Horror prompts

The doll

With the palest of skin, dressed in black, she sat on the shelf staring dead eyed and emotionless. Her red lips formed a perpetual half smile. Her head tilted side ways, held on only by her dark black hood. The thick fabric cast a grey shadow over her face. I hated her. Hated how her dead black eyes always seemed to peirce through me. Hated how the mere sight of her left goosebumps on my skin. It was worse at night. Her ghostly pale figure seemingly around every dark corner. The horrible silence that oozed out of her. The inexplicable way her eyelids fluttered when your gaze met hers. And the way her gazed burned even more when you tried to avoid it. For years it seemed there was no escaping her. No escape untill I had the retched thing burned. But even now I can still hear the small foot steps and silence that came in the night. The terrifying laughter that only I could hear. The doll maybe gone, but it's spirit remains. It torments me in the night. It's a part of me now. It is the most horribly sincere part of me.