"Casey, are you feeling hot again? You look flushed," asked Nanny Helen as she placed the back of her hand on the little girl's forehead. Casey blinked, her big brown eyes staring up at her nanny, feeling the coolness of Helen's touch but not really knowing how to answer.
"I don't feel sick," Casey said softly, her voice just above a whisper. Her gaze flickered down to the floor, where her two favorite dolls sat on the plush carpet, each one neatly propped against the edge of her toy chest.
Kasey, with her golden curls and lacey blue dress, and Barley, with her raven hair and maroon gown, stared back at her with their glassy, unmoving eyes. Casey loved them both dearly. The dolls had been gifts from her parents, who were always busy with work but still made time to shower her with expensive presents as a way of showing their love.
They were very pretty, and her parents had told her to be careful with them because they were "delicate." But Casey knew better. She knew they were more than just pretty things to be looked at.
"Stay in bed today, just in case," Nanny Helen said, pulling the covers over Casey's small body. "I'll bring you some soup for lunch. You're always getting sick, sweetie. We don't want you to come down with anything."
Casey nodded, watching as Nanny Helen left the room. She turned her head toward the dolls, feeling their presence like a weight in the room. She used to think they were her best friends. She would have tea parties with them, tell them her secrets, and snuggle with them at night. But lately… lately, things had changed.
One of the dolls was trying to hurt her. She just didn't know which one.
It had started small. A few weeks ago, Casey woke up in the middle of the night to find Barley's hand on the pillow beside her head. At first, she thought she had just knocked the doll over while sleeping, but the position seemed too deliberate. The delicate porcelain fingers were outstretched, as if they had been reaching for her. She had shivered and gently placed Barley back in her place on the shelf.
Then, a few days later, while playing in her room, Casey had felt a sharp pinch on her ankle. She had yelped in surprise and looked down to see Barley lying at her feet. The doll's glassy eyes were fixed on her, and its painted mouth seemed to be smirking. There was no one else in the room, and the door had been shut.
At first, Casey thought maybe it was all in her head. Maybe she had accidentally kicked Barley and imagined the pinch. But then… strange things started happening with Kasey, too.
Casey had always felt a special connection to Kasey. The doll even shared her name, though spelled differently. Kasey had been the first of the two dolls that her parents gave her. She had always felt safe with Kasey by her side. But recently, Kasey had begun to move around as well, although in much subtler ways.
One evening, as Casey was falling asleep, she heard a faint whisper. "Don't be afraid." She shot up in bed and looked around, her heart pounding. She wasn't sure if the voice was real or just a dream. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kasey sitting upright in her usual spot on the toy chest, but this time her head was slightly tilted, like she was watching over her.
The whisper came again the next night, and this time, Casey was sure of it. "Don't trust her."
But who? Barley? Or… was it Kasey?
The following week, Casey's nights became increasingly terrifying. The dreams—or rather, nightmares—were filled with dark figures, their hands reaching for her, trying to pull her into some shadowy place. But each time, just before she was dragged into the darkness, a light would appear—a soft, warm glow. The light was shaped like a girl, and she felt safe whenever it appeared.
"Who are you?" Casey asked in one dream, her voice trembling.
"I'm your sister," the glowing figure replied softly, though her voice sounded distant and hollow. "I'm here to protect you. But she doesn't want me to."
"Sister?" Casey was confused. She didn't have a sister. She was an only child… wasn't she?
That was when the figure began to fade, and the dark, cold presence in the corner of the dream slithered closer. "She wants you gone, Casey," the figure said. "Don't let her."
As the days passed, Casey became more and more convinced that her dolls were alive. But which one was the good one? And which was trying to hurt her?
One night, things came to a head. Casey woke up to the feeling of something heavy pressing down on her chest. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes shot open, and there, perched on her chest, was Barley. The doll's arms were extended, fingers curled around the fabric of her nightgown, pressing into her skin. Casey tried to scream, but no sound came out.
In the shadows of the room, she saw a flicker of movement—Kasey, still on the toy chest, her head tilted in that familiar protective way.
"Help me," Casey whispered, tears streaming down her face.
There was a sudden crash, and Barley was thrown off her chest and across the room.