Masie first entered my life when I was 6. It was actually the day of my 6th birthday when she arrived in a brown cardboard box, sitting there on my doorstep. My birthday party had been in mid-swing, with me and my friends fully invested in our game of musical chairs, when the shrill ringing of the bell cut through our merriment.
My mother left the room as the music continued and we raced around the chairs. Just as the playful tunes stopped and my bottom was firmly planted on one of the remaining chairs, I heard the front door closing as she made her way back into the living room with a cardboard box in hand and a confused expression on her face.
“It’s for you dear, I’m not sure who it’s from though,” She said, adding the box to the small pile of gifts that had started accumulating in the corner.
The day went by and after several party games and lashings of cake, it was finally time for me to open my presents. Sitting around in a circle, I opened each of the gifts my friends and family had bought me, thanking each of them in kind, until finally I was left with that plain cardboard box.
A peculiar gift, it bore a singular tag with my name as its only external decoration. It was in a handwriting that I didn’t recognise with no return address of any kind. No wrapping paper or ribbons, just a cardboard box with a thin plastic screen showing Masie sitting beneath.
Her pale porcelain face looked out at me through the cellophane barrier, her rosy cheeks and playful smile immediately captivating me. Ringlets of scarlet red hair lined her delicate face, slightly covering her large, kind-looking eyes. As I tore into the packaging and lifted her free, I could clearly see her smooth, almost translucent skin glimmering in the light as she moved. She was so detailed, it gave her face an almost lifelike quality, like whoever had painted her had tried to capture the very essence of a person. She was amazing.
I looked around eagerly, ready to thank whoever it was who’d bought me this doll, but as I glanced over each of the faces in front of me, no one seemed to have a knowing look about them. Turning to my mother, she said tentatively.
“Maybe it was a gift from old Mrs Fairchild next door, she probably just forgot to write her name on the tag. You’ll have to go and say thank you afterwards”
I looked back at the doll, taking in her beautiful appearance once again. A finely tailored blue dress wrapped her form, made of some kind of sumptuous fabric, either silk or satin. Delicate embroidery embellished its already extravagant appearance, lace trims with tiny buttons and bows, all held together firmly with a large, golden broach on her right shoulder. Her delicate hands, peering from below the billowing sleeves of the dress, were made of the same exquisite porcelain as her face. Posed in a graceful manner, they had been painted as though her fingers were adorned with dainty golden jewellery.
I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Holding her there in front of me, I decided to call her Maisie.
For the next few days, I would spend every waking moment with Maisie. We did everything together, from the usual things that a six-year-old child would do with their new toy, like venturing to magical imaginary realms, to annoying my parents by playing hide and seek when it was time for bed, or pretending that Masie was the one who’d stolen the biscuits from the cupboard. My parents didn’t seem to mind though, I think they were just happy that I was so enamoured with my new toy.
I introduced her to my family and friends as though she was a real person, going as far as making her do a pretend curtsey. I even introduced her to my pet hamster Gerard. Everyone thought she was amazing, they were especially in awe of the intricate details of her face. They all congratulated me on having such a brilliant new friend.
Everything was perfect, that is until a few days later. My mother had come with me to thank Mrs Fairchild for sending Maisie over for my birthday. Standing outside of our neighbour’s house and knocking on the door, I waited for what felt like an eternity listening to the shuffling of old Mrs Fairchild as she slowly made her way to the front door.
“Ah, hello my dears, what can I do for you?” She said as she opened the door, a large smile across her aged face. Although the ravages of time were slowly eating away at her, they’d done nothing to dampen her youthful spirit.
Beaming, I shouted a massive “Thank you Mrs Fairchild!” as I held Maisie aloft. Her pleasant, wrinkled smile changed to a face of confusion as she looked in bewilderment at the doll.
“Ah that’s a beautiful doll dearie, and also a belated happy birthday to you for the other day, but thank you for what exactly?”
My face dropped slightly as I gestured to Maisie “For Maisie, you know, for my birthday”
“I’m sorry my love, but I’ve never seen that doll in my life, I was going to ask where you got it from. They were all the rage when I was a child, I’ve not seen one like that for years though. She’s absolutely beautiful, I bet children would have been fighting over her left, right and centre back in the day” Mrs Fairchild responded, that bewildered gaze still locked onto my doll.
