“There are two officers waiting for you in the lobby,” Caleb’s boss said, with a grave expression. Caleb had just been working, at his desk at the back of the office. His heart sank. Had he done something wrong? Confused and uneasy, he rose from his desk and began walking towards the front of the office.

As he moved through the hallway, he noticed everyone had stopped talking. He felt like everyone was just staring at him. He hated it. Being short and stocky, with close-cropped black hair, he was always self-conscious of his appearance. He tried to pick up the pace, but his gait made it difficult. Walking was always hard, especially if he was being the target of everyone’s gaze.

When he reached the lobby, he immediately saw the two officers, and walked up to them. “Did I do something wrong, officer?”, he asked the first one, trying to keep a cool voice. The solemn look in their eyes made him think this wasn’t about any petty crime.

“Caleb Marsh?” The first one said, soft but firm.

Caleb nodded. “I’m sorry. There’s been an accident. A few hours ago, your parents were driving back home when a flash storm hit. Sudden downpour. A lightning strike brought down a tree in front of their car. Your father tried to swerve, but he lost control. They collided with another tree. They both died instantly at the scene. I am very sorry for your loss.”

As the officer gave Caleb these dire news, a thunder crashed in the distance. Caleb blinked twice, tears forming in his eyes. He wailed and shouted “no” a few times. His boss came to him, gave him a tight hug. Caleb cried out, his sobs wracking his body as the weight of his parents’ sudden demise crushed him. And all he could think of was that of course, it would happen during a thunderstorm.

”Take all the time you need,” his boss said in a soft voice. “When you are ready, we will be here.”

Caleb sobbed, nodded and thanked him. What was he going to do now? His mother had been his rock. His father his guiding star. Now he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. His world was spinning, and he clung to his boss for support, grateful for the brief comfort in the chaos.

Losing his sister when he was the tender age of seven had been devastating, but his parents had helped him through it. Who was going to help him now?

He walked to his desk, his vision blurry from all the tears. Fumbling, he grabbed his jacket, and searched for his keys as he had put the jacket on. Then he made his way to his car.

I still have my key to the old Marsh house, he thought to himself. I will head out there, and give them a memorial they deserve.

The drive to his parent’s house had always calmed him. The road was lined with mighty trees, a comforting tunnel of green and gold. There was a time when arriving at the house meant a warm meal and a hug. A smile waiting at the porch. But not this time. Not ever again.

He pulled to the side, parked, and cried. This was one of the worst days of his life – almost as hard as the day he found Debbie’s lifeless body.

They had been playing outside. Caleb got thirsty and ran inside for a glass of orange juice.

Meanwhile, a storm rolled in. Fast and loud, with a flash-flood rain. His father had looked out, and said to Caleb, ”Why don’t you and Debbie go sit in the couch and watch a movie? Maybe that muppet movie with the songs she likes so much?” Caleb nodded and went to the living room and diligently found the movie.

Meanwhile, Debbie had tried to run back home, but in the massive downpour, she had slipped. Hit her head on a rock. Unconscious, the rain pooled around her face. She had drowned before anyone realized she hadn’t made it back inside.

The family had been shattered. Caleb had blamed himself. His parents did too – for a while. Then they saw him slipping into depression, and instead of blaming, sought help for him. They forgave him. It was no one’s fault. Just a really terrible and unlucky moment.

After a few minutes, Caleb wiped his face, and tried to pull himself together. Je took a deep breath, trying to shake the weight that pressed down on him. After a few moments, he continued the drive. When he turned onto the street, memories came flooding back – his parents waiting on the porch, waving, smiling ready to make his visit a good one. He parked in front of the house. He looked at the house. It looked the same as always. Red walls, white roof. The chimney stood firm in all of this chaos. Always on duty. Caleb tried to smile at the thought, but he just couldn’t. Not today. It was not a day for smiling.

