Day 201

I used to pull apart my dolls for fun when I was a kid.
Used scissors on them too.
Those were back the 80's.
At the time there was a string of gruesome murders.
No fingerprints, no trail, no nothing.
They were just torn apart and left in back alleys.

I used to mimic the crime scenes - I was a weird kid.
Sometimes though... sometimes my dolls would match the deaths
before I'd even read about them.
Like this one time I pulled her arms off, cut the hands off and stuffed
them into the torso.
Read about that one the next day.

I stopped playing with dolls after that, never even picked one up again.

You know, I hadn't thought about this for years.
Not until I cut up a doll for an art project.
I created this scene of a dining room with doll parts on plates.
That night a similar scene was all over the news.
A woman was found cut up and left on her kitchen table.
Same as the others, no prints, no witnesses and no leads.

It can't have been me though.
Nobody had even seen my work, it can't just be coincidence.

I decided to prove to myself once and for all that it wasn't me.
This time I made the doll look like my mother, used fabric from her old
clothes, mimicked her haircut, her wrinkles - everything.
I didn't tell anyone about it, had the doll delivered to my workplace.
It was untraceable to me,or so I thought.

I set fire to the doll's head and painted my initials onto the back.
The plan was supposed to work.
I was supposed to be able to phone her.
She was supposed to be fine.

They found her exactly like the doll which became evidence against me.
It didn't explain the note they found with her that had no fingerprints on it
but was somehow dated back to the 80's.

It had two words on it, just two.


PLAY NICE.