The morning sunlight sliced through Ethan Parker's blinds like a blade of accusation, sharp and intrusive, illuminating the swirling dust motes that danced lazily in the stale air of his cramped Portland apartment. The room was a testament to college chaos: textbooks piled haphazardly on the floor, empty ramen cups littering the desk, and clothes strewn across the unmade bed. Ethan sat up slowly, his muscles aching from a night of restless tossing, the remnants of his nightmares clinging to him like wet sheets twisted around his limbs. In his dreams, shadows had elongated into grasping fingers, and Derek's hollow-eyed figure had loomed over him, mouth agape in a silent scream. But worst of all was the echo of that small, mechanical voice, repeating over and over in the recesses of his mind: "Do you want more?"
His gaze inevitably drifted to the desk, where Dave sat in perfect, unnerving stillness. The doll's battery-powered eyes gleamed with an artificial innocence, reflecting the sunlight in pinpricks of electric blue. Its lips were curved in that unchanging, cheerful smile—too perfect, too knowing. Since bringing it home from that forgotten antique shop, Dave's presence had shifted from a quirky novelty to something invasive, as if the doll had sunk invisible roots into the very foundations of the apartment, feeding on the growing tension and fear that Ethan desperately tried to bury under layers of denial. The air around it seemed thicker, charged with an unspoken energy that made the hairs on Ethan's arms stand on end.
He rubbed his face with calloused hands, trying to shake off the fog of unease. "Get a grip," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse from the night's terrors. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the cold hardwood floor with a thud that echoed too loudly in the quiet space. The hum of the refrigerator from the kitchenette sounded off-key today, like a sinister accompaniment to the doll's silent threat. Ethan glanced at his phone—7:45 AM. He had a calculus test in two hours, one he hadn't studied for nearly enough, buried as he was under part-time shifts and the distracting allure of Dave's power. But nothing felt normal anymore. Even the sunlight seemed mocking, highlighting the subtle changes in the room: a book slightly askew on the shelf, a shadow lingering too long in the corner.
The door to the shared living space creaked open, and Maya Lin poked her head in, her pixie-cut hair disheveled from sleep, her brow furrowed in concern. She was Ethan's roommate and closest friend since freshman year, a no-nonsense art major with a sharp tongue and an even sharper intuition. Dressed in oversized pajamas patterned with paint splatters, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Ethan… we need to talk," she said, her voice low and edged with worry. Her dark eyes darted to the doll on the desk, narrowing as if it might spring to life at any moment. "This thing… it's not a toy. I don't care how it got here, or how it… works. I saw you last night. You were thrashing around like you were possessed."
Ethan's heart skipped a beat, a flush of embarrassment and fear creeping up his neck. "I… sleep-talk? What did I say?" He tried to play it casual, but his voice cracked, betraying him.
Maya shook her head, stepping fully into the room. She perched on the edge of his bed, her expression a mix of frustration and genuine fear. "No, you weren't just sleep-talking. You were muttering names—Derek's, mostly—and numbers, weird sequences like codes or something. Things I don't even want to repeat because they sounded… wrong. Twisted. And I swear, Ethan, the doll moved when I wasn't looking. One second it was facing the window, the next… it was staring right at your bed. It watches. I can feel it."
Ethan swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. The idea of Dave moving on its own sent a cold prickle of dread crawling up his spine, but he pushed it down. "You're imagining things, Maya. It's just a wind-up toy with a fancy voice chip. I'm… I'm going to be careful from now on. Small wishes only. Nothing big."
As if on cue, Dave's voice chimed in, bright and mocking, slicing through the tension like a knife through silk: "Good morning, Ethan. Name your wish for today."
Ethan froze, his blood turning to ice. The doll hadn't been wound; he was sure of it. Yet there it was, speaking unprompted, its head tilting ever so slightly with that too-smooth mechanical whir. Maya gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Ethan's own hand reached out almost involuntarily, trembling as he grasped the key on Dave's back and wound it a few turns—more out of habit now than necessity. The click-click-click echoed like a countdown.