My mother looked down at me as I hugged Maisie, concerned. She proceeded to explain to Mrs Fairchild about the box on the doorstep, and how there had been no sender on the tag so she’d thought it might have come from her. The old woman’s face grew more and more confused and concerned as my mother explained the story, before apologising and again re-iterating that this was the first time she’d ever seen Maisie.
As we left Mrs Fairchild’s front door, my mother leaned over to me and whispered that it probably was Mrs Fairchild who’d sent Maisie, but she’d probably just forgotten. It wouldn’t have been the first time, with her advancing age her memory was quickly fading.
I wanted to believe her, but there was something about that encounter that didn’t sit right with me. Most of my relatives had been at the party that day, and my mother had called the few that weren’t as well as a few of my friends’ parents. None of them had claimed to have sent the doll, which had only cemented our belief that it was Mrs Fairchild. But seeing the look on her face, the baffled expression as I’d told her about Maisie, I could tell she genuinely meant what she’d said. She had never seen that doll in her life. Looking back down to Maisie, I couldn’t help the cold feeling of unease worming its way into the back of my mind.
As the days went on, I found myself playing with Maisie less and less. That oddly nauseous feeling bubbled in my stomach each time I looked at her, along with the image of Mrs Fairchild’s bemused face. I’d place Maisie on my bed, facing towards the door as I opted to play with some of my other birthday presents instead.
One particular morning, I was playing with a Harry Potter Lego set that my aunt had bought me. It was a scene with Harry facing off against the Basilisk in the chamber of secrets as Tom Riddle watched from the sidelines and Fawkes flew overhead, one of my favourite parts of the film. I was just sticking Harry’s hair onto the mini figure when I couldn’t help but notice something about Maisie that got under my skin a little. It was just a small thing, probably just my imagination, but there was something about her eyes. I’d never noticed it before, not in all the time we’d spent playing together over those past few days, but I swear today they seemed to follow me around the room.
I’d turn back around after hours of playing to find her glassy brown eyes fixed on me, her head still facing the door just as I’d left it. The way they seemed to look at me, they felt cold, almost curious. A chill ran through me as I looked into those glassy orbs. It was as though she was studying me with a detached fascination.
I knew it was silly, that I was probably just imagining it. She looked like an old doll so the glue that bound her eyes in place was probably just coming loose, giving the illusion that her eyes were following me, but it still creeped me out enough to put her in her own chair at the other end of the room that night rather than letting her sleep in my bed with me. I knew that I was overreacting, that she was a doll, but the strange eye movements coupled with the fact that we’d still not found out who sent her ate away at my mind.
I’d turned her to face my wardrobe before climbing into bed, placing my now completed Harry Potter Lego set on my bedside table. My mother soon came in to tuck me in, commenting on the fact that Maisie was on the other side of the room rather than in bed with me. I explained what I’d seen, that Maisie had stared at me all afternoon, but my mother just chuckled to herself, putting it down to my childish imagination before wishing me goodnight as she left the room and turned out the light.
In the now darkness I could make out the silhouette of Maisie facing away from me towards the wardrobe. I couldn’t help the creeping chill along my skin as I imagined her head turning to face me the instant I closed my eyes, that clinical, fascinated stare fixing itself on me. I pulled the covers tighter to me, covering my head and wishing that sleep would come. After what felt like an eternity, tiredness overtook me and I slipped into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning I awoke to the sunlight seeping in through my open curtains. Surveying the room, it was just as I’d left it the night before, only the curtains had been spread wide open. I assumed my mother must have come in and opened them at some point that morning in an attempt to get me to wake up. Propping myself up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked out in the direction of the window.
Maisie’s chair sat between me and the pane on the other side. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I’d half expected her to be staring at me again with that unnerving glassy stare. But she was still sitting there, propped in the chair with her eyes fixed on the wardrobe just as I’d left her.
Pushing myself up into a sitting position and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I slid my feet onto the floor, ready for another jam-packed day of playing, when white-hot agony buried itself into my heel.
