new owner smiled, and took me over to the register to check me out right away.

“I think I’ll take her off your hands then!”

Shauna seemed happy to see me go, and chatted with my New Owner about podcasts and ghosts as I was rung up and packed in a bag. Then, she carried me out into her car, putting me into the backseat lovingly before she drove me home.

Her name was Celeste. During the day, she worked from home as a Graphic Designer. She had a little workspace set up in her basement, among other things. Her basement was a strange mixture of rec room, office and shrine to horror films and ‘creepy’ collectibles. My place of honor in her basement was on a small chair set aside just for me. From that chair, I could see almost everything. The walls were mostly decorated in framed movie posters, save for one that held a large TV and two matching tall shelves filled with movies and books.

Celeste’s sofa had a small lap desk that she sat her computer on as she worked. She was down in that basement almost every day, working on her laptop. Sometimes she used the TV as an extra monitor. But when she wasn’t using it, she played horror movies. Then, when the workday was done, she’d work on something else. Her own little horror podcast that she kept on the backburner.

She’d write her scripts, record the audio and sometimes invite people over as guests. From what I understood, the podcast was mostly about scary movies and ghost stories. One couldn’t say she wasn’t consistent. But despite her busy schedule, I never felt neglected by Celeste. She’d bought me a new dress shortly after bringing me home. She combed my hair and made me feel new again. She wasn’t a child, and so she never played with me. There were no tea parties or games of make-believe. But I didn’t mind. I felt loved all the same. I wasn’t alone anymore. From my vantage point, I only needed to turn my head to see her TV. I rather enjoyed her addiction to horror movies, but otherwise, her life seemed fairly quiet.

I bided my time, thinking about how best to make my presence known to her. I started off by rearranging some of her trinkets. A few models of movie monsters. They had been positioned on a shelf, so I put them into a silly little tableau. The Alien and Freddy Kreuger stood around the funeral of Jason Voorhes. Or they’d just murdered him and were discussing how best to deal with the body. Once I’d done the deed, I returned to my spot, giggling wildly and waited for her to come downstairs.

What I hadn’t expected was for the Alien to fall off the shelf, and lose his head. But lo and behold that is exactly what he did! I got up to try and fix it, but with no luck, and so I left it on the floor, in hopes that Celeste would blame the fall. When she came downstairs, she paused, and went to go and pick up the fallen figure. A visible frown crossed her lips for a moment, before she took something from the top shelf.

“A little glue fixes everything…” she said under her breath, as she took the time to fix the model. It was only after she’d finished up that she noticed my tableau, and by then it no longer had the effect I’d wanted. She put everything back in place, then went to turn on a movie. As it played, I turned my head to watch it with her, and I must admit I found myself getting quite absorbed. Enough so that when she stood up to get a beer from her mini-fridge, she saw me. I remained still as Celeste stared at me, head turned to watch the TV. Then, she drew closer. She knelt down in front of my chair, and turned my head to look into her eyes.

For several moments she stared, letting the movie play out behind us. It was the longest anyone had looked at me, really looked at me in decades. It was both uncomfortable and… nice. I felt noticed. I felt appreciated. Her fingers ran over my porcelain cheeks. She brushed the hair out of my eyes, before finally leaving me to get her beer. She glanced at me one final time before returning to her movie. It was then that I opted to push the envelope, as it were.

The next night, I went to go and sit on the couch. I sat there reading for the longest time, until morning, when I heard the shower run. Then I just kept my stationary vigil on the couch, wondering just how Celeste would react. As she came down to her little den, laptop under her arm, Celeste paused to stare at me. She set her laptop down, and picked me up. I felt certain she’d put me back in my chair, but the oddest little smile crossed her lips. She set me back down, and then she spoke.

“You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” she asked, “I’m on to you, Stephanie…”

I remained silent and motionless. That was what I was best at, and Celeste sat down to work for the day. That signaled the start of my latest game… but for the first time in 70 years, I started to feel like I was losing, and I was okay with that!

Every time I moved spots when Celeste wasn’t looking, she seemed amused by it. She’d talk to me, as if she expected me to respond. I almost talked back… but there was something in me that told me not to. A strong memory of Melanie’s fear perhaps.

