THE DOLL SHOP

Something caught the little girl’s eye. She let go of her mother’s hand and ran back to stare at a window filled with dolls. And what dolls! They were the most human-like Sam had ever seen, and she knew her dolls well. There were so many sizes, from Barbie-like ones to big porcelain ones, all exquisitely lifelike. They were arranged around a candy-pink wooden house with three floors.

“Sam! Don’t ever run like that!”

“Mommy, look! Can we go in? Please, please, please!”

Sam’s mother, a high-powered London lawyer who’d never cared much for toys, even as a child, stared at the window for a few seconds.

“My, this is something! I’ve never seen dolls like these.”

“They are so beautiful, look at their shiny hair! Can we go in? Look, it’s still open.”

“Okay, five minutes. I need to work this evening.”

When they entered, a sweet-sour smell hit them, like jelly beans but sharper, almost cloying. The shop was from another world, intricate yet never cluttered. Imagine a cozy library with a spiral staircase leading to an interior balcony, but instead of books, there were dolls and accessories. This store surpassed any Barbie house. The walls were draped in pale pink velvet, soft and beckoning. Each doll stared, eyes glinting with unsettling hunger, their gazes tracking every step. Their hair was the most stunning feature. Whether wavy, straight, braided, or pulled into ponytails, the hair looked so natural that the dolls seemed to have just wandered out of a salon.

Sam and her mom stared for a few minutes without saying a word.

“Can I help you, ladies?” a friendly voice called from upstairs.

“Oh, hello! I didn’t see you up there. We were too mesmerized by your shop,” said Sam’s mom.

“Why, thank you!” said the old, impeccably fashionable woman, descending the stairs.

Her movements were graceful, like a dancer’s, deliberate rather than slowed by age. She wore a long black dress that traced her slender frame, revealing delicate shoulders and a sharp collarbone. A necklace with a milky white stone gleamed at her throat. Her hair was swept into a bun with loose strands framing her face, her nails short and neat, unpolished but adorned with rings on nearly every finger. Black combat boots peeked from beneath her hem.

“We are just looking. My girl was impressed with the house in the window and wanted to see what else you have.”

“Very well, feel free to browse. We’re closing in about thirty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The girls ventured up the stairs to check the dolls on the balcony. Sam felt the dolls watching her, their gaze prickling her skin like needles. She was alert, hoping they would speak to her. Her mom examined the accessories, while Sam approached the big doll at the end of the balcony. She realized it was a few inches taller than her. She wanted it, and the doll wanted her. The doll’s face was smiling, but it was a fake smile. If you’d seen enough liars, you would know. Sam didn’t.

“Mommy! I need this one!”

“Did you just choose the biggest doll in the entire store? The deal was we’re just looking.”

“But look at her! She could be my best friend. I really, really, really liked it!”

“No. We are not taking this home today, and others are prettier than this one.”

“Don’t say that! She can hear you!”

“Okay, we’re leaving. They’re closing anyway,” said Sam’s mom in her serious but calm voice.

Sam knew you didn’t push when she used that tone, but she fell silent, pouting. They climbed down in silence. Sam’s mom suddenly felt uncomfortable, almost fearful, as if the deep silence cloaked something sinister.

“Thank you for your time!”

“My pleasure. Did you girls find anything interesting?”

“I want the big doll!”

“Sam!”

“Ah, that’s… one of the oldest and biggest dolls we’ve ever created. They don’t make them like this anymore. My grandmother created that one. It’s one of a kind, so it’s not really for sale, but you can come to see it whenever you like.”

“Oh…” Sam said, disappointed.

“Thank you, we need to go now. Have a nice evening,” said Sam’s mom, grabbing her hand and rushing outside.

The air was crisp and unscented, a relief.