I screamed out, yanking my foot back and holding back the tears welling up in my eyes as the burning pain radiated out in throbbing bursts. Snapping my gaze to its source, a singular black Lego block had embedded itself in my foot, leaving a lasting imprint as I gingerly pulled it out. Looking down at the floor, my heart sank as scattered Lego bricks coated the majority of the carpet.
Darting my eyes to my bedside table, the dawning realisation hit me, my Lego set was nowhere to be seen. The remnants of Basilisk and its chamber lay scattered around the floor of my room. I was devastated, I’d spent hours building that set, and it was the first one I’d done all on my own without any help from my parents. I’d actually been really proud of it. How could this have happened?
I could have knocked it off the bedside table in my sleep perhaps, but if that were the case I would have expected to have been woken by the crashing of tiny shattering bricks. Also, if I had indeed knocked it off, then I would have expected the bricks to have formed a nice little mound as they smashed with maybe a few scattering further out, but the majority remaining pretty much together. But the bricks were all over my floor, much wider spread than seemed possible for a fall, and more evenly distributed too. It almost looked deliberate.
As my eyes swept the scene of the devastation, they couldn’t help but be drawn to Maisie. A fleeting, childish thought filled my brain. Could she have done this? Was she jealous that I’d snubbed her for the Lego set yesterday afternoon and then forced her to sleep in that chair rather than in my bed? I shook it off like the childish idea that it was. She was just a doll, sure she unnerved me a little, but she was still just porcelain and fabric. No, this was something else.
I was about to turn around, turn towards my parents’ room and demand to know if they’d somehow been involved with this when something made me stop dead in my tracks. Maisie’s chair sat between me and the door, static in the middle of the room. But as I stared at her, I could swear that a part of her had moved.
Maisie’s foot was jutting out at an odd angle, not the same one that I’d left it in the night before. Or at least I was pretty sure that it wasn’t the same. I could have sworn that I’d placed her neatly in the seat, arms resting on her lap and feet facing the wardrobe. Although I didn’t want her in bed with me I still wanted her to look presentable. Now she was sat there in almost the same position, but her right foot was jutting out slightly, facing towards the window now rather than the wardrobe door.
My mind began racing. Had Maisie done this? Had she somehow gotten up and walked across the room? It was sounding more and more far-fetched the more and more I thought about it, but to my six-year-old mind, it was the only thing that made sense. I didn’t even consider the possibility that my mother could have accidentally knocked Maisie’s foot as she left my room last night. Or that, if it was indeed my parents who had destroyed my Lego set for whatever reason, they could have perhaps knocked her foot during the act of scattering the bricks.
I made my way out of my room, tracing a large circle around Maisie, not taking my eyes from her until I was safely out in the hallway. I shivered as I imagined her glassy smooth eyes staring at me through the closed door as I made my way along to my parents’ room. Knocking on the door, I was greeted by the haggard face of my mother, whom I’d presumably just torn from the embrace of sleep.
Explaining about the Lego set, and how it had been there when I went to bed and in pieces when I woke up, the bemused look that sat across her face made it clear she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. With a yawn she followed me back to my room, assessing the carnage and Lego blocks that now covered the floor.
“Are you sure you didn’t just knock it over in your sleep honey? You might have caught it with your arm or something?” She said in a half-awake daze.
“No, I couldn’t have. Someone broke it, there had to have been someone in my room last night. They broke my Lego and knocked Maisie’s foot as they walked……past….”
My voice trailed off as my eyes drifted back to Maisie and I noticed with a cold shock that there was nothing out of place. Both of her feet were facing the wardrobe door, exactly where I’d placed them before going to sleep.
“You ok honey?” My mother asked as I stared in shock at Maisie.
“No… Maisie… Her foot wasn’t where I’d left it. Someone had knocked her, she’d been moved. But now she’s back to how I left her. I swear I saw it” I managed to mutter as waves of confusion crashed over me.
I just couldn’t figure out what had happened. Maisie’s foot had been moved, I saw it. I knew I wasn’t asleep as I’d gone to fetch my mother straight after, there’s no way I could have dreamt it. But there was no way that her foot could have been moved back either. No one had been in my room in the few seconds between my leaving and me and my mother entering. And Maisie couldn’t move it herself.
As I stood there, eyes still fixed on Maisie, I was vaguely aware of my mother mentioning something about my imagination and that she could help me rebuild the Lego set if I wanted, before the door softly closed behind her as she made her way to the bathroom. An eerie feeling crawled across me as I stood there. Just what the hell was happening?
