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The Dollhouse

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“Another woman, age twenty, has gone missing. Local police believe that a serial killer is on the loose. Nineteen girls have gone missing in the past month. Police are looking for information, so if you have any please call the number below.” I turned off my TV in a rush. I was late for work.

As I walked to work, I saw many police officers and scared faces. All these missing people turned our small town upside down. The news had put Delta Falls on the map.


Work ended late as usual. As I was walking out, my secretary, Angie, told me that my boss wanted me to bring the work I had done for him to his house. She gave me his address, and I was off.

His house was in a part of town that I usually stayed away from because it was far from my apartment. His house was at the top of the hill, and it looked very old. There was no doorbell so I knocked, and the door opened slowly. Nobody was in sight. I crept in, and a breeze blew the door shut.

It was pitch black. I began wandering around, blindly searching for a light switch. A high-pitched shrill sounded. I stood dead in my tracks. “Don’t move.” A voice said in a whisper. I followed the command.

The wind blew, knocking down something made of glass. I shrieked, and seconds later I realized it was a mistake. Heavy hands gripped my neck. I screamed for help. The grip got tighter and tighter. I was helpless, and soon I lost consciousness.

I awoke chained to a table halfway covered in clay. My boss stood above me. “Henry! Let me go!” I screamed.

His eyes were wild, and focused as he applied clay to me. I was stripped to my undergarments, and the wet clay was cold. It looked like we were in a basement, and the table I laid on appeared to be the bed of many other girls.

“Henry!” I fidgeted. “Why are you doing this?”

“Hush!”

“Let me go.” I whimpered.

“You’re the last doll I need to complete my collection.” He answered, slapping on more clay.

“What are you talking about?” I questioned.

“Every day I see you at work, and every day I think of how beautiful you are. I’ve chosen the twenty most beautiful girls I’ve seen, and I’m making dolls of them, so I can admire them every day. You are number twenty Ashlyn, my darling. I’m in love with you.”

My heart raced. He was crazy. If I didn’t get out soon I would probably die. Henry, my boss who was always kind, was a serial killer. And I, Ashlyn Davis, was his next victim.

I began screaming and shaking. He took his hands to cover my mouth. Mute screams were heard. He got really close to my face and said, “There’s no one there.”

He went back to work with the clay. It was up to my throat now. “Ashlyn, this is when I have to say goodbye.” I looked at him with fear that was spreading like wild fire throughout my body. He put clay all over my face, and it became hard to breathe. He walked away to admire his new doll. He turned the heat on to one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The basement had become a kiln. He walked up the stairs, and didn’t come back down the rest of the night.

It was hot, my breathing was heavy, and the clay was hardening. I had to think fast if I wanted to survive. “The keys are on the table to your right.” A voice whispered.

“Who’s there?” I jumped.

“My name is Cecilia. My clay is hardening, too. I’m behind you. Can you move at all?”

I began attempting to squirm. My clay was too hard. “I can’t.”

“It was worth a shot.” She sighed.

Throughout the night, it got hotter and I was surprised my sweat didn’t cool the clay. Soon the morning rolled in with a thunderstorm, and Henry greeted us.

“Good morning, dolls.” The last word rolled off his tongue like venom. He brought the now hardened Cecilia in my view.

Her face had hardened with a worried look. He took out some paint, and began painting the colors of her body, hair, and clothes.

After a few hours of his recreating process, I realized I knew this girl; Cecilia Brown, the prom queen during high school. She was beautiful, for sure.

He stopped painting, and said, “I’m running to the store for more paints, be good.”

He left, and I looked at Cecilia, and could hear her breathing slowing down. With her last breath she whimpered, “Save yourself.” Her breathing came to an end, and Cecilia was gone.

Hours later the door opened upstairs. A voice called out that was feminine. This wasn’t Henry. With all my might, I began screaming. The footsteps got closer and closer, and finally I saw a face, it was my secretary.

“Ashlyn!?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“What happened to you?”

“Henry is that serial killer!” Call the police! Save me!” I pleaded.

She ran upstairs to the phone, and moments later she ran back down. She looked at me and said, “The phone lines are down because of the storm.”

The door slammed open upstairs, Henry was home.

“Hide!” I said. She ran behind a shelf. Henry came down, and got right back to paitnting. First, he put his cell phone and keys on a table near me.

The phone was our only chance of survival, Angie knew it too. She crawled on the floor slowly and lightly. She grabbed the phone ever so carefully and crawled back into hiding. Henry had his back turned painting. Moments later you could hear her lightly talking.

“What was that?” Henry asked.

“I was singing a song I used to know.” I lied.

“That wasn’t singing! What was it?”

Seconds later you heard her again. Henry got up, and began looking around. The room was silent. Then he got near the shelf, and heard her breathing. He pulled her out. “Looks like we have ourselves a friend.” He had her by her hair, and she looked terrified.

“Let me go! It’s too late! The police are coming!” He glared at her.

“What?” He muttered with a clenched jaw. He flung her into a chair, tied her up, and began pacing. Thinking of what to do with her. Then the sound of sirens rang close.

Finally, the police ran into the house, and handcuffed Henry. They let Angie free first. Then they began scrapping clay off my weak body. As they were talking Henry into the police car, he looked at me in the eyes, and said, “Goodbye, baby doll.”



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