Porcelain Dolls

 

The dolls were staring at me.

From their place of pride on the shelf, each porcelain doll seemed to be looking directly at me, no matter where in the room I went. It was starting to creep me out, and I hoped the little old lady I was house-sitting for got back from her trip sooner rather than later. She was supposed to be back sometime this afternoon, and had requested that I be here to help her settle back in.

Which really wasn't the big of a deal, except for how I had to be waiting in the room with all the dolls.

"Too many scary movies," I muttered, shaking my head and promising to cut back on how many of those movies I watched. At least the little old lady didn't call this her doll room, and it did have more than one doll in it.

And none of the dolls had moved so much as a hair out of place during the time I'd been watching the house. I'd checked. Repeatedly.

My phone rumbled with the tone I'd set for the little old lady, and I pulled it out to read the message.

With a sigh of relief, I put my phone away and headed for the front door. She's at the light around the corner, and wants help bringing her bags in, I thought.

As my hand turned the knob to open the door, a sound echoed out from the room I'd just left.

"Mama, mama."

"Nope," I hissed under my breath, refusing to turn around and check out the noise. The little old lady could take care of her collection, and find another house-sitter next time she had to leave town.