He opened the door. The entre was small and cosy – exactly as he remembered it. He hung his jacket, took off his shoes, and looked into the kitchen. Everything was pristine. His mother had always kept a clean home. He opened the fridge – stocked. He let out a big sigh of relief. At least he didn’t have to go out. He didn’t feel like seeing people. He needed some quiet and space. Time to remember the ones he had lost.

He sat on the couch in the living room. Looked around. He saw his mother’s knitting basket on the coffee table, an unfinished scarf she had been working on still there, the needles untouched. He flinched. He couldn’t bear to look at it. The weight of unfinished projects, things that would never be completed. It felt like yet another loss.

He ran his fingers through his hair, his frustration building. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Why was his life being turned upside down in an instant.

Caleb walked to the window, staring out into the yard. The old oak tree his father had planted was still there, its branches heavy with leaves and the roots buried deep in the ground. The tree that had stood tall through innumerable storms and seasons. But no matter how strong it looked, it couldn’t protect him. Nothing could.

He sighed. He looked through the living room again. This time, his eyes settled on the shelf of photo albums. He pulled one out. The first pages were filled with old pictures – Caleb as a baby, a toddler, growing up. He smiled. Then he turned the page. There she was. Debbie. Also very young. God, he did miss her. She was taken from them way too soon.

He remembered how much they enjoyed playing in the woods around the house. Their own little world. Why had he gone in for that orange juice? Why didn’t she follow him?

All these questions drained him. His eyes grew wet again. He closed the photo album and took a long, steady breath. He stood up, and stepped outside, feeling the cool air hit his face as he walked into the yard. The wind rustled the leaves, and the world around him seemed so quiet. Maybe too quiet. The silence pressed on him, the air feeling thick and heavy.

He walked toward the old oak tree, his footsteps muffled on the soft ground. As he neared it, he reached out and ran his fingers along the bark. The tree felt sturdy and unmoving, as if it had always been there, steadfast and strong. Caleb, on the other hand, was breaking apart inside.

He knelt down beside the tree, the memory of his father’s words echoing in his mind: “This tree will stand long after we’re gone. It’ll remind you of us, Caleb. Of where your roots are.”

Tears stung his eyes as he placed a hand on the ground, feeling the earth beneath him. It was the same earth that had claimed his sister, his parents, everything he had ever known. How could something so permanent, so unchanging, exist in a world where everything else felt like it was falling apart?

He stayed there for a while, his thoughts swirling, the cold seeping into his bones. There was nothing left for him here. No family. No home. Just a house full of sad memories.

Eventually Caleb stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes. He couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t let himself fall back into the dark emptiness of depression, no matter how overwhelming everything felt.

With a deep breath, he turned and walked back toward the house, knowing that even though he had come here for closure, it would never be finished. The pain would linger long after he left.

As he got inside, he went for the stairs and slowly climbed them. At the top, he turned right and looked into his parent’s bedroom. Nothing was out of place. He stepped in and took a deeper breath. He could almost smell his mother’s perfume – light, floral, clinging to the air like a memory that wouldn’t fade. He could almost see his mom during one of the mornings, putting on make-up and perfume. He made a stiff smile. On the nightstands were a few framed pictures – the two of them, smiling. In the centre frame: Caleb between them, maybe ten years old, his mother’s arm around his shoulders. His eyes looked sad. He remembered he still carried the weight of his sister’s death like a pile of bricks on his shoulders.

He sighed and stepped out into the hallway. It was getting late. He decided to look into his sister’s room, for old times sake. He opened the door and looked inside. Pristine.

Mom has done a good job of keeping Debbie’s room clean, he thought. Then he saw something in the far corner. A small table. Behind it, a small chair and in it – a doll. Debbie’s favourite. Old Tabitha.

Carved from wood – stiff and wooden, yet so smooth. It almost looked new. Pristine, shining almost, like it had just been made. That shouldn’t be possible. What was this doll made of?

Her eyes were wide, perfectly round, painted a pale glass-blue. They reflected the room with unnatural clarity. Her smile was carved too deep, stretching unnaturally across her face. A bit too wide and permanent – not resembling a human smile even closely. It was the creepiest smile he had ever seen. He shuddered.

