A Hungry Gaze and a Soft Voice

I froze. Had the mannequin just moved, or had the talisman come off on its own? I could have sworn I saw the wig rustling. I told myself there must have just been a draft and continued leaving, but then began a creaking sound that made my hair stand on end. It grew louder over a fraction of a second that felt more like an hour until it suddenly rose to a startling clatter, and I screamed and bolted out the door without looking.

I sat in my running car with my hands clenched tight on the steering wheel and the brights on. I had already resolved to leave the place, but something was keeping me. I kept thinking about my sister. If I came home empty-handed, she'd be disappointed. She wouldn't say it, but it would show in her eyes. I didn't want to see those eyes. I told myself again that maybe there had just been a draft. I had cracked the door as I was leaving; perhaps some air had shifted and caused the mannequin to fall over. It was also possible that this was all a prank, that there was a hidden camera in that building and that someone would get a good laugh out of my suffering. In any case, that talisman hadn't been on the mannequin's forehead when I first arrived, and nothing had happened then, so it was only logical to think that it didn't serve any real purpose and that there was nothing "perranormal" afoot in the first place.

I breathed in as much courage as I could and went back to the little white building. Inside the room, the mannequin had wound up slumped over the side of the chair, its neck bent at an unnatural angle. The talisman had fallen onto the dirt floor. I picked it up and stuck it back on the mannequin's forehead for good measure. Even though I didn't want to believe there was anything supernatural at play, having the talisman in its proper place provided some small comfort.

I decided to stay in the room until dawn and then leave and contact whoever had posted the job for payment. I did wonder how they would verify that I had actually done the work, since no one was there to check that I had reached the site or that I wasn't leaving early. The thought kept gnawing at me, as I had been cheated out of payment before on such technicalities, so I pulled out my phone and opened the camera to record some proof. First, I took a picture of the mannequin. Then, I took one of myself and immediately had the thought that I should blur my face out if I ended up having to show the photos to my employer. I started to put my phone away, but something compelled me to go over to the mannequin and get a selfie with it. I debated whether doing that was really a good idea, but the frivolity of it seemed like it might help lighten my mood. I crouched down and, grinning foolishly and making a peace sign, snapped the photo.

I laughed to myself as I stood up to examine the picture, but when I saw the mannequin glaring back at me from my phone screen, I jumped and nearly threw my phone to the ground. I glanced frantically at the mannequin, then back to my phone, confirming that somehow, the mannequin in the image had facial features, while the mannequin sitting next to me in that horrid old room did not. The face in the photo wore an unsettling expression. It was not one of anger or malice, no—its rosy lips were smiling softly, solemnly, like a saint bestowing mercy, but its eyes—oh, its eyes! They were beautiful eyes, inky-blue with long thick lashes, but they were open wide in anticipation. Those were voracious eyes.

So transfixed was I by the photo that I didn't see or hear the talisman drop again, and I was only alerted that something had gone wrong by a new sound that I didn't recognize. It was a voice.

"You took a picture of me," it said. I screamed and instinctively threw myself back against the steel door with the full strength of my leg muscles. My hip and shoulder collided against the metal with a deafening bang, and I dropped to the ground, groaning. I clutched at my hip; the pain was so bad that I couldn't think straight.

"Oh, my," said the voice. I strained to see through watery eyes, trying to find the source of the voice. Deep down, I already knew what it was, but I desperately wanted to believe it was anything else.

"Are you alright?" it asked. "I didn't mean to startle you." It was a woman's voice, kind and soothing, but it was difficult to be soothed by it. I tried to calm down and stand up, but my breathing was too erratic, and my hip was too hurt. I winced.

"Are you hurt?" said the voice. I didn't want to speak. I just wanted to leave, but all I could do was sit there in the dirt, panting and whimpering.

"Please," said the voice, "don't be afraid." It asked again if I was hurt. I stared at the mannequin and its horrible crooked neck and its blank pearly face. My lip quivered as I imagined the face from the photo.

"What are you?" I sobbed. The mannequin lay lifeless.

"I used to be a girl," it finally said. "But now... well, I don't remember how this all happened." I continued staring in disbelief as the mannequin's head gradually moved, jittering around as if it took a great effort to move even a single inch. With a series of clicks and pops, the figure slowly righted its posture, though when it was nearly done it fell limp again, its head lolling around across its chest and arm.

"It's still too much..." it said quietly. I made a little noise and cowered away, but there was only so much further I could squish myself against the door.

"What do you want?!" I cried, shaking so hard that the door was rattling. The mannequin's head rolled to the side, and it spoke.

"You."