Page 4 of Dollface

My button eyes strain,still struggling to adjust to the unnatural and consistent darkness of Nightmare. Despite the alluring beauty of the full moon, its constant presence is unnerving, creating dancing shadows across the isolated grayscale world. Various abandoned buildings and dead trees perched from the dry earth as the small cursed world wrapped around, bleeding into the thick, haunted forest into which the strange Havoc disappeared. I scan the many homes and buildings in disrepair, the chipped paint of the exteriors peeling and flaking onto the ground like snow as broken shutters and unhinged doors creak in the faint breeze. Shadows and dark figures move behind the dusty windows of the structures, reminding me that I’m in fact not alone out here in this desolated nightmare, but instead, one of the many frightening beings cast into this exile.

I quickly shuffle past the buildings, my spine tingling from the uneasiness of being watched. As I continue further from the woods and lingering homes, I stumble across an old wooden sign growing from a single dirt path and read the weathered words aloud: “Dead On Arrival Furs and Taxidermy.” An entire place dedicated to two of my favorite things: sewing and dead things.What a peculiar place to find out here.With my interest piqued, I honestly can’t help but feel a little rush of excitement over the possibility of this being my new home.

Without further thought, I follow the overgrown dirt path and trample up a steep hill, the heavy soles of my platform shoes dragging in the dirt, until a large Victorian home slowly comes into view. It’s old and antique, withered by the darkness of this world but still frozen in its beauty, encircled by large dead trees that loom and twist across the top of the house, encasing it in its own little world. I step closer, gasping as I take in the ambience of it all. Something about the home feels serene. The front door gently swings open, inviting me inside as if it was alive and welcoming me. My swallow is audible, and I touch my lips anxiously before stepping onto the steps of the wooden porch, the sounds of it creaking as I approach the doorway. I stare into the darkness, listening for any sign of life inside, hearing only the sound of my rapidly beating heart. Screeches echo in the distance, startling me and immediately reminding me of why I’m here, searching for a place of my own.

“I’ll take my chances of finding someone inside over facing whatever that is!” I whisper loudly, scuttling through the opened door. It quickly closes behind me as I gasp. The world falls into a calming silence as my sight adjusts to the darkness, observing the interior of the abandoned place. It’s breathtaking, the inside simple but pleasant, filled with old Victorian furniture covered in layers of cobwebs. The walls are chipped and weathered, plastered with numerous frames. I glance closer, realizing thatwithin each bulky frame hangs a single bug, dead and pinned prisoner within its glassy tomb. I step down the long hall, observing each frame closely as my fingers glide across the dusty glass. The bugs are mesmerizing, the wings and bodies all unique and frozen in time, preserving their eternal beauty. The mini exhibitions of insects carry across the wall and throughout the home. The hall dissolves into a large room, filled with more framed wonders and grand furniture. Stuffed creatures of all shapes and sizes are positioned perfectly around the room, their stiff postures and beady eyes welcoming me. My hand grazes along each critter, feeling their fur as I notice their eyes have been replaced with buttons, sewn perfectly into place.More creations, just like me.It warms me to be among other creations, even if they’re dead and stuffed, used as pure decorations.At least they have a purpose. I look around the spacious room, realizing that this place has been abandoned, all these creatures left unattended to. “I will care for you,” I whisper softly.

After dallying around the bottom floor, I decide to climb the large staircase and venture onto the second floor. The wall against the stairwell is also covered in framed insects, much like the first-floor hallway, except that the higher I ascend, the larger and more elaborate the frames seem to grow in size. I can feel my buttons flicker at the excitement I feel, stepping from one step to the next, the wood creaking as I observe the large, dead, pinned bugs double in size and beauty.Are these critters native to Nightmare?Part of me hopes they are.

I reach the top of the second floor, immediately looking around. The upstairs only has a few bedrooms, most of which are larger and far more glamorous than anything I’ve ever lived in. They seem opulent, each classier than the last, until I step into the last room, the shock of it stopping me in my tracks. The room isn’t elaborate or fussy, instead filled with basic furnishings and a similar aesthetic as the rest of the home, but what makes itperfect, and stops me in my tracks, is the large stained-glass window consuming most of the main wall, looking out into the world. The moon shines brightly through the grayscale glass, casting faint beams and dancing shadows out across the bare wooden floor as the limbs of the dead tree outside lightly rock back and forth in the wind, tapping at the thick glass, creating a sweet little tempo.

