Read Online His Cemetery Doll by Brantwijn Serrah - Free Book Online Page A

here."
    Of course...she already did, once...
    "I told you there was a woman," she whispered. "I told you."
    "You did," he agreed. After a moment, he frowned. "Shyla...did you see her out there?"
    "No. I...I guess I must have dreamed her. I can't remember, it just came to me one night."
    He gave her a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?"
    She shook her head. "Not at all."
    "You've never actually seen her before? With your own two eyes?"
    "No." After a moment, she pulled out of the hug to meet his gaze. "Why were her hands bloody? And her face?"
    "I don't know. At first I assumed she'd knocked down our statue, but...maybe she tried to pull those thorny vines off of it."
    "Oh, no! The statue!" Her eyes brimmed with tears again. "Oh, Dad, your beautiful statue...poor Maya!"
    He nodded, but Maya remained the least of his worries. Her ring of tombstones—the center of his graveyard—stood breached by inexplicable wild growth, and he didn't comprehend what could be causing this abundant destruction by nature.
    The doll...she'd come to him and...and had he truly made love with her? A living porcelain doll? Could it even be possible?
    Her existence couldn't be possible. Those hands, they couldn't be possible. None of it could be possible.
    Shyla caused a change in the doll, though. When his daughter joined them in the woods behind Maya's ring, the doll became agitated. For the first time, she'd broken her silence, and she'd fought to get at the girl, practically tried to claw poor Shyla's eyes out. Why?
    Maybe...
    His brow furrowed. Maybe...if she thinks she's somehow claimed me...she might believe Shyla stands in her way.
    Flat horror filled his gut. If the doll had somehow claimed him, what did it mean?
    Without knowing what manner of creature she might be...he had no way to tell.
    ***
    H e woke in the morning with Shyla still curled in his arms. They'd both fallen asleep on the couch, frightened and exhausted. Careful not to wake her, Conall pried himself free and stood up to stretch.
    The first pale streaks of dawn touched the sky outside. He stepped out to see no fog lingering along the ground on their back porch, at least. Conall debated, for some moments, if he ought to go down and explore.
    A cold trepidation held him back. He'd not yet decided if he hoped the doll had been pulled apart by those terrible black hands in the forest...or if he wished for her escape. Every time he imagined her come to harm or pictured the blood on her hands, he also recalled how soft, how needful, how passionate she'd been in his arms. Every time he remembered her fragile, delicate body atop his in the darkness and the pleasure he'd found in joining with her...he couldn't help but shudder at the memory of her wild rage, her screeching, sobbing desperation to get her hands—her claws— on Shyla.
    Conall frowned to himself, hands gripping the rail of his back porch while he gazed sightlessly down toward the graveyard. No Maya there, anymore...he'd been able to see her from here. Now, the lay of the land appeared...lonely.
    Lonely, he pondered. The doll...that's what I sense when she comes close to me. She is...
    Lonely.
    A lonely phantom, however, might be very, very dangerous.
    Conall turned to go back inside. He returned to the living room and nudged his daughter. Her eyes fluttered open, and he lifted her up, as if she were a tiny child, eight years old instead of nearly thirteen.
    "Come on," he said. "We're going to see Father Frederick."
    "Why?" she asked in a voice slurred with sleep.
    "Spiritual guidance," he answered, but he doubted she would understand exactly what he meant.
    "But I'm still in my nightgown," she murmured.
    "It's all right. I'm sure the good Father won't mind if you find a little extra sleep in the church, while I speak with him."
    "Can't I stay here, Dad? Please?"
    "No, dear heart," he said. He didn't want to leave her alone anywhere the doll might come to find her.
    Conall usually