They say it takes a while for humans to get over someone’s death, especially if it was someone close to them. I was distraught when my grandmother passed, but I was even more upset at the doll she gave me on my birthday. The doll looked exactly like her with a date written on its tag.
August, 24th, 1996: The date of my death..
The tag wrote. My birthday was on July 1st. It’s impossible that my grandmother predicted her death. I know she always had these weird conspiracy theories and had these crazy freakouts about voices in her head, ghosts in her room, and other stupid things like that. My mother thought it was a good idea to put her in a mental hospital for a bit. She did, but that only made my grandmother worse to the point no mental hospital could handle her. Constantly, my grandmother would complain about the food, hospitality, and other things. My mother never grew angry at her at all and just reasoned with her. My mother was a kind soul to everyone, no matter what.
Anyways, back to the present. Things were going well and my grandmother was put on good medication. She didn’t complain or have any crazy freakouts anymore. It’s almost as if she is being controlled. Now that I think about it, my mother never did mention where she got the pills.
As expected, June came around and so did my birthday. I never liked anything too crazy for my birthday. So, it was just me, my grandma, and my mom. I was excited for today because I was like any other kid, wanting to grow up and explore the adventures of the world. As the singing rang in my ears and the cake was in my view, I was barely staying still in my seat. All I wanted was to pounce on that damn thing and eat it whole, I didn’t care who was watching. I had to hold myself back, though. But when that slice of cake was placed in my way, I didn’t hesitate to eat it whole. I think I ended up with a few cavities along the way. The presents time arrived and the first one I got was my grandmother’s. She always gave me interesting gifts. The present was an old, rusty box with some peeling areas. The only thing closing the box was a vintage rope along with a little locket that you had to lift. I carefully untied the rope while my grandmother watched me intently. I was a bit disturbed, but I soon shrugged it off as I separated the two wooden pieces. To my surprise, the box revealed a beautiful doll that looked exactly like my grandmother with rhinestone eyes that reflected off the living room light. Usually, a normal person would be creeped out and confused as to why they were given a dirty, vintage doll with knotted hair to them as a birthday present. I was young, so obviously I was obsessed with dolls. I was happy while my mother looked a bit disgusted. “You gave her that for her birthday? It’s dirty and the hair is all knotted.” My mother commented. “Well, yes.” My grandmother responded in her sweet tone. My mother scoffed and got angry. I don’t know what they argued about because of the fact that my father pushed me into my room with the doll. Worst. Birthday. Ever.
August was upon us sooner than we thought and we were all very upset in that month. My mother and grandmother’s relationship had gotten worse, I stayed in my room to get away from their nonsense. At this point, I cleaned up the doll and refreshed its hair with conditioner. I had to figure out the hard way why you shouldn’t try to straighten a doll’s hair with a hair straightener. I also noticed the tag and the writing on it that I had told you about earlier. I paid no mind. Until my grandmother finally died on us. My heart skipped a beat as I realized the date on the doll’s tag was today. How we found out? Well, the police came to the door with their hats on their chests and in their pitiest voice they told us my grandmother died of a heart attack. I didn’t buy it, though. My grandmother seemed well, but I guess I was wrong.
It was funny how my mother seemed so relieved after her death. She was so happy and joyful, it creeped me out. I know some people move on pretty fast, but she didn’t even shed a tear when the police arrived. In fact, she seemed… nervous.
I remembered she always kept a diary in her closet. With her asleep on the couch, I took this as a chance to head upstairs to her room. I shut the door behind me quietly as I could, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding in. I sneaked over to her closet and opened the twin doors. The first thing that caught my eye was the wooden box in the dark corner of the closet, sulking. Obviously, it stood out to me because it was the same box that the doll my grandmother gave me was in. Which reminded me, that I never got it back after that day. I lifted the locket and there it stood. A black notebook with “Journal” engraved on the front. I quickly grabbed it and got on my knees opening to the first page. Most of the pages were boring, just containing notes and grocery lists. One page piqued my interest, it was recent. It wrote;
August 10th, 1996. I want to kill my mother. She already went too far with the dirty old doll and pushed my limits. She pisses me off so much. It makes me want to slice her neck open while Carrie is at school and watch her scream and bleed out. I shouldn’t be thinking these things, let alone writing them. But I can’t help it, I hate her.
My eyes widened in horror, I didn’t have the guts to read the next paragraph as I saw the word “blood” in it as I turned the page. This page was dated to be much later than the first. Although, I realized I shouldn’t be here when I read it.
August 23rd, 1996. I finally killed that son of a bitch. I sliced her throat clean and made it look like a heart attack. Carrie never noticed or thought twice. Don’t worry, Carrie. We can finally live in peace.
August 24th, 1996. The cops came today and told us of the whore’s death. I was nervous at first, I thought they knew. They didn’t, though, and filed it out as a heart attack. But, I know Carrie wouldn’t believe that. She’s suspicious.
CARRIE, I KNOW YOU ARE READING THIS. YOU WILL DIE TONIGHT, I CAN’T HAVE YOU TELLING THEM. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO LIVE IN PEACE. I LOVED YOU.
I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I looked down at my lap only to see a knife sticking out of my stomach. As I realized what happened, I screamed. But my cries were muffled by a hand that smelt of rose perfume. I began to become intoxicated by the perfume being forcefully pushed into my nostrils and mouth. It was my turn to go and by the time you read this, I have already been dead for years now. To you, it’s just February 5th, 2023. I hope you take hold of my warning. She’s still out there. Y’know, I should’ve listened to my grandmother when she predicted this would happen. I lied. What I didn’t tell you was my death date was on that tag too. I still wonder what would happen if I had gotten that pocket knife that was stuffed in the doll.
August 27th, 1998: The date of my death.