Scent Notes: A linen doll left in a dank, musty attic for too long and coated in a thin layer of dirt and blood, bitter cloves and almond, smoky campfire, a dash of pumpkin spice.

Bianca sighed. “Can you just read it over again? I want to make sure we get this right.” Matt nodded, avoiding Bianca’s gaze. “Yeah, of course, I know how important this is. Like you said: We have to get this right. The doll needs to get out of here.” Bianca gave him a sharp look. “Sorry,” Matt said, a sudden sweat breaking out on his upper lip. “I know you’re sensitive about this. Let’s just make sure this is good, and then we can forget it ever happened, right?” Matt’s gaze swung to the cabinet across from them, which was full of antique dolls his wife had inherited over the years. Most of them were beautiful, made of fine china, handpainted; collector’s items, worthy of display and admiration.

This doll, however, was made out of cloth, and appeared to be handmade by someone who was all thumbs. Her arms and legs were unevenly sized and spaced; her deeply set eyes were glinting strangely even with very little light shining on her. Her hand-painted face had worn unevenly, rather like she’d been left with one side of her head buried in dirt for a long time while the other side was exposed all day to direct sunlight. She was off-putting, downright scary, and Matt wanted her out of the house. He wasn’t even sure where she’d come from; one day she was just in the cabinet. A week later, she was out of the cabinet. Then she was everywhere. So much suffering. So much blood….
“OK, here’s what I have written: Antique Doll For Sale, Totally Not Haunted. Inherited from my wife’s family recently, but have no space to keep her in my house. She could use some love and a little sprucing up. She appears to be handmade, very likely one-of-a-kind. You’ll never find another doll like her. Open to all offers; message for address to pick up.” He glanced up at Bianca. “I’m afraid of putting a price, as I’m not sure what people would pay. Are we open to all offers?” Bianca sat for a minute, contemplating. “Yes, yes, I think we are. Go ahead and post it.” Matt nodded, in a full-blown full-body sweat now. A few anxious minutes passed. “There. I’ve posted it everywhere I can think of.” “Prove it,” Bianca said, her voice cold. Matt turned the computer and showed her all the places where it was posted. Already, someone was interested, to Matt’s great surprise and relief. A few more minutes passed, Bianca’s gaze never leaving Matt. “Someone can come tonight! They can be here in 20 minutes. They’re going to give me $500 cash! Apparently they are some kind of collector of ‘primitive Americana crafts,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.” “Great. Tell them she’ll be waiting on the porch,” Bianca said. Matt nodded and let the collector know, then stood up, visibly relieved to be so close to the finish line. “Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Bianca also stood, and as Matt began to walk out of the room, he felt a slice along both of his Achilles tendons. He fell, crying out in surprise and pain. He knew she’d tricked him. He’d thought that if he went along with her demands, found her next family, then he would be spared, but he should have known better. His wife, his kids, the next door neighbors…. He started crying, thinking about all he had seen. He knew trying to fight would be futile. He looked up, and Bianca was standing in front of him. It had taken a minute, given her size and uneven limbs, and the fact that the knife she was carrying was meant for humans, not haunted, evil dolls. Her eyes gleamed with a frightening sheen. “No, Matt. Unfortunately, you don’t get to go anywhere, ever again.”

Scent Notes: A linen doll left in a dank, musty attic for too long and coated in a thin layer of dirt and blood, bitter cloves and almond, smoky campfire, a dash of pumpkin spice.