My body sways gently to the lulling beat as I began to sweetly hum alongside it. I peer around the room, spying a small pile of furs strewn across a simple chair. My hands delicately stroke the furs, chills shooting up my spine at the smooth, comforting feel of them. They’re extremely soft, unlike anything I’ve felt before.What an odd sensation.I grab the top fur, wrapping the heavy material around me as my body instantly begins to warm up.I could use these to stay warm, like blankets. I become overjoyed at the idea of being able to not only sleep on a bed but have proper bedding and warmth. A place all to myself. In Dreadmoor, my room was nothing like this. I slept on a pile of old, tattered rags and had only a single candle to keep me warm in the cold darkness, one I had to conserve for both light and heat. Creations like myself aren’t allowed the comforts of others, but instead are kept locked away until we are found useful—something I rarely ever was. I would carefully sneak away when possible, and over time, I learned the horrific truth of that wretched world and my Creator. It was a sickening thing to discover, leaving me to question my existence. I wasn’t like the other creations; I was made from scraps, incomplete and tossed aside. A mistake. I didn’t blindly obey the Creator like the rest. I was different, and always felt out of place. Maybe here, in Nightmare, I could finally have a place where I belong.

I quickly grab the pile of furs and toss them onto the bed, pausing, when something falls from them and lands at my feet with a thump. I glance at the odd shape, its tail and limbssprawled out as I realize it’s a creature of some sort. Slowly bending down, I discover the small pile of gray fur and skin is a partially stuffed rat. I poke at the frail thing, jabbing its fluffy side, checking if it’s alive, but it doesn’t budge. Its fur is patchy, missing in a few spots, its whiskers bent and frazzled, as if it was electrocuted at some point. I pick the lifeless rat up, its body flopping around like a ragdoll. It’s missing an eye, the socket empty and dried, while the other is a tiny black button stitched poorly into the carcass of the small critter. Something about this little rat humors me. It’s odd and unique, but in its own way, cute and comforting. I boop its little nose, giggling as I lift it with both hands into the moonlight.

“It seems we were meant to meet.” I wiggle the lifeless body as the single button eye stares back at my own. “Hmmm, now what should I call you, little sir?” Instantly, the most random, yet fitting, name pops into my head. “Mr. Whiskers!” I stand, twirling the flimsy, partially stuffed rat around as I clutch him close. “The perfect name.” I fall back onto the bed, nestling into the many furs as I quickly become overcome with exhaustion. I yawn, curling into myself as I hold Mr. Whiskers close, stroking his furry little head. “Just two misfits,” I whisper, slowly drifting off into sleep.

For the first time in my life, I feel safe.

Chapter 2

Blue

Her words...

Riddles in air,

Full of odd temptation.

They draw me out to the world,

Her words.

It has been three days, and each day, I find myself venturing further and further away from my new home, looking for... well, anything, really. No, not anything; I am looking for that Havoc being. As mystifying as she is, she’s all I know here. I’ve tried to find others while creeping around on my walks, but despite knowing there are others, I feel as though I’m all alone here. I never thought I’d miss anything from Dreadmoor, but at least there—despite always being locked—there was some sign of life and interactions with the other creations. After days of wandering the never-ending darkness, I begin to think Havoc was simply a hallucination, a fabrication of my own making adding a new layer of madness to my predicament.

I walk down an unfamiliar wooded trail, attempting to kick a small rock with my shoe as I go. I should know better, my footcompletely missing as I stumble in the process. “Ow,” I groan, landing with a thud on my behind. “At least no one saw that,” I mutter while dusting myself off as I stand back up. From what I’ve seen in recent days, Nightmare is very much the same yet different from Dreadmoor. It’s the same in that it’s vast and heavily wooded, but different, as I don’t know the entirety of what creations and monsters inhabit this world. It’s unknown to me, much like the smell here. Inhaling deeply, I’m consumed by a smell that reminds me of a fresh, earthy scent—like a foggy morning walk deep in the woods. I inhale again, enjoying the oddly comforting smell. Everything back in Dreadmoor was dipped in a smokey crust, as if the world was made up of burning embers. It makes sense, considering it’s very much Hell to be there.

