The Ghosts That Haunt Me

Prologue

Rows and rows of porcelain dolls stared back at me from every direction. Wide-brimmed hats, some with feathers, some with the brim artistically bent back. Their dresses were drowning in lace ruffles, synthetic pearls, and satin roses. They held their parasols at different angles, as if they were a firing squad making sure at least one of their shots would hit you. 

All this I could have handled. I hate porcelain dolls; they're a mockery of the children they represent. But I could have handled that. The eyes were the final straw. Those glassy, sightless eyes that watched and judged under the flourescent lights. They sat like a military court on the perforated shelves of the department store. 

There was a corner of my mind that knew that this was a dream, but contrary to my better judgement (which in dreams isn't that great anyway) the rest of me was filled with a deep sense of anxiety.

Here I am again, I thought. This was the third time in as many days that I've had this dream. So I did what any sensible and irritated person would do: I swore, loudly and emphatically. After I had emptied my substantial selection of insults and words that would turn a sailor red, the doll's eyes shifted down to the floor. A feeling of complete and utter despair washed over me. They had been my jury, and I had lost.