Maisie’s cold, glassy eyes were fixed dead ahead, but I could have sworn that just for a moment I saw something in them, something almost triumphant before they returned to their dead, shimmering state. The way she sat there with the light reflecting on the cool porcelain of her face seemed to give her once pleasant smile a sinister edge.
I turned away as unease welled up in me, unsure of exactly what to think anymore. I just tried my best to push the strange sights of the morning out of my mind. To that end I went about my usual routine, getting my clothes from the wardrobe and getting myself ready. Although I had my back to her, I couldn’t help but feel Maisie’s gaze on me as I made my way around my room. The thought of her dead, glazed eyes watching my every move caused my skin to crawl and I spun around expecting to catch those lifeless eyes tracking me.
To my relief Maisie was still staring at the wardrobe, unmoving. Still, this whole thing was beginning to get to me. Just looking at her sitting there was enough to cause my scalp to tighten. Although I knew that I was probably just overreacting or imagining things, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong with her.
Stepping up to her chair, I grabbed Maisie and carried her over to the wardrobe, placing her neatly inside before closing the door. At least if she was in there then she couldn’t watch me as I played, although I swore that I could still feel her eyes on me even from behind the wooden doors as I left my bedroom.
The next couple of days seemed to pass as normal, and I tried my best to forget about Maisie. However, every morning when I went in to retrieve my clothes I would be met with a pale, smiling face and shiny, glassy eyes staring at me from the darkness. Each time I’d have to bite back my unease, quickly grabbing my clothes and shutting the door again. After the third time this happened, I decided to cover Maisie with an old coat, tossing it over her haphazardly. Even though I knew she was still there, it at least meant that I wouldn’t have to look at her each time I opened the door.
I spent the rest of the day playing with my action figures. My favourite was my Harry Potter figure that I’d been given as a Christmas present a few months prior. We’d been on several adventures together since then. I think that particular morning we were spies on a secret mission in a hostile country. Using Harry’s magic and the spy kit I’d been given by one of my friends for my birthday, we’d successfully infiltrated the foreign government’s headquarters and were trying to hack into their computer systems to download the files we needed while Harry used his spells to make sure no one detected us. We were there for hours, sneaking along my bedroom floor and diving across my bed until my mother shouted up to me that dinner was ready.
After dinner, I played with Harry some more, finally finishing our mission before it was time to go to bed. My mother came in as I got ready, tidying away some of the other toys that littered my floor. Still clutching Harry in my hand, I clambered into bed and covered myself with the duvet. My mother kissed me goodnight and turned out the light as my eyelids became heavy.
I tossed and turned all night that night, trapped in the throes of a nightmare. I don’t remember much of it, mainly just the sounds. I could have sworn that I’d heard the tinkling of china gently tapping against wood, and a heavy dragging sound accompanied by the soft singing and laughter of a young girl. It was unnerving enough to etch itself into my memory even now.
I remember waking with a start, cold sweat beading on my forehead. The light from the edges of the curtains seeped in, dimly illuminating my bedroom. The sounds of the nightmare ebbed away as I realised with relief where I was. As I relaxed, it took me a few seconds to register as my vision was blurred with sleep, but there was something resting on my pillow in front of me.
The pinkish-white shape sat perfectly placed there, a few inches away from my face, obscured by my still weary eyes. Gently rubbing away the sleep, I jumped back with a start and screamed as the blood in my veins turned to ice.
It was a head. Harry’s head. Sitting there on my pillow, it had been completely torn away. His decapitated body, with sharp plastic shards sticking out from rough tears around his neck, was still firmly grasped in my hand. I screamed again, terrified as to what I was seeing. How the hell had this happened? How could anyone have done this to Harry? I was holding him when I went to sleep, and I was still holding him now. How had someone managed to tear his head off?
Looking back at the jagged plastic of his neck, I couldn’t help but feel the malice that this must have been done with. The pure hatred that whoever had torn his head from his shoulders must have felt as they chaotically ripped away at him. It terrified me, the fact that all of this had happened and I’d just slept right through the entire thing.
My mother burst through the door, panicked eyes darting frantically around the room as she responded to my terrified yells.
