Linda was still asleep upstairs when Ajax slipped on his shoes, the morning already rushing past him. He glanced at the corner where the trash bin had sat the night before and felt a prickle of unease.
The doll.
He grabbed it by the grocery bag it was wrapped in, wrinkling his nose at the smudged porcelain face peeking through. "Creepy little thing," he muttered. With no time to waste, he jogged outside and tossed it into the public trash bin by the curb. The lid slammed shut, final, and he told himself the garbage men would take care of the rest.
By the time Linda came downstairs, stretching after her morning nap, Ajax was already gone for work leaving beside a note " good morning sleepy head , breakfast is in hot box .. take care of yourself and our lil girl " , she smiled rubbing her belly affectionately -----and the doll, she assumed, was gone with him.
By late morning, Linda had settled herself on the couch with a basket of soft yarn. Her fingers moved steadily, knitting the beginnings of a tiny sweater, pale blue, the stitches neat and careful. She hummed under her breath, a lullaby her mother used to sing, and the rhythmic motion lulled her into calm.
Click of needles. Soft melody. The faint thump of the baby shifting inside her.
The sound came so suddenly that at first she thought it was part of her imagination. A quick burst of giggles, light and high, somewhere down the hallway. Then the slap of small feet running across the floorboards.
Linda's hands stilled.
She turned her head slowly, the yarn slipping against her palm. Silence filled the house again. The hallway was empty, shadows stretching long in the afternoon sun.
Her heart thudded.
Neighborhood kids, she told herself firmly. They must have run past outside; she'd only thought it was inside. These old walls carried sound strangely sometimes.
Still, her throat felt dry. She set the knitting down and walked to the window, peering out at the quiet street. No children. No one at all.
The silence pressed in again, heavy as a held breath.
Linda forced herself back onto the couch, picked up the half-finished sweater, and began stitching again. The yarn scratched against her bandaged finger, but she welcomed the sting — something real, something solid.
By midafternoon, restlessness gnawed at her. She needed air.
She slipped on her shoes and stepped outside. The late sun painted the neighborhood in gold, the air cool with the promise of evening. She walked slowly down the street, one hand curved over her belly.
When she reached the house next door, she frowned. The driveway was empty. Their car — always parked neatly along the curb — was gone.
A figure moved in the yard. An old woman Linda didn't recognize, bent over a row of hedges. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like someone pruning with more care than necessary.
Linda hesitated, then called out politely, "Hi there. Are the Thompsons around?"
The woman straightened. Her face was lined, pale, her gray hair pulled back in a messy knot. Her eyes, sharp and oddly cold, scanned Linda before she gave a small, strange smile.
"They left two days ago," she said in a voice that rasped, low and scratchy. "Family vacation."
Linda blinked. "…Oh. I must have been mistaken. Thought I heard kids playing earlier."
The old woman tilted her head. The smile stayed, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Not from that house, dear."
Something in her tone made the back of Linda's neck prickle. She nodded quickly, murmured a thank-you, and turned back toward her own home, walking faster than before.
Evening pressed in heavy and still. Ajax wasn't home yet. Linda moved quietly through the nursery, folding tiny onesies and tucking them into drawers, trying to push away the unease that had nagged at her all day.
Then she froze.
A lullaby drifted through the room — faint, sweet, but unmistakable. Her heart lurched into her throat.
She turned slowly, eyes sweeping the dim nursery. The sound came from the dresser.
Her hand trembled as she reached out and lifted the baby monitor. The tape inside had somehow clicked on, playing back her own voice humming from days ago.
Linda sagged against the wall, a shaky laugh slipping out. "God… it's just me. Just the recording…"
But then she noticed the rocking chair, moving gently in the corner.
She stiffened—until her eyes landed on the window beside it, cracked open just enough to let the night breeze inside. The curtain fluttered softly, brushing the chair as it creaked.
Linda swallowed hard, forcing her breath to steady. Explanations. There were always explanations.
Still, when she shut the window and silenced the monitor, her skin stayed cold with unease.
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CREEPY VIBES FROM,
THE DOLL.