A twig snaps in the distance, causing me to jump and spin around, my nerves on edge. I see nothing, but I can hear the rustling closing in on me.

“Hello?” I call out weakly. “Who’s there?”Who’s there? Blue, this is precisely why you were thrown into the cage. You don’t call out who’s there when you’re defenseless?—

My mental scolding is abruptly halted as a sudden force shoves me to the ground. I instinctively try to fight back, but between the endless night and bright moon shining above, I’m unable to really see. My hands frantically scramble around, luckily finding a rock. I grip it, hurling it at whatever the thing is, making it yelp out as it yanks my hair so tightly, I fear it might rip out at the roots and unravel. My nose is suddenly filled with the congesting scent of dirt as whatever I hit pulls me close, a gasp escaping its body.

“Her eyes!” a male voice snarls. “They’re buttons. She’s from Dreadmoor!”

“Indeed she is,” a second man’s cold, calm voice purrs. The snarling man releases my hair and my head fills with the painfulsting. “And what a pretty little toy that bitch made this time.” He marvels. My eyes focus, as I glare at the strange man. He’s very tall and thin, dressed in a suit, and his face painted like that of a skeleton. “So very pretty. I always did have a thing for ragdolls.” He reaches a long, boney hand out, trailing it up my tights, reaching under the skirt of my dress, causing me to gasp and smack him away.

“Don’t touch me!” I hiss, standing up. The gangly man looks down to the snarling, ghost-like creature beside him and releases a sigh of disappointment. “Well, if you don’t want to play with me,” he grumbles, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves,“I’m sure my friend here would justloveto have fun with you. Pity; I would’ve made it enjoyable for us both.” He smirks before cocking his head. “Sic’er.”

My heart drops as the man-creature lets out a loud, almost animalistic howl just as my flight instincts kick in and I take off running, the ghostly thing close behind me. I cry out as something scratches at my arm, my lungs burning as I force myself to run faster, all while knowing whatever that thing is, it’s gaining on me.Could it be him? Was that thing chasing me, the Boogeyman?

“Please,” I wheeze, running through a foreign part of the woods, huffing the cold night air as lingering dead branches of surrounding trees pull and snap at my dress, ripping at the fabric and scratching my skin. “Please, stop!” My body shoots forward as the creature dives on me. I let out a choked cry as it slams my chest roughly into the ground. “Stop it!” I grit out, trying to kick him off. He grabs the back of my head, slamming me against the ground, a shooting pain striking my head, causing the world to slow and spin.

“Help,” I weakly choke out as I feel icy hands running up the bare backs of my thighs. I turn to look over my shoulder to beg once more, but as I go to speak, a dark figure slamsinto the creature, sending it flying off my body. The dark figure lands with a loud thud, and as the creature runs back toward us, snarling with anger and frustration, I cover my mouth to stifle a scream as the figure whips out a large knife, slashing it across my attacker without hesitation. The creature shrieks and cries out as a glowing liquid pours from the wound. It stumbles, trying to fight off the stranger, but it's too weak. The large dark figure removes the knife as my attacker falls to the ground next to me, his ghostly light fading away as his eyes stare into mine, fading away. He looks... like a normal human now. How strange.

The dark figure steps to the deceased being's side and lifts its head as he begins to slowly run the blade along its flesh, sawing it apart. I try not to gag, the cruel act churning my stomach while I watch in helpless, stunned silence. I dry heave when a squelching sound tainted with angry grunts fills the air. The figure doesn’t stop until the dead thing’s head is completely detached and hanging from the figure’s hand, blood dripping onto the ground.

The figure growls, the sounds resembling that of a man’s as he chucks the head aside with such strength, it hits the ground with a wet thud. After a moment, the figure turns slowly toward me, the clutched knife still dripping with the creature’s glowing blood, breathing heavily. It’s almost as if they forgot I was here. I force myself to swallow the nausea and fear as my eyes linger, trying to register its frightening appearance; a tall, wide, and dark being covered in a dull, faded, sack-like material. The face of the sack has an eerily sewn mouth, ripped open, and two dark, endless eye holes which are currently boring into my soul with consuming shadows of darkness. Whatever this thing is, it’s completely covered, not a part of it exposed, no eyes or mouth visible. Yet somehow, I feel two very much alive eyes moving up and down my body with interest.

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