The cradle rocked gently as I stepped closer, a soft creak in the silence. Nestled inside, wrapped in a faded blanket, was a porcelain doll. Its glassy eyes stared straight up at the ceiling, unblinking and too bright in the gloom. The paint on its face was chipped, lips forever curled into a fragile smile. It sent a chill crawling down my spine.
Then I saw the book.
It lay on the table beneath a thick layer of dust, bound in cracking leather, its edges warped from time and damp. Carefully, I brushed it off, sending a puff of dust into the air. The cover was unmarked. no title, no name.
I opened it.
The first page was scrawled in delicate, flowing handwriting:
"Emily's Diary."
I turned the page.
08/02 — Joseph proposed to me today. I couldn't stop crying. He got down on one knee right under the big oak tree near the creek. Today is the happiest day of my life.
11/02 — I'm pregnant. I took the test three times just to be sure. I can't wait to tell Joseph, he's going to be over the moon.
12/02 — I told Joseph the news. He picked me up and spun me around like we were in a movie. Then he gave me a doll, said it was for the baby. "She'll need a friend," he said, smiling like he already knew it would be a girl.
I flipped forward.
Several pages were torn out. Jagged edges. Like someone had ripped them away in a hurry.
21/02 — Joseph is gone. The police said his car swerved off the road and went into the river. They searched, but… they never found his body. Just the car, half-sunk and empty. They think he drowned. But I know Joseph. He was a good swimmer. He wouldn't just disappear.
More missing pages. My fingers trembled as I turned to the next legible entry.
25/02 — My baby is gone. The doctor said there was no heartbeat. Said these things "just happen." I don't believe him. I felt her kicking last night. I think she went looking for her father.
The ink was smudged at the bottom of the page—either from tears or time. Maybe both.
I closed the book, hand shaking.
I let out a long, shaky sigh, rubbing my temple as the weight of everything sank deeper into my bones.
"Sigh… what a messed-up situation I've gotten myself into," I muttered under my breath, glancing from the cradle to the diary still warm from my hands.
Ghosts. Possessions. Murder. Now a grieving mother and a child who never got the chance to breathe.
This place wasn't just haunted, it was saturated in sorrow. Layered with it. So thick it clung to the walls like mold. Every inch of this room whispered pain, grief… and something else.
"I killed an eight-foot-tall monster," I whispered to no one, just the air and the ghosts. "I tore through a faceless nightmare like it was made of paper."
My hand drifted to the knife at my side, its blade still stained, still warm in places where it shouldn't be. I gripped it tighter, as if it could anchor me.
"But a ghost?" I muttered. "How the hell do you kill something that's already dead?"
No muscle. No blood. Just cold. Shadows. Memory.
I paced back, eyeing the cradle like it might lunge at me. "You can stab a monster. You can break its bones, tear it apart if you're desperate enough. But a ghost? Can you punch grief? Slice through guilt?"
I doubted it. Every instinct in my body screamed that my knife wouldn't matter here. Not in this room. Not against her.
And if that was true... I might've already lost.
Still, I didn't let go of the blade.
Just in case.
I looked down at the doll, sitting so still in the cradle—its porcelain face cracked just slightly at the edge of its left cheek, like it had been watching far more than it should have. Its glassy eyes stared up at me, lifeless but far from empty.
"Guess there's only one way," I muttered, gripping the knife a little tighter. "Every movie says the same thing, smash the creepy doll, save the day, roll credits."
I took a shaky step forward.
The air in the room seemed to thicken. The shadows curled tighter around the corners. The toys on the floor, lifeless seconds ago, now felt like they were watching.
"You better be the key to all this," I said, voice low as I reached into the cradle. My fingers hovered above the doll for just a second, then I grabbed it.
Cold. Like frostbite on bone.
And then—
A shriek.
Not mine. Not human. The air cracked like glass. The lights flickered—wait, were there even lights? The whole room buckled like reality forgot how to stand.
I slammed the doll down on the floor. Once. Twice. It didn't break.
"Come on!" I yelled. "You've haunted enough!"
I raised my foot and stomped—hard.
The porcelain shattered.
Silence.
For a moment, all I could hear was my heartbeat. The room was still. No whispers. No cold breath on the back of my neck.
Just silence.
"…Did it work?" I whispered.
I turned to leave, a flicker of hope in my chest—maybe I'd actually ended this nightmare. Maybe smashing that cursed doll really did something. But the second I looked up—
She was there.
Standing in the doorway. Veil torn. Dress stained red at the hem. Eyes hollow, burning with something that wasn't human.
The ghost bride.
"F—FUCK!" I barked, stumbling back, instincts flaring.
Without thinking, I lashed out, slashing the knife straight across her chest. The blade met no resistance—it passed right through her, like she was made of fog and bad memories. Cold, so cold, sank into my bones as my arm moved through her, like I'd just swung through a blizzard.
She didn't scream. Didn't even flinch.
She just… vanished.
One blink, she was there. Next, gone.
I spun in place, heart hammering, eyes scanning every shadow. Nothing. No sound. No trace.
"Goddamn it," I gasped, knife shaking in my grip. "Of course. Of course that didn't work."
The room felt darker now. Heavier. Like I'd poked something I wasn't supposed to.
I scooped up the broken pieces of the doll with shaking hands, porcelain limbs, glassy eyes, the frayed little dress that still smelled faintly of dust… and something else. Something sweeter, but twisted. Like rot hiding behind perfume.
I clutched the fragments to my chest and bolted for the cabin door, nearly tripping as I crossed the threshold and slammed into the freezing night. The knife was still slick in my other hand, useless but solid. My breath poured out in frantic clouds, fogging the silver-lit air as I ran.
The trees flew past like shadows with teeth. Twigs cracked under every step, the cold bit at my skin, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Back to the river. Back to where Joseph died. Back to where all this began, if it ever truly had a beginning, I hope that's the same river
The jagged pieces of the doll pressed into my arms, sharp and unforgiving, like I was carrying someone else's bones. And the knife in my other hand—it shook with me. It couldn't hurt a ghost, I knew that now. But maybe… maybe it could cut through something else. Whatever this curse was.
The wind screamed through the trees like it was trying to drag me back, call me by name, tell me to stop. I ignored it.
I just kept running.