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.