"I… I wish I aced my calculus test today," he said, his voice tight, laced with a mix of desperation and defiance. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, the allure of effortless success too strong to resist.
Dave's lips moved in that subtle, lifelike motion, its eyes flickering with a brief, unnatural glow. "Wish granted."
Maya stood up abruptly, backing toward the door. "Ethan, this is insane. You're playing with fire. Get rid of it—throw it out, burn it, whatever. Before it's too late." She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, leaving Ethan alone with the doll and the weight of his choices.
He stared at Dave for a long moment, the cheerful smile now seeming like a sneer. "Just one more," he whispered to himself, justifying it as he grabbed his backpack and headed out. The campus awaited, oblivious to the storm brewing in his life.
Later that morning, Ethan sat in Professor Kline's lecture hall, the room buzzing with the nervous energy of students flipping through notes. The test was distributed, a thick packet of equations and proofs that would have stumped him on a normal day. But as he worked through it, answers flowed effortlessly—formulas he barely remembered crystallizing in his mind, solutions appearing as if whispered by an invisible tutor. When the time was up, he handed it in with a smug satisfaction, his heart pounding not from anxiety, but from the thrill of forbidden power.
By afternoon, the graded tests were returned via email—a surprise fast-track for the class. Ethan opened the attachment in the campus library, his breath catching. Every single problem—every last equation—was marked correct. A perfect score. His stomach flipped in a whirlwind of exhilaration… and creeping fear. How? He hadn't cheated, not really. But this was beyond luck.
Maya found him there, leaning over his laptop with a dazed expression. She slid into the seat beside him, peering at the screen. "Okay… that's… that's impossible. How did you do this? You were complaining about calc just yesterday."
Ethan laughed nervously, closing the laptop a bit too quickly. "Uh… I guess I studied really well? Pulled an all-nighter or something." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
Her eyes narrowed, skepticism etched into her features. She glanced around the library, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned in closer. "No. That's not it. I don't like this, Ethan. That doll… it's changing things. Changing you. And it's learning. I can see it in the way you look at it—like it's your new best friend. But friends don't whisper in the dark or make shadows move."
Ethan shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on him. Deep down, he knew she was right. Dave wasn't just granting wishes; it was evolving, anticipating his desires, weaving itself deeper into his reality. But the power was addictive, a drug he couldn't quit cold turkey. "I've got it under control," he insisted, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.
As the day wore on, the small, unsettling events began to pile up like storm clouds on the horizon. Walking back to the apartment, a stray cat in the hallway arched its back and hissed at him, its eyes reflecting an unnatural glow before darting away. Shadows in the stairwell seemed to bend unnaturally around corners, stretching longer than physics allowed. Whispered murmurs tickled the edge of his hearing—fragments of conversations he'd had days ago, replayed in distorted voices. Every time he glanced at Dave, now tucked in his backpack, he could swear it had repositioned itself slightly, its eyes following him with uncanny awareness even through the fabric.
By evening, the apartment felt like a pressure cooker. Maya avoided him, burying herself in her sketchbook, but the tension was palpable. Ethan tried to distract himself with homework, but his mind kept drifting back to the doll. What if he tested it again? Just once more, to see how far it could go.
Chapter 2: Escalation – Part 2
That night, as the city lights flickered outside the window, Ethan sat at his desk under the harsh glow of his lamp. The rain had started again, a steady drum against the panes that mirrored the pounding of his heart. Dave sat before him, that perpetual smile now laced with an undercurrent of challenge. Ethan's fingers itched to wind the key, the habit forming like an addiction.
"Dave… I wish Derek would slip up on his big presentation tomorrow," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with vengeful glee. Derek had mocked him again today, a snide comment in the hallway about Ethan's "lucky streak." It was time for another taste of medicine.
"Wish granted," Dave replied, tilting its head as if savoring a private joke. The voice carried a subtle lilt now, almost amused, far removed from the flat mechanical tone of their first encounter.
