Though I did undo it once but idk how
Open the history...''https://www.highrevenuenetwork.com/rf1dj1x06?key=0aa16a7c0f0000b2fe614084b07ab273
The flickering fluorescent lights cast long, skeletal shadows across the dusty attic. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I inched closer to the dusty trunk tucked beneath the eaves. It wasn't supposed to be there. I hadn't seen it since I was a child, not since the incident.
It was ornately carved, mahogany wood darkened with age. Intricate floral patterns swirled across its surface, each petal seeming to hold a trapped whisper. I knew what was inside – a porcelain doll, delicate features framed by a halo of golden curls. But this doll wasn't the sweet, rosy-cheeked plaything of my childhood. This doll had eyes that seemed to follow me, a faint, unsettling smile forever etched on its painted lips.
The memory slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave. I was a small child, playing in my room, when the doll appeared. I hadn't received it as a gift; it simply wasn't there one day, and then it was. The unsettling smile and watchful eyes terrified me. But the worst part was the voice. A faint, raspy whisper that spoke only to me, promising secrets and games.
My parents dismissed it as an overactive imagination. But the whispers grew louder, more insistent. Then came the nightmares – vivid, terrifying scenes of the doll moving on its own, its painted smile widening into a grotesque grin. One night, I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the doll, raced to the attic, and locked it in the dusty trunk I now stood in front of.
That's when the dreams stopped. The whispers ceased. But the trunk remained, a constant reminder of the terror I'd faced. Now, years later, here I was, inexplicably drawn to it. A primal fear urged me to turn away, but a morbid curiosity gnawed at me. How had the trunk reappeared?
My shaking fingers brushed against the cold metal clasp. A low groan echoed through the attic, sending shivers down my spine. Was it the wind? Or something more sinister? Hesitantly, I lifted the clasp. The hinges creaked open, revealing the plush red velvet lining inside. But the doll was missing.
Panic clawed at my throat. It couldn't be gone. It wasn't supposed to be gone. My gaze darted around the cramped attic, finding nothing but cobwebs and forgotten trinkets. Then, a faint giggle drifted to my ears, a sound both childish and disturbingly mature.
"Playing hide-and-seek again?" the voice whispered, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere at once.
My breath hitched. I backed away from the trunk, my eyes scanning the shadows. The air felt thick with anticipation, the fluorescent lights flickering with a renewed intensity.
"Don't you remember how to play?" the voice cooed, closer now, or was it just my imagination?
A cold dread seeped into my bones. Maybe I had locked the doll away, but a part of me, a terrified, childish part, knew I hadn't done it alone. And perhaps, more terrifyingly, I didn't know how to undo it this time.
With a final, chilling laugh, the attic plunged into darkness. I stumbled back, my scream swallowed by the suffocating silence that followed. Though I'd escaped the trunk once, the game of hide-and-seeker had just begun, and the stakes had never been higher.
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