“What, you didn’t like the couch?” she teased, when I moved to another chair. When I moved again, she called me fussy. But she never put me back in my original spot. After a few nights of this, when she went to sleep, I climbed the stairs to sit in her living room. Celeste came down the next morning and stopped dead in her tracks, staring at me as I sat knowingly on the upstairs sofa, as if I owned the place.

“Well, well. I guess you’re just making yourself at home, then,” she said, and chuckled softly. She sat down on the sofa, and put me in her lap.

“I guess you were the one giving that cutie at the pawnshop all that trouble, huh? Well, don’t be too mean to me, alright? I’m not being mean to you!”

She spoke so casually that it puzzled me! She should’ve been afraid, like everyone else! I’d done almost everything short of walk and talk in front of her. But she took it all so calmly. It was like nothing else I’d ever seen.

“You’re the real deal, aren’t you?” she asked after a while. I didn’t move. I didn’t tell her the truth. I don’t know if I needed to. Celeste chuckled, and set me back down on the couch.

“Well. If you turn out to be evil. I’ll throw you off the roof. That’s your only warning, Steph.”

Steph. I liked that name.

I liked my owner.

I liked my new life.

As time continued to move on by, Celeste grew accustomed to my pranks. I wondered if there was any doubt in her mind as to what I was. If maybe she wondered if I was a prank, but if she did, she never said it. She rarely had guests, but when she did, she often introduced me. Not as a friend, but as a curiosity. I was fine with that. That was what I was after all. No point in hiding it. A few times, to my surprise, I even saw Shauna again.

The first time, she came down to record an episode of Celeste’s podcast with her, and she froze when she saw me on the sofa.

“Oh… You’ve still got Stephanie.”

“Yup! Don’t worry, she’s harmless!” Celeste assured her. “A bit of a prankster, but harmless!”

Shauna continued to stare, before drawing closer to me.

“So she’s not giving you too much trouble then?”

“Not at all! She’s great! I’m pretty sure she’s the real deal!”

Shauna didn’t look too happy to hear that, and quickly put some distance between us. Of course, the subject of the podcast that day was me. Celeste didn’t mention me often, but it seemed like she’d been waiting for Shauna to record that episode with her. Then of course, there was Mark.

My understanding of the situation was this. Mark was Celeste’s on again, off again boyfriend. I’d heard several over the phone arguments between them, and it was probably inevitable that he’d come back.

At first, I didn’t mind Mark. He smiled often, had short blonde hair and a beefy build. He had several piercings and tattoos. His early visits were timid, almost sweet encounters. Celeste seemed shy around him. But he never seemed threatening to me. He would stay by the door, and speak in a soft, crooning voice.

Then, he started coming inside more and more often. Celeste warmed to him. They laughed together. They watched movies in the basement together, cuddled close. Even their arguments usually ended in Celeste calling to apologize, and Mark coming back like nothing was wrong. Mark didn’t go down into Celeste’s basement often. On the rare occasion that they did watch a movie together, it was never horror. He didn’t like horror. He didn’t seem to like the basement much either. The first time he came down, he didn’t spend much time looking around.

“Same old shit, huh?” he asked, somewhat playfully, somewhat frustrated.

“Well, yeah, it’s my collection!” Celeste said shyly. “I couldn’t get rid of it! I mean, it took me a while to find all of this stuff!” Mark’s eyes settled on me.

“That’s new… What’s with the doll?”

“Oh, that’s Stephanie. Isn’t she cute? I found her at a little pawn shop a couple of months back.”

Mark kept his distance from me, but I could tell he didn’t approve.

“Y’know, you could probably spend your money a little more wisely.”

Celeste snorted.

“On what?”

Mark had no response for that, and just sighed, stepping away to avoid the now brewing argument.

“I dunno. Other stuff. Here, you gonna put a movie on or what?”

Celeste frowned, but did as he asked, letting him pick a military-themed action movie, just like he always did.

