The Dollhouse

A girl in her new house, a dollhouse in the attic - what can possibly go wrong?

Don’t Touch The Dollhouse

 

Inside the house there was an attic, inside the attic there was a dollhouse, inside the dollhouse there were a dozen handmade dolls.

In another room in the house was Martha. Martha had purchased the house for a fraction of the price that other houses in the area were going for. She never enquired why this was: This was her first mistake.

Martha had been awoken by the sound of tapping, she forced herself out of bed, once she left her bedroom it became clear where the noise was coming from, the one room she had not yet been in: the attic, she opened the door, and climbed the stairs, still half asleep. She flicked the light switch on, revealing a dusty room full of junk and cobwebs. It was not until she turned to her right that she beheld the dollhouse. It was incredible she thought. It looked handmade. The detail was exquisite, the rooms within the house were incredibly realistic, the dolls themselves were a work of art, right down to the big smiles on their wooden faces. Martha was captivated by them. She ran her hands over the dollhouse observing the smooth wooden feel. She picked one of the dolls up at random to admire the craftsmanship, the sheer skill it must have taken to create this. She put the doll back in.

She would come back up to see them again sometime.

And she would have done so had she not fallen down the stairs, fracturing her skull and breaking her neck in the process. All twelve dolls were lined up in a row looking out towards the attic exit, each one had a smile on their face.

 

Her second mistake had ultimately been her undoing:

 

‘Don’t touch the Dollhouse’.