Her legs burned in protest as she forced them stiffly forward. She couldn’t stop, not until she was done. Her hands brushed over the rough wool to the soft hair before finally finding the stitch that held them together. She caressed it. It was strange that something so simple had transferred her pain to him. Of course, there had been more stitches. Red thread stitched across the dolls eyes. Red thread stitched across the dolls lips. Red thread stitched in the dolls hands, shoulders, and feet that she’d pulled and pulled and pulled until the doll’s gentle insides began to spill out. There was one red thread she’d left untouched, however.
She stumbled, and her hand slipped off the doll. The house was around the next street, she remembered though she had not been there in some time. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered the body. She had to hurry.
The doors were locked, but the window was open, inviting in the cool breeze before the sweltering Lousiana heat set in. Her hands shook as she pulled herself through the window. Master Jenkins bedroom was at the top of the stairs. When she was a maid she would’ve taken the back stairs, but today she didn’t bother. Her legs shook as she took the first step. Air lacerated its way up and down her throat by the time she arrived but it didn't matter. She'd made it.
He was lying on his bed, exactly as she pictured. He might’ve looked like he was sleeping. His chest was rising and falling in a normal rhythm. He was still alive, just like she’d planned. She pulled out the doll and placed it next to him. She was glad she’d chosen to use red thread, it gave him and the doll similarities that were almost poetic. Red could be the color of love, or blood. It was double-edged, two-faced, traitorous. It suited him perfectly.
Of course, there was one more final touch. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling it quicken underneath her fingertips. He knew what was coming, she was sure. With the other hand she took the last red thread and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, until the red heart she’d planted in the middle of the doll was pulled free, broken and bloody and twisted, like her own.
It was done.
The red thread fell out of her hand as she crumbled, warm blood trickling out of her nostril. The end was coming faster than she imagined. Slowly her hand reached into her pocket for the other doll, while the other reached for the needle. Fate demanded a hefty price for the dark magic she conjured, but she was prepared to pay it. Just not in the way fate intended.
The doll fell from her hand as she collapsed, a needle in its chest.
Both doll and girl were smiling as they lay dead in the late Howard Jenkin’s bedroom.
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140,095 Literary Works • 672,998 Reviews
Hello, steampowered here for a review! I noticed you had a second draft of this in the Green Room, so I thought I’d drop by, read it and leave a review – and also, of course, see if my previous review was of any use to you!
There’s an apostrophe missing; it should be “Red thread stitched across the doll’s eyes”.
In this one sentence you’ve managed to convey time period and an element of her backstory which is presumably important to the plot. Excellent!
I feel like this was a huge improvement on your last piece because it not only showed the girl’s motives, it produced a much clearer image in the reader’s head and made it far easier to understand what was going on. I do have a couple of questions though that I don’t feel were answered very satisfactorily – why was she dying before she stabbed her own doll, and what was “the way fate intended”? I mean, sometimes it’s good to leave a few things to the reader’s interpretation, but I was still slightly confused.
Also, surely Master Jenkins would have had servants and perhaps parents too, milling around the house. Why didn’t anyone see her breaking in or try and stop her? Was she even prepared for the fact she might have been seen?
Finally, I’m not sure about the name at the end. It feels like some kind of plot twist, but a Google search for Howard Jenkins didn’t turn up anything significant (although the name is, amusingly, associated with a funeral directors’) So I’d either cut out the full name altogether or make it so it’s the name of a real historical person, if you can think of a way in which you can successfully do this.
Like I said before, it was really good, and feel free to PM me or post a message on my wall if you have any questions or if you have anything else you want reviewed.
Keep writing!
Wow, this is a very intriguing story to say the least! I love it! I typically stray away from horror/scary reads, but this piece caught my eye. I like how you chose to keep this as a flash fiction piece, because it leaves us with a mysterious, eerie feeling.
I'm a nitpicky reviewer, so you can take or leave any of my opinion down below.
"Her legs burned in protest as she forced them stiffly forward."
I would change the placement of "stiffly" to: "Her legs burned in protest as she stiffly forced them forward," it makes more sense this way.
I really enjoyed this line: "Red thread stitched in the dolls hands, shoulders, and feet that she’d pulled and pulled and pulled until the doll’s gentle insides began to spill out." What a great effect!
"The house was around the next street, she remembered though she had not been there in some time."
The comma after "next street" might be necessary- I'm not sure, but one after "remembered" is necessary.
So instead, "The house was around the next street, she remembered, though she had not been..."
"The doll fell from her hand as she collapsed, a needle in its chest." I might change this to "...a needle protruding from its chest," or something of the like.
Other than these tiny nitpicks, I don't see a problem with anything else. This story had me on the edge of my seat, and I love the element of mystery here. It's not gory, but it's just the right amount of creepy! I like your writing style as well.
Great story, happy writing