Friday, February 13, 2015
Friday Scary Story, February 13, 2015
Little tiny teeth.
At first I could not figure out what it was from... But, now I do.
Little sharp teeth. Doll teeth.
When I was young, I never liked her. I never played with her. She was from a second hand store. Someone got rid of her, and she ended up with me.
I used to wonder what the marks were that went up and down the walls. They were from her.
Now I see the marks on my sister. She doesn't know how she got them.
I do.
The doll has gone too far.
I have plucked them all out. They are lined up in a row. Twelve sharpened baby teeth. I wonder what child they once belonged to. A morbid Victorian way of dealing with death.
She can't hurt me, or anyone else any more.
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