The China-Faced Doll

My recital now jumps to the recent past, about four years ago to the present day, where I lived in the great city of Thraughan with my wife and three-year-old son. Our large house was situated in the north most suburb of the city. It was a depressing time in the city, as it had been grasped by a chain of suicides. The first of these suicides was a gravedigger found suffocated in an empty grave. After this there had been at least one reported suicide a day for the last three weeks. Others included an accountant, a little girl, a florist and a distant relative of mine.

All these deaths were occurring in the northern suburbs of the city. Although they were suicides and people were doing them of their own free will, you can’t help feeling in danger and vulnerable. People were saying that the city was cursed and that it was all a big jinx. Other, more logical, people said that there was a serial killer making it all look like suicides. But police and forensic scientists were certain, and all evidence proved it, that there was no other person involved except the victim of depression.

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The part I played in these events began at my discovery. After a long battle of figures at the office I stopped off to buy a flourish of flowers as it was the five-year anniversary of being married to my wife. On purchasing the bloom I found that near the bottom there was a small doll of blazing red hair and a priceless china face. It was very worn, it’s flaming locks were grubby and singed. The tattered clothes marked the ancient age of the doll.

I should have returned it, but on gazing at it’s child like eyes, one of which was loose and rolled about in the socket when the other was fixed, I fell victim to it’s hypnotic innocence and felt that I had to keep it. I came home to my loving family and spent the rest of the evening in the company of my wife after cleaning and giving the doll to my son as a toy. The best news of the day was that there had been no more reported suicides. Had the curse come to a cease? The day after shall be a day that will never leave my recollection. The same one that haunts my thoughts at day and my dreams at night, and will do so forevermore.