The staircase crumbles over time,

    leaving a film of white-out over it all.

    Air whistles through the broken windows,

    a high-pitched moaning sound to my ears.

    Cobwebs catch hold of my hair,

    twirling the strands against my face.

    I climb the creaking stairs to the attic,

    to see what lies behind the peaked window.

    A doll house sized door waits at the top,

    its tiny knob small for my fingers.

    I stoop to enter the round room,

    lit by beams of light from the beveled window.

    A collection of dolls sleep in the morning sun,

    lined up like soldiers around the room.

    Porcelain skin shining white,

    so lifelike in their slumbering pose.

    I reach to touch the Elizabethan girl,

    dressed in a gown of burgundy and lace.

    Skin so soft and warm,

    for a doll created for make believe.

    The room feels even smaller,

    eyes following my every move.

    A movement from the far corner

    catches my roving eye.

    Pinocchio stands up to face me,

    an evil grin across his wooden face.

    He says in a high shrill voice

    as he lumbers on wooden legs to me,

    “Hello, Nice to meet you.

    Time to play our nightly game.”

    Arms and legs come at me,

    a cacophony of sounds hit my ears.

    I go down beneath the dolls,

    now one of their creations of make believe.


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