---

That evening, Madam Elena closed her shop but didn’t leave. Though it seemed there were no extra rooms, she slipped through a door behind the counter to her studio. After her evening routine, she returned in a black nightgown draped with a satin bathrobe, red slippers dragging on the floor. The dolls were whispering indecipherably, but Elena ignored them. She had to talk with the big one, named Claire, like her grandmother.

“Took you long enough,” said the doll, motionless, its voice echoing three times in Elena’s mind.

“Okay, Nana, I’m here now, no need to yell,” she said aloud.

“The girl who came earlier, we need her. She had perfect golden hair and milky skin. She connected with me already.”

“I figured.”

“Her soul will feed us for years,” the doll hissed.

“Yes, Nana, she’s perfect. And she’ll come back. But what about the others in the freezing room? It’s getting crowded.”

“Their souls still linger, tethered to us. Use their hair for the uglier dolls that we donate to orphanages, then once they have no more hair to offer, burn them. We will find more. They’ve served their purpose.”

---

During the night, the doll visited Sam’s dreams. It spoke of games and pranks, promising to banish closet monsters and eerie night sounds if they were together. Sam woke suddenly, unable to recall her dream exactly. It was all foggy. But she knew she had to see that doll again. She got ready for school. First grade was tough on her, so she was extra careful about her appearance, not too showy, but not too boring either.

Her mom was already making breakfast, sipping a large black coffee.

“Morning, Sam! How did you sleep?”

“Not too bad, lots of dreams. The doll visited me.”

“Oh, that giant doll? Really? What did she want?”

“To play. She’s nice.”

Her mom set down a plate of omelet, salad, and fruit. It smelled good. Sam put on her fake disappointed face, hoping her mom would suggest visiting the shop again. Her mom knew that face, but didn’t want to return. It had unnerved her in a way she couldn’t pinpoint, despite being used to tense situations. She ignored the pout.

“How are the eggs?”

“Yeah, okay. Can we go again today?” Sam pressed the need to see the doll growing.

“Oh, honey, not today. I have a new case, so I’ll pick you up from school, and we’ll come right home. Sorry.”

Sam knew it was a long shot. She stayed quiet, even on the way to school. Usually, a fifteen-minute walk, today her mom drove to emphasize the need to get home quickly. When they could, they walked to and from school; her mom’s office was not far from the school.

“Okay, we’re here. I know you’re upset about the shop. We’ll try to go another time, okay?”

“Okay… I understand,” Sam mumbled, stepping out of the car.

Her mom started to speak, but Sam spotted a classmate and ran to her, hoping she wouldn’t be brushed off. The girl looked confused but said hi and walked inside.

In the classroom, Sam sat at the second table by the window, liking the view of the outside world. She looked stunning today, like a child from a magazine or pageant. Her golden hair, loosely curled, was tied in a ponytail, giving her a mature air. Her baby-soft face, velvety and flawless, had full, pink lips and curious emerald eyes. She wore a turquoise romper, white sneakers, pink socks, and a white t-shirt—ready for a commercial.

That’s why many girls didn’t like her; she seemed too perfect, and all the boys noticed her. Some girls actually liked her but wouldn’t admit it, so they ignored her, mocked her clothes, or sometimes pulled her hair. That’s why Sam played more with boys, even though she thought boys were supposed to pull your hair. They didn’t—they taught her to play football. It was good enough for her, but she wished she could hang out with the other girls, too.

She never told anyone how the girls treated her. She didn’t want more problems for herself, so she kept the adults in the dark. It was a lesson from her parents’ ugly divorce: keep anything upsetting hidden, and they won’t fight. Sam rarely saw her father now, and that didn’t bother her. He had been mean, pushing her into pageants, slathering makeup on her, hoping that she would become a star and make loads of money. She had hated it and told her mom, sparking fights until the divorce.

The bell rang, shaking the thought.

Come to me, Sam. Today. We need you.

The words echoed three times as she wrote in her notebook. Could she reply? She wasn’t afraid. The dolls needed her.

I’ll try. She thought hard.

