Sarah released her grip on the comforter and sighed. Just another nightmare, she thought, settling back against her pillow. Closing her eyes, she rolled onto her side and pulled the covers over her shoulder, trying to shake the nagging sense of alarm growing in the back of her mind.
It felt like she’d missed something—something important.
The rocker.
Goose bumps prickled her arms. She had left the doll in the rocker when she went to bed, and now it was empty. Sarah’s eyes popped open, a gasp hitching in her throat.
The doll stared back at her, its head resting on the pillow next to hers. Sarah yelped and scrambled to sit up, shoving the doll away with as much force as her terrified muscles could muster. The toy slid across the satiny covers and fell to the floor with a thud.
Sarah kicked the covers off her legs and reached for the bedside lamp, her fingers fumbling for the switch. The light clicked on, bathing the room in a soothing glow. Sarah glanced around the room, taking comfort in the light’s revealing glare. Her gaze swung from the walls to the mattress, eyes narrowing as they settled on a handful of fluffy, white scraps.
What is that?
She plucked a piece from the mattress and held it up. It looked like the stuff Momma kept in her sewing box—the stuff she used to fill Mr. Roar when his padding got too squishy…
A giggle stole the moisture from Sarah’s mouth. She froze, the scrap of fluff falling from her hand. The click of wood striking wood sounded from beside the bed and then stopped. Swallowing hard, Sarah crawled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side.
The doll was nowhere to be seen.
A tangle of brown yarn peeked out from under the dust ruffle. Sarah glanced up and down the length of the bed, looking for any sign of the doll. Seeing none, she reached out and snagged the knotted mass from the floor. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes as she held it up.
Mr. Roar’s mane.
Sarah dropped the tattered mane, clambered to the other side of the bed and looked over the edge, searching for the doll. Nothing there. She moved to the end of the bed and peeked around the footboard. The floor was bare.
Where is she?
Sarah shifted uncomfortably, the cold knot in the pit of her stomach twisting even tighter as her brain began to draw the obvious conclusion.
She’s under the bed.
Sarah’s imagination kicked into overdrive, envisioning a pair of wooden hands reaching from beneath the dust ruffle to clamp tightly around her ankle the moment her foot touched the floor. She shuddered, skin crawling at the thought of the doll’s touch.
What am I gonna do?
Sarah gulped and turned to look at the door. If she could get out of the room, she could curl up with Momma until morning. Momma would be more than a match for some old doll.
She squinted at the door, trying to discern the distance between the bed and salvation. One good jump from the edge of the mattress would land her halfway. A few more steps and she would be out the door. Sarah stood up and stepped to the edge of the bed, hands shaking as she hiked the long nightshirt up to her knees. She looked at the door and took a deep breath. Just get out and go to Momma’s room, she thought. Ready? One… two…
Sarah leapt from the bed and ran for the exit, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. The whisper of rustling fabric sighed through the room, spurring her on. She reached for the doorknob, gave it a twist and pulled.
The door would not open.
A scrabbling sound sent a cold shot of adrenaline surging through Sarah’s veins. She glanced over her shoulder, throat constricting as a pair of yellow eyes glared at her from under the bed. Biting back a shriek, Sarah grabbed for the doorknob and pulled as hard as she could. “Please open,” she whimpered, hazarding another glance at the bed.
The doll clambered from beneath the dust ruffle and scuttled across the room like some misshapen crab.
The door popped open with a grating screech. Sarah flung the door aside, stumbled into the hallway and skidded to a stop. She whirled around, jaw dropping at the sight of the ravenous toy tottering towards her, and lunged for the door, pulling it shut. With a soft sob, she backed away, her shoulders bumping into the wall behind her.
Can it open doors? Sarah did not think so, but then she hadn’t thought dolls could eat stuffed animals, either. She tilted her head, listening for footsteps, expecting to hear the rattle of the doorknob any second.
Minutes passed with no sound of pursuit. Sarah stepped away from the wall and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A sharp snap followed by a grinding crunch reverberated through the wood panel.
Sarah dropped to her knees and peered through the keyhole, a disgusted frown forming on her face. The doll sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, a length of flesh-colored plastic clamped between its teeth. A shudder rippled down her back.
The doll was eating her Malibu Barbie.
Sarah scrambled to her feet and bolted for the safety of her mother’s room.
A tinny-sounding wail pulled Sarah from a restless sleep. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings, disoriented by the sight of the pale green comforter and bamboo blinds. Across the room a door stood open, revealing a beige countertop littered with an assortment of shampoo bottles and shower gels. The splash of running water burbled from the room.
Oh, I’m in Momma’s room.
The water shut off and Momma exited the bathroom, drying her hands on the hem of her tee shirt. She switched the baby monitor off and sat down at the edge of the bed. “Mornin’, Sarah,” she said, leaning over to pull on her shoes.
Sarah ground a knuckle against her eye and yawned. “Mornin’, Momma.”
Momma finished tying her shoes and stood up. “Wasn’t sure if I was sharing a bed with my daughter or a mule; you kicked me pretty hard a couple of times, there.”
Sarah yawned again and frowned, trying to recall how she came to be in her parents’ bedroom to begin with. She remembered the Amanda dream and some of the scarier parts of the other nightmares she had suffered, but there was something else. Something to do with…
The doll.
The doll had devoured Mr. Roar and her favorite Barbie. It wanted to eat her. Sarah glanced up at her mother, debating whether to tell her about the doll’s carnivorous intentions. She wanted to tell her, but…
An angry wail cut through the walls. Momma sighed and regarded Sarah with a weary frown. “Your sister’s teething again,” she said, wincing at a particularly ear-splitting shriek. “Between her crying and your kicking, I barely got any sleep at all.”
Sarah bit her lip and looked at the comforter. She knew how Momma felt. “Sorry, Momma.”
“S’okay,” Momma said through a yawn. She reached out and brushed a tangled lock of hair from Sarah’s face. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. Just tired is all. I don’t mean to be so cranky.”
Momma patted Sarah’s cheek and turned towards the door. “You want some breakfast?”
Sarah slumped against the pillows. “I guess so. Can I have waffles?”
“Sure. Go get dressed and brush your hair. Waffles should be ready by the time you get done.”
“Okay.”
Sarah slipped the covers off and got out of bed. Still dazed, she shuffled out of her mother’s room and headed for the stairs, the tatters of last night’s events flittering through her mind. Maybe I just dreamed all that stuff, she mused, wrapping her fingers around the handrail. She supposed it was possible. Momma always said she had a ‘vivid imagination’. Sarah was not sure what ‘vivid’ meant, but figured it had something to do with the way things always seemed so real to her, even when they weren’t.