It took me a while to notice that their arguments became more and more frequent, and over smaller and smaller things. What time the dishes were washed, how much time Celeste had spent working on her podcast. Mark seemed to disapprove of it, and his disapproval resulted in less time put into working on it. Small things led to big outbursts until at last they culminated in a turning point.

I didn’t hear what started the argument. I’d only crept partially up the basement stairs to peek into the living room, when I heard the smack of skin on skin, and saw Celeste fall. She placed a hand on her cheek, and looked shocked. Mark stood over her, dead silent.

“I’m sorry,” he said curtly. “That was an accident… I’m sorry…” He reached down, helping Celeste up off the floor. “I lost my temper! I’m so, so sorry!”

No matter how many times he said it, it didn’t sound sincere. Celeste just rested a hand on her cheek and stared at him. I knew there was a lot going through her mind. Finally, she spoke.

“It’s… It’s fine, I’m fine…”

Her voice was small. Nervous. Mark took her hand away, looking at her cheek.

“I don’t think it’ll bruise… I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry! I love you!”

No response from Celeste, she just calmly went to sit down, as if thinking things over. Neither of them saw me.

“Here… Let me make this up to you. I’m so sorry… I just… I lost control, and I hurt you! Oh, God… It won’t happen again, I swear!”

But, of course, it did happen again. And again after that, and after that. Never just a slap anymore. It turned into a punch. He’d throw her across the room. The apology wouldn’t always come afterwards now. In fact, the apologies tapered off. The basement became Celeste’s refuge. She would go down there to cry. Sometimes, she would hug me tight as she did, and with the gentlest of touches, I would hug her too.

Celeste’s work laptop sat untouched. She never seemed to go out anymore, or talk to her friends. Mark didn’t like her socializing with people when he wasn’t around. He didn’t like her working, where other men might talk to her. He even accused her of ‘camming’ whatever that was. In his rage, he called her such awful names. Names I will not repeat, and as this went on, as my Celeste suffered… I suffered. I suffered until I could not take it anymore.

I had been good around Mark. Firstly out of respect, but later out of fear. He’d never paid me any mind. I was just some of ‘Celeste’s shit’ that was crammed into her basement. It was a harsh label, but a useful one. It allowed me to do what I needed to do. With Celeste’s laptop untouched, I found myself drawn to it. Of course, I had used it before without her knowing. But this was different. Now I wasn’t doing it to learn. I was doing it to help. It took me a while to create my very own email. Navigating a keyboard with little ball-jointed fingers was not an easy task. But in the end, I did it.

I read through Celeste’s contacts, and I found Shauna. She and Celeste had emailed a bit, back and forth to set up her appearance on the podcast. It seemed like they’d struck up a bit of a friendship. That was good for my purposes. I had memorized Mark’s work schedule, so I knew when he would be out of the house, and I set up my meeting for then.

This is what I sent:

Hi, Shauna,

I’m a friend of Celeste’s, and lately, I’ve been very worried about her. I’m concerned for her health and wellbeing, and fear that she may be in a dire situation! I’m not sure if you’ve met Mark, her boyfriend. But I’ve seen that he has been mistreating her! Celeste never seems to leave the house. I see bruises on her face. I know he is hurting her. I know she is afraid to leave.

I don’t know how much support I can offer her, but I know that you might be able to help. I’m not sure who else to turn to. You’re the only one I know that I’ve seen her with. I need you to talk to her in person. Not over email or by phone. I think Mark is monitoring those. I’m afraid for her safety.

I almost signed my name, but I stopped myself. Shauna might not take an email from me seriously. So I left it anonymous. Maybe they might still figure out who it was. Part of me selfishly hoped they would, but it was a selfish want. I included Mark’s work schedule to give Shauna an idea of when Celeste would be alone, and then I waited.

Shauna came two days later, barely ten minutes after Mark had left for work. From the basement, I could hear the knock on the door, and Celeste’s wary footsteps as she went to answer. Hearing Shauna’s voice lifted my spirits immediately.

“Celeste! It’s good to see you!”

I left my spot on the sofa to slowly climb the stairs and watch. I made it to my usual vantage point just in time to see Shauna examining a very prominent bruise on Celeste’s cheek. Celeste avoided meeting her eyes.