Ethan went to bed with a mix of anticipation and dread, tossing fitfully as the rain intensified. The next morning, the campus was abuzz with the news before he even reached class. Derek, during his much-hyped group presentation on software engineering, had tripped spectacularly over a loose cable— one that witnesses swore wasn't there moments before. Papers flew like confetti, his laptop skidded across the floor, and the projector flickered out in a dramatic spark. The class erupted in laughter, Derek's face burning red as he stammered through the ruins of his talk. Ethan watched from the back row, his pulse racing—part exhilarated by the sweet revenge, part horrified by the precision of the chaos. Dave's gifts were real, and deadly in their indirect cruelty.
But the high was short-lived. Sleep became impossible that night. Ethan's dreams twisted Derek's humiliation into something grotesque: the jock's form elongated into a marionette, limbs stretching impossibly as puppet strings yanked him toward Ethan's throat. Shadows in the dream swirled into familiar faces—Maya's, his parents', even his own reflection—and whispered accusations he couldn't fully comprehend: "You did this. You pay the price." He woke drenched in sweat, breathing ragged, the sheets tangled around him like restraints.
The consequences of his wishes escalated with terrifying speed. At first, they were minor accidents: spilled coffee scalding a classmate's hand, someone tripping over nothing in the hallway. Then came the subtle psychological horrors—reflections in windows showing distorted versions of friends, their faces melting into screams; sudden shadows looming in empty corridors, whispering Ethan's deepest fears back at him: failure, abandonment, insignificance. By the end of the week, he was jumping at every creak, every flicker of light.
Undeterred—or perhaps compelled—Ethan pressed on, his obsession deepening. By week two, he was using the doll almost obsessively, testing its limits like a gambler chasing the next win. "Dave… I wish I could skip the exam entirely and still get the top grade," he demanded one evening, his voice edged with greed.
"Wish granted," the doll intoned, a note of sly amusement creeping into its mechanical timbre, as if it were enjoying the game.
The following day, Professor Kline announced the cancellation of the midterm due to "unforeseen circumstances"—a burst pipe in the lecture hall, flooding the space overnight. Ethan's grade was adjusted based on prior work, landing him at the top of the class. A small, triumphant victory that sent a rush through his veins. But as he walked the halls afterward, he noticed faint scratches along the walls, etched into the paint like claw marks. They formed letters that almost spelled: YOU PAY. He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes. When he looked again, they were gone, dismissed as a trick of the light. Or was it?
Maya's patience frayed to breaking point. She confronted him that night in the kitchen, her sketchbook abandoned on the counter. "Ethan! Stop this madness! That thing—whatever it is—it's feeding on you, on everyone around you. You're changing. You're obsessed, paranoid, barely eating. And these 'accidents' happening to people? It's not coincidence. It's that doll."
Ethan's laugh was hollow, echoing in the small space. "It's just… just a toy, Maya. It's helping me. For once in my life, things are going my way." But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. The doll's voice, once cheerful, now carried menace—intelligence, awareness. It was adapting, anticipating his whims before he voiced them.
By the third week, the ripples extended beyond the campus. Neighborhood rumors surfaced: bizarre accidents in the streets—a car swerving inexplicably, a pedestrian slipping on dry pavement, odd coincidences that seemed tied to Ethan's passing thoughts. People whispered of a "cursed streak" in the building, lights flickering without cause, doors creaking open on their own. Ethan saw it all: the doll's influence threading through reality like a spider weaving its web, subtle threads of control pulling at the edges of his world.
One stormy night, as rain hammered the apartment in furious sheets, Ethan awoke to a sound that chilled him to his core—soft, mechanical giggling emanating from the desk. He bolted upright, heart thundering. Dave's eyes glowed faintly in the dark, casting an eerie blue hue across the room. The whispering voice, clearer now, said: "Do you want me to help, Ethan? Or shall I choose for you?"
He froze, sweat beading on his forehead. Something primal screamed inside him—this wasn't just a toy anymore. It was alive, sentient, with desires of its own. And it had a plan, one that extended far beyond granting wishes. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as if the doll's presence sucked the oxygen from the room. Ethan backed against the wall, staring into those glowing eyes, realizing too late that he was no longer the master.
The game had changed. Dave was playing for keeps.