7
I didn’t see the doll move. Instead I heard it. First it was the thump of porcelain on the hardwood while I was brushing my teeth. I spat toothpaste into the sink, wiped my mouth, and walked back into the living room, toothbrush still in hand like it might defend me.
She was sitting on the armrest of the couch.
I hadn’t left her there. I’d left her in the hallway cabinet, locked behind two doors and a dusty box of winter scarves I hadn’t touched since last February. I stared at her. She stared back.
Her dress was cleaner than it had been. Much more whiter. Her black rose was gone.
“You don’t need to do the theatrics,” I said, voice sounding a little too loud in the quietness of the house.
She blinked.
Swear to god. Her eyelids fluttered, just once, slow and mechanical, but it was
