The Last Doll

Tish glanced down at the tiny nesting doll cradled in the palm of her hand. The last of the set, smallest of them all. So small, it didn’t even have a face, just a glossy blue dress and floral head kerchief. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, dark clouds hanging low and full overhead, and the crowd around her picked up, bumping and jostling even more as they hurried to finish their business before the rain loosed. 

She pulled in a long, slow breath, working hard to calm her heart that fluttered like an anxious sparrow inside its cage of ribs, to still the quiver in her fingertips as they gently wrapped around the doll, to keep her steps measured and even on the mud clogged, brick street.

She had used the first doll only a week after arriving in the city, cracking open its golden wax seal in impulsive panic after bumping into a man at the station. The second had been only a few days after that, as she hyperventilated on the floor of her apartment. The third doll she had waited, refraining for nearly a month before the night’s long shadows had been too much. She had managed three months until breaking into the fourth. 

Now, it was mid-winter. She had carried the last doll with her for half a year, always close, always ready. And each time she had reached for it, she had paused, had fingered it gingerly, then returned it to her pocket. But now…

“Hello, Tish.” 

His voice was liquid ice, swirling around her ankles and slowing her steps, curling around her middle, freezing her lungs, frosting her lips as they slipped barely open in an inaudible gasp. Her feet stopped. 

Help! she prayed, a sob strangling the inside of her frozen throat. Please, help!

I’m here, a gentle presence inside her seemed to whisper. Use it now, My child.

Tish squeezed her fist, cracking the tiny doll. 

Warmth bloomed within her hand, running through her bones, thawing her from the inside out. It lit a flame in her chest, the smallest fire of all the dolls, yet it still burned warm with magic, mingling bravery with the fear, binding courage to the terror. 

The doll didn’t hold much, it was so very small… but it was enough.

Tish turned, lifting her gaze to match his. “Hello, Sam.”