Good. I can hear you.

At lunch, Sam grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria and sat near the door, pretending to eat. She was too excited to swallow. The room buzzed with shouting and the clatter of trays, the air thick with the smell of chips and warm tomato soup. After ten minutes, she rose as if heading to the bathroom, but no one was really paying any attention. She remembered a gate by the football field that sometimes remained open for deliveries. It was risky, since there were usually plenty of supervisors. But during that time of the day, everyone was a bit more careless. She hung around the football field as if watching the boys play, and when they started to fight—as they always did—she tried the gate. It was open. She slipped through. No one yelled after her; everyone was trying to calm down the boys. She ran past the school, down the main road, and reached the doll shop in five minutes.

---

Sam stood before the door, heart pounding, catching her breath.

Come in, Sam.

She went in. Madam Elena stood at the counter with a glass of milk and chocolate chip cookies by the register.

“Hi, Sam! We’re so glad you’ve come! Claire needs you. But first, have a cookie and some milk if you wish,” Madam Elena said in a warm, aunt-like voice.

“Thank you, yes, please!”

The excitement of skipping class and not being caught wore off. Sam was hungry now. She blindly trusted this woman, even though she knew better than to run from school or trust strangers. Her barriers just crumbled.

She ate three cookies and drank the milk, the rich sweetness coating her tongue. Her mom rarely gave her such treats—oat cookies and soy milk were the norm. These felt real, indulgent. A softness washed over her, her eyelids heavy. She needed to lie down. Madam Elena took her hand, guiding her through a door behind the counter.

Not to her studio, but through the other door, down creaking stairs to a basement. The air turned frigid. She could see her breath. She knew that you could see your breath only during winter. A few moments later, she sank into a soft, fuchsia bean bag, the fluff enveloping her. More girls were sleeping in these bing bags there, their breath shallow, but peaceful. Sam’s eyes closed slowly.

Welcome, Sam. I’m Claire, your new best friend. We’ll be together forever now. You’ll make lots of friends here—just look around. They’re all happy to have you.

It felt like a dream, but a good one. Sam looked around, seeing children standing in a circle, smiling at her. Sam smiled back, joining the circle of beautiful girls. They were nice and wanted to play with her. They hold hands. As the cold deepened, Sam’s heartbeat slowed, her soul slipping into the dolls’ collective, forever bound to Nana Claire. She would never wake again, nor would she want to. For the first time, she belonged with other girls.

---

Madam Elena stood over the children, her pride swelling. Sam had been easy prey, desperate to belong. In the freezing room, bodies lay sunk in colorful, fluffy bean bags, drugged by her cookies. Their hair and skin preserved for doll-making, their souls fueled Nana Claire’s power. Lesser dolls took the weaker essences, but Nana thrived on the strongest, like Sam’s. The police would come soon, so it was time to flee. Elena got rid of three girls who had no hair left. Burning them was easy; the only mark of their existence was the black smudges on the concrete floor in the basement.

In a couple of hours, two trucks arrived. One was disguised as an ice cream van, the other a plain white vehicle. Her cousins drove, clearing the shop in under an hour, like dark magic. Exactly like dark magic. Only a dirty-pink, peeling wallpaper, empty shelves, and a dusty floor remained, as if the place had been abandoned for years.

---

Two days later, Sam’s mother pinned another flyer to an empty window: MISSING CHILD.

A strange, particular unease gripped her. She realized this was where the doll shop had been. She felt a sharp guilt for not wanting to bring Sam back that day. Perhaps then, Sam wouldn’t have run away from school. She wouldn’t be missing.

She peered inside, and the glass reflected Sam’s face—golden curls frozen, emerald eyes lifeless, lips whispering, Mommy, I’ve made new friends. A chorus of childish voices hummed from the walls, then fell silent.

It could just be the stress… but as the rest of the flyers slipped to the ground, the dolls’ laughter echoed in her mind.