The Girl With the Blindfold

I just received an email from a psycho that said he wants me to create a doll in the form of his daughter who he murdered. I don't want to do this, but, what choice do I have?

The Girl with the Blindfold

            A lot of times, we don’t understand the impact of our actions until it’s too late. This is something that everyone should know, and it is something I wish I did know on that morning I received a request in the form of an email. I remember it clearly as if it were yesterday. I got out of bed, groggy as usual, and walked over to my computer to check my email before breakfast. Nothing different, it was just the same thing I did every morning. I opened up my laptop, and slowly pulled up my email account.

One new message: Those three words are what caused a skip in my heartbeat. I was excited, because nobody has requested something to be made since my neighbor’s birthday party, last year.

            I’m sorry, now would be a good time to tell you about myself. I create dolls, not for a living, but, it is my passion, and I do genuinely enjoy it. That’s why when I received that email I felt the same feeling as being asked out on a date by someone cute. I couldn’t ignore it. I looked at the request, closely, and suddenly found myself feeling all of these emotions at once that I couldn’t control. Fear, sadness, sympathy, and joy all thrashed around inside me, playing a vicious game of tug of war with my heart. Here, this is the email I was struggling with.

Tom,

I’ve been searching for a long time for someone with your particular skillset. When I looked at your work I was instantly impressed, and I knew…you were the man I needed to create this doll. I need this doll. I need it. My daughter, she died yesterday, and…it was my entire fault. I didn’t mean to. I was just holding the knife wrong, I…who am I kidding, my anger took hold of me, and I lashed out. I can’t forgive myself, I never will. My daughter is gone, forever, both of her eyes, gone as well. You see, I gouged out her eyes so that in some small way she would still be able to see me, but…I lost them. I need something that I won’t lose. I need something to ease her soul. Tom, look behind you.  Look behind you, please.

            My heart skipped several beats. Who was this guy? Who am I dealing with? What does he want? I don’t want to turn around. No, I told myself this is all probably just a joke, or elaborate prank. Slowly, my head instinctively turned to look over my shoulder, and I felt the rest of my body turn as well. I gasped. There, in front of me were two eyeballs pinned to my floor. I wanted to grab the phone. I wanted to call 911 and tell them, “Please help; there is a serial killer in my house.” But I didn’t. Instead, I walked over to the gruesome sight on the floor, and found a note with instructions on it. My entire body was screaming for me to get out of that house, but I gave in to my curiosity and picked up the instructions.

Tom, if you are reading this, it means you’ve made the right choice. I really didn’t want to have to kill you. Here are the instructions for the doll.

A. I want an eighteen inch doll. Make no mistakes, or YOU WILL PAY THE CONSEQUENCES.

B. I want her to have long jet black hair, no bangs, and a part in the middle.

C. Light Brown skin.

D. Chest- 10-1/8’’ Waist- 10-1/4’’ Hips- 11-1/2’’. I’ll send you more measurements when you get started on the doll.

E. Lastly, and most importantly, I want a blindfold over her eyes, and I want it to be bloody, to symbolize her eyes. You will do this for me, or I will kill you. You have no options. Besides, I’m giving you an opportunity to resume your work. You should be happy.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. This is ridiculous, I can’t do this. No, I want to live. That’s what I kept telling myself as I created this doll. Day and night, I worked tirelessly, getting every detail right, all the way down to the fingernail. Every day he would send me more instructions and specific ways to go about dealing with it. I guess it was his little way of knowing I was working on it.

            Eventually, the last day approached. I stood over the eyeless doll with a blindfold I had painted a few strategic strokes of red over to make it look bloody. I placed it over the doll’s eyes and looked at my marvelous work. Never, in my entire career had I ever created a doll as beautiful and lifelike as this. I felt like she spoke to me, as if she was pouring out her life story to me and in that moment, I felt round two in the tug of war battle in my heart begin.

            That’s why I’m writing this right now. I’m staring at the doll as I write this, unable to take my eyes off of her beautiful yet disturbing face. I feel as if she’s my daughter, like she belongs to me, truly. I’ve stopped receiving messages from the psycho now, and I really don’t care. She’s mine, and I can now forever look at her every day of my life. For some reason I feel as if she can see me, and is thinking the same thing about me. She loves me, she has to. You might think that I’m crazy for thinking this about a doll, but you’re wrong. She’s much more than just a doll. Something clatters to the floor. I slowly take my eyes off of my beautiful creation and look at the object that dropped on the floor. It’s a knife, and blood is covered all over it. I look back at the doll, and it’s gone.

            Now I remember. There is no psycho path. Well, there is, but, it definitely isn’t an unknown person anymore. The psychopath…is me. I was angry that day, and the knife controlled my body, stabbing my beautiful daughter through the eyes. I was wrong, and I deserve this. I look back at the knife that was on the floor and find it too, has disappeared. Suddenly, I feel a drop of water fall on my lap. I look, and it isn’t water. It’s much too red for that. I put my hand on my neck, and suddenly there is much more than a drop of blood. A red fountain is streaming down my neck as I fall to the floor. Struggling, I look up to see who my murderer was. There she is, my beautiful, serene daughter, with the blindfold on. She’s holding the doll I created in one hand, and the knife I killed her with in the other. The whole time she smiles at me, calmly, as if I deserved this. I guess I do deserve this. The whole world goes dark as I stare at my daughter one last time before I close my eyes, forever.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading this. Please let me know what you think.

Reviews

[FreeForest]

I thought this was great! I was a bit thrown off at first because the first few paragraphs I feel like you tried to impose the voice too much, it didn't feel like how someone would tell this story. Also, it felt rushed. This would be great if it was drawn out. Give more time for the suspense to really set in.

[Kinley Drake]

I love the beginning of this, the last paragraph I think feels a bit too explained. I think if you lead our reader to the twist without outright explaining it, it would feel more enjoyable.