“What is it honey, are you ok?” She asked, still scouring every inch of the room for something wrong.
I couldn’t speak. All words had left me. All I could do was hold up the remains of Harry for my mother to see.
“Oh honey, what happened to him?” She said, making her way over to me and hugging me, her eyes visibly calmer now that there was no immediate danger.
I explained about my nightmare, explained the sounds and how I’d woken up with his face inches from mine, his body still in my hand. A sad expression played on her face as I relayed what had happened, she knew Harry was my favourite action figure and could tell that it had deeply upset me.
Maintaining the hug, she agreed with me that it was strange and tried to comfort me.
“Aww sweetie, it’s ok, We can try and stick him back together. Maybe his neck had started to weaken from being played with and last night was all it took. You probably just rolled on him and that was the last straw. It’s ok though, we’ll sort it”
I appreciated her trying to make me feel better, but I could tell she wasn’t sure herself. Her voice sounded apprehensive as she stroked my hair and held me tight. Besides, that explanation didn’t add up in my head. The jagged plastic of his neck didn’t look like it had snapped or been crushed as I rolled over it. It looked torn and slashed aggressively. And then there was the head. To leave his head on my pillow like that, there’s no way that could have happened by accident. It was a message, a warning of some kind, it had to be. It was too meticulously placed, too perfect to have happened by accident.
We sat there hugging for a few more minutes before my mother released her grip, telling me that she needed to go and start breakfast and that I should get ready for school, but she would try to fix Harry when I got back. With that, she got up and left, leaving the door ajar behind her.
Shoulders slumped and tears lining my eyes, I slid from the end of the bed, making my way towards the wardrobe to get my school uniform. Reaching out my hand, I was inches away from the handle when I stopped dead. The door was ajar.
Goose pimples broke out across my arms as I stared at the blackness beyond the crack in the frame. I swear I’d closed it last night after I got my pyjamas out. I was certain. But it was right there in front of me, partially open.
Alarm bells rang in my head the longer I stared into the darkness. Had whatever had done this to Harry hidden in there? Or been hiding in there in the first place, after all, people always talk about there being monsters in your closet. Gingerly I reached out and gripped the door, gently pulling, wincing in anticipation of the thing hiding on the other side, ready to jump out at me.
The door swung open easily as it always did and revealed… nothing. Just the same clothes dangling from their coat hangers above the folded piles of underwear and socks. It was the same as it had been every other day. Now even more confused, I couldn’t understand what was going on. What had done that to Harry and why was the door open? More importantly, where had whatever had done it gone?
As I stood staring at the open wardrobe, the glint of something shiny caught my eye coming from the lower left-hand corner. Casting my gaze downwards, I noticed the glimmering porcelain jutting from underneath an old coat. Maisie! Slowly peeling back the coat, dread washed over me as those glassy lifeless eyes met mine. She was still lying where I’d left her, but I swear she was propped at a different angle. My mind began spiralling again. She’d moved, she had to have moved. She’d done this to Harry, she had to have. Maybe she was jealous that I’d played with him after she’d been thrown into the wardrobe and forgotten? Either way, she had to have moved.
The thought that I could have knocked her as I’d taken my clothes out of the wardrobe didn’t occur until later that day. I couldn’t help the tremble in my throat as I stared down at the pale porcelain doll before me. There was something wrong with Maisie, something deeply wrong. My mind replayed the events over and over in my head, jumping to conclusions left and right.
The first time something like this had happened was the first day I’d not had Maisie in my bed with me. I’d put her in that chair at the end of the room after talking to Mrs Fairchild, then the morning after my Lego set had been shattered. Now I’d spent the day playing with my Harry figure, and the morning after he’d been decapitated. Could Maisie have been jealous that I’d been playing with other toys instead of her?
I caught myself mid-reel chastising myself for getting so wound up. What was I talking about? Maisie was just a doll. Sure she creeped me out a little now that I had no idea where she came from, and sure I thought her eyes followed me sometimes, but she was still just a doll. Someone else had to be doing this, someone real. Trying to shake the feeling as best as I could, I got ready for school and went downstairs.