Tufts of curly blonde hair crowned her wooden head. The curls were too neat and too fixed, as if they’d been frozen in place decades ago. Strands of it clung to her face. To Caleb, it felt like they moved sometimes – though he could never actually see it.

She wore a bright red dress, still vibrant, the edges crisp and untouched. Her arms were long wooden rods ending in painted white gloves, smooth and round like a mime’s hand, smooth, expressionless, creepy. Her legs, stiff and narrow, ended in dainty black shoes, scuffed just enough to suggest use.

Caleb stared at Old Tabitha for a moment. Cold shivers ran down his spine. That doll looked so uncanny – and it had always creeped him out – but Debbie loved it. That had been enough. He said nothing, closed the door, and headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, he made a simple meal. He didn’t feel like doing anything much tonight. As he ate, a noise stopped him mid-chew. Light footsteps – quick and skittering. Like a child running – or something smaller. He froze.

The attic? He certainly hoped not. The attic had always scared him, ever since he was around four, and innocently poked his head through the hatch – straight into a spider’s web. He screamed as he could feel tiny legs crawling over his face. His father pulled him down, cleaned him off and killed any invading arachnids. He never went up there again.

He shuddered at the thought of it. He slowly climbed up the stairs. It seemed to come from his sister’s room. He let out a sigh, and stopped at the door, hand on knob. Carefully, he opened the door – ready to confront any intruder, be it animal or worse. But the room was the same. Except. Except now, the doll was sitting on it’s doll chair, in front of the small table. Odd. He was sure it had been behind the table before. His mind might be playing tricks on him. After all, it had been an eventful day. And his mind wasn’t in the greatest space at this moment.

He stood in the doorway and put his head inside the room, just to get a peek. Nothing. He sighed. Great, now he was imagining things. As if he couldn’t have it any worse. He closed the door and went back downstairs. Finished his meal in silence, thinking about this chaotic day. He sat on the couch for the remainder of the evening, flipping through photo albums, reminiscing. When it was time for sleep, he grabbed a blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch.

As Caleb slept, dreams did not come for him. It was only darkness. But in the darkness, he could feel a presence. It did not feel like a benevolent one. He felt unsafe, felt as if he was being watched, and wanted to run away – but his legs wouldn’t move. He had no idea which way was forward. Or even if there was a forward.

Caleb woke up early next morning. He felt exhausted, as if he had just been sleeping for twenty minutes. He yawned and stretched, and decided for a hearty breakfast.

Eggs, bacon, sausages and bread. Something to ground him. As he was preparing his meal, he heard creaking from above. He looked up, and frowned. It is probably just the house shifting. Normal old-house sounds.

He finished cooking and dived in. It tasted so good. Almost as good as mom made it. Used to make it. He stopped. That thought had crawled in – unwelcome and heavy. He felt as the sadness wash over him. The creaks were louder it seemed. He shrugged it off. Just another trick of the mind. He finished his meal and thought about what he wanted – or needed – to do today.

Caleb decided he wanted to talk to Mr. Holmes, their next-door neighbour. He walked over, rang the bell, and waited. After a moment, the door opened. Mr. Holmes saw Caleb, and his face lit up in a smile. “Hi Caleb. What brings you here?” Mr. Holmes said.

Caleb tried to give him a smile, but didn’t quite manage it. ”I… I don’t know how to say this.” He said softly. “My parents were in an accident yesterday. They… they died.”

Mr. Holmes gasped, as his smile faded, and then said in a lower voice, ”Oh no… Caleb, I… I’m so so sorry. Come in, please. I can’t imagine how you are feeling right now. I have some cookies in the oven. We can talk while they bake.”

Caleb nodded and stepped inside. The smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies filled the air. His mouth watered. “Come on,” Mr. Holmes said. “Let’s sit down in the living room. Talk about… whatever you feel like.”

Caleb took off his shoes, hung his