THE TWISTED ARCHIVES
This Month’s File
Last night Madam asked me again to turn every doll to face the wall before I put out the lamps.
Each one, she said, and never miss a single doll — not even the little one in the blue dress up on the rafter.
And when I asked her why, she would only say, “So they cannot count us.”
Very well. I did as I was told. But before I went down, I counted them myself: thirteen dolls.
Early this morning, when I climbed back up with the tea tray, there were fourteen. And every single one was facing me.
P.S. — If you are reading this, do not go up after dark. And whatever you find in the old desk, do not read it aloud.
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