School was uneventful that day. I could hardly concentrate on my lessons, I was so fixated on the growing problem that seemed to be affecting my playthings. I needed to find out who it was that was coming into my room each night and destroying my toys before there were none left. Sure it had only happened to two so far, but that was two more than it had ever happened to before now and I couldn’t see a reason for either.
As my teacher was droning on at the front of the class, scribbling away at the whiteboard about something to do with how crystals form within rocks, the makings of an idea hatched in my mind.
Whoever was doing this to my toys came at night while I was asleep. They were quiet but not completely careful, they’d knocked Maisie’s foot one time and left the wardrobe door open another. Both times I’d heard nothing but they’d definitely been there. I needed to see them while I slept.
For my birthday, my grandparents had given me a cheap smartphone. It was my first phone and even though it didn’t have any of the flashy features of the more expensive phones, I didn’t even have a sim card to make calls, I thought it was brilliant. But even with its lack of fancy features, it still had a camera. If I could set it up before bed and position it in such a way that it could see all of my room, then I’d be able to catch whoever was doing this in the act. It was foolproof.
As soon as I got home I ran straight to my room and checked the phone’s camera, testing a few trial recordings to try and find the best angle. I finally decided on the corner of my room near my bedside table. The picture was clear enough that I could make out pretty much all of my room with ease, and there were hardly any blind spots.
Happy with myself and the fact that my plan was in motion, I spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Gerard. I’d placed him in his ball so that he could run around my room, his excited squeaks intensifying as he charged along the length of the rug and bounced along the laminate beneath.
I even made him a small obstacle course using my schoolbooks and some of my toys. It filled me with joy watching him clamber over action figures and dolls in his clear plastic ball, and I even laughed out loud as I watched him attempt to climb a particularly steep book that I’d actually intended for him to roll down instead. Watching the small squeaking ball of fluff charging around the room at breakneck speeds helped to calm me down and forget about the events of the morning.
After what had only felt like a few minutes of playing with my pet, my mother called from the hall to let me know that tea was ready. Scooping Gerard up and putting him back in his cage, I refilled his food and water before heading downstairs.
Soon enough it was time for bed and time for me to put the rest of my plan into action. I got dressed into my pyjamas as normal, doing my best to ignore the lump under the old coat in my wardrobe. As I clambered into bed, my mother entered the room to tuck me in. She kissed me goodnight as she usually did, calling me her little angel before turning out the light and closing the door.
As soon as her footsteps faded across the landing I sat up and got to my feet. My heart beat rapidly like a drum with anticipation as I set up the phone like I’d practised and made sure the camera was working. Once I was happy with its placement I pressed record and quickly got myself back into bed. Surveying the room one final time for anything out of the ordinary, everything looked as it should have, and I rested my head on the pillow, trying my best to sleep.
Although it took a while, I think because I was excited about finally catching whoever this was, I slowly faded into unconsciousness, the shapes of my room slowly being replaced by the darkness of my dreams. Again a nightmare gripped me, flashes of terrifying creatures in the dark mist, sounds of tinkling china and heavy dragging, and a wet squelching sound that made me feel sick. The deep unease and fear tore through me as the sounds whirled around, faster and faster.
The bright light of my room greeted me again as my eyes snapped open, those awful dreams now clearing. Taking a few seconds to come to my senses, I glanced around the room excitedly, awaiting whatever destruction had occurred the previous night. As I surveyed the space, my heart sank. The room was exactly the same as it was the night before. Not a single thing was out of place.
Disheartened, I slipped out of bed and picked up my phone from the corner. Stopping the recording, I held it there in my hand. Although it was obvious that the perpetrator hadn’t visited me last night, I felt a compulsion to check the video. I knew it would just be a recording of my lying there for 8 hours, but at least I could check out the angle and make sure it was working as I needed it to.
Skimming through the video, I saw myself dimly lit by the glow of the landing light climbing back into bed, and tossing around a couple of times before ultimately settling. Nothing much happened after that and I skimmed through the rest of it. Gerard came down from the top of his cage and started running around in his wheel and playing with his cardboard tube, but otherwise, the room was still.
As good as the angle and recording were, the more I watched the more my disappointment grew. That is until the timer showed 3 am. As I watched on, a slight movement on the screen caught my eye. I froze as my blood ran cold and I nearly dropped the phone.