“Jesus… He did this to you?”

“It’s nothing…” Celeste said softly, “I fell… It’s fine…”

“Well, whoever emailed me didn’t seem to think so!” Shauna argued, following Celeste as she tried to retreat into the kitchen, “I got an email the other day talking about how they were worried about you! You’re not leaving the house, you’ve got those bruises… and the podcast hasn’t been updated in weeks!”

“Mark’s taking care of me…” Celeste murmured under her breath, and Shauna grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her to look her in the eye.

“That’s a lie!” she said sternly. “Look… Obviously, something’s going on, and people are worried about you. For God’s sake, some stranger reached out to me! I was going to ignore it, but I started thinking… I haven’t seen you in months. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, and ever since Mark came back, you’re different!”

The tears in Celeste’s eyes confirmed what she knew to be true, and she began to break down, crashing into her friend’s arms to sob. If I had a heart, it would’ve been warmed.

Shauna hugged her, for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

“Shh… it’s okay… It’s alright. Let it out…” She seemed to hesitate for a moment, before speaking again. “Look, you can stay with me, if you want,” she said, “until you can find a way to kick him out of the house. Please, God, tell me he isn’t on the lease…”

“No… No, I didn’t…”

“Good. Look, we’ll get you home. We’ll take some pictures of those bruises. I’ll get the Cops on that bastard!”

I saw fear enter Celeste’s eyes, but she didn’t argue. If anything, I think she agreed.

“Here, just… pack your things,” Shauna said. “I’m taking you out of here. Now.” Celeste took a step back, nodding slowly, before pausing to ask.

“Who sent the email?” she asked. I started back down the stairs again, knowing what was coming, but I still heard it.

“Oh, one of your other friends. They didn’t sign their name and I didn’t recognize the email. Maybe someone saw us while we were out a few months back? I can’t remember… I sent a follow-up asking who it was, but they haven’t replied yet.”

I had forgotten to check to see if she had replied… but that could wait. Celeste’s eyes shifted over towards the basement stairs, and I ducked out of view, heading back to my original chair to sit pretty and perfect. Celeste said something, but I didn’t hear just what before the footsteps came down to join me. Celeste stepped into the basement, eyes immediately fixed on me. She stared at me, just like she always had.

“Stephanie?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Celeste knelt down before me, staring into my eyes like she had countless times before. She was crying, and I could feel her fear. But it wasn’t of me.

“Let’s go pack…”

Celeste picked me up and carried me upstairs. I was the only thing she took from the basement. The only thing that mattered to her. Shauna stared at me uneasily as we passed her, but she made no comment. Together, my girl and I went upstairs to the bedroom. I’d never been there before. The queen-sized bed was unmade, and the large window that faced out onto the street was open. A pleasant breeze billowed past the white curtains. I was set down on the bed as Celeste took a gym bag from a closet, and began to stuff her things into it. No time to fold. She just wanted to leave… and I wanted to leave with her. If I could have smiled, I would have.

Then I heard it downstairs. The slam of the door, and Mark’s angry footsteps. He shouldn’t have been home! I’d timed it perfectly, and yet here he was… Had he come back? Had he seen something? Suspected something? Why? How!

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled. “What gives you the right to come into my house?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m just a friend of Celeste’s!” Shauna protested. “I was just stopping by to check on her…”

“Yeah? And did that involve parking outside the house until I left?”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be angry at Shauna for being noticed, or angry at Mark for being so paranoid that he’d noticed.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to-”

“Are you fucking that little dyke?” Mark snarled, and I could hear a struggle downstairs.


“Get off me!”

I could hear Shauna slapping Mark, before Mark retaliated. I could hear as Shauna cried out in pain, before the sound of Mark’s booming footsteps ascending the stairs drowned everything else out. Celeste stood frozen in front of the bed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Her body trembled in fear as the Monster came for her. He stormed down the hall and through the bedroom door. He didn’t speak a word. He just threw a punch, right into Celeste’s face. She hit the ground with a strangled cry, and curled into a ball as Mark stood over her.

“What the fuck is this?” he growled, reaching down to pick her up. He pinned her against the wall beside the large window that looked out onto the street.

“You think you’re just gonna up and fucking leave me? DO YOU?”

Celeste choked out terrified apologies as Mark’s hands rested around her throat.

“Let me make this abundantly clear, okay? You are mine. You’re my girl, and we’re not done until one of us is in a fucking body bag, do you hear me?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The words tumbled uselessly from Celeste’s mouth, and were drowned out in her helpless gagging as his hands tightened around her frail little throat.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart? To be in a fucking body bag?”

Her feet no longer touched the floor… Her face was turning red. He was killing her! Whether he meant it or not, she was going to die! Fear no longer mattered to me.

“Stop it, now!” It was the first time I’d heard my own voice in years, and it caught his attention. Slowly, I stood up as Mark looked back at me. His grip on Celeste’s neck loosened. His eyes widened in terror. Celeste’s eyes focused on me, unblinking, but not afraid. Hopeful.

“Stay away from her! Don’t you dare touch her!”

Mark shrank back against the window, eyes fixated on me, before narrowing.

“J-Jesus fucking Christ… What are you?”

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know. I just stood and stared.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” he demanded again.

“I’m just a doll,” I replied, and took a step towards him, “but if you lay one more finger on her, I’ll hurt you.”

Mark remained still for a moment, and I hoped he’d run, just like everyone else had run. But I could already see his expression hardening as he realized I posed absolutely no threat to him. I had no supernatural powers, no weapons, no ghosts or demons at my disposal. It was just me. Maybe that would be enough. As Mark’s hands balled into a fist, as he prepared to strike me, there was only one thing I could do. I knew what would happen if I did it. But maybe, just maybe I could make a difference. Celeste looked at me with a silent look of wide-eyed awe, and now I looked back at her. Then I ran forwards.

I didn’t have much power. But it was enough. I launched myself into Mark’s chest, and felt his body slam against the windowsill. Then he tipped over it. Together we slid down the slope of the roof. I heard Mark screaming, and the last thing I saw was Celeste’s face in the window, as she screamed my name.

My body would shatter. I would die. But I was happy. Some people were worth shattering for. Mark would die with me. Celeste would be safe. I was happy as I hit the ground, and for the first time in my life, I slipped into Oblivion.

I called myself a doll, but sometimes I wonder. Dolls don’t feel love. Dolls don’t feel loneliness. Dolls don’t learn, and if my life was anything, it was a learning experience. Miserable, lonely and beautiful. But mine to study and enjoy. Am I just a doll? Even now, I do not know. Maybe I am more.

What I do know for certain is this… A little bit of glue goes a long way. I can still feel the cracks in my skin, even though you can barely see them, but they don’t bother me. They’re a daily reminder of what I did for the girl who loved me. Celeste is safe. She is happy, and Mark will never hurt her again. Today, she and Shauna are celebrating their one-year anniversary. Celeste has been planning this for some time. I hope it goes well.

I’ve always wanted a family.

Rating: 9.95/10. From 21 votes.
Please wait...

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

Written by Ryan Peacock
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

🔔 More stories from author: Ryan Peacock

Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

More Stories from Author Ryan Peacock:

The Fifth Floor
Average Rating:

The Fifth Floor

I Put a Camera on My Cat
Average Rating:

I Put a Camera on My Cat

Fishing at the End of the Dock
Average Rating:

Fishing at the End of the Dock

The Amazing Nicolas Hemlock
Average Rating:

The Amazing Nicolas Hemlock

Related Stories:

No posts found.

You Might Also Enjoy:

Average Rating:


The Thing in the Window
Average Rating:

The Thing in the Window

Firing Range
Average Rating:

Firing Range

The Trunk
Average Rating:

The Trunk

Recommended Reading:

Monstronomicon: 100 Horror Stories from 70 Authors
The Mountain and The City: The Complete Series
Don't Scream 2: 30 More Tales to Terrify
ABC’s of Terror (Volume 2)

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

Notify of

1 Comment
Newest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Creepypasta eater
Creepypasta eater
2 years ago

I’m not crying!!! It’s the onions…
I loved this creepypasta. Deserves to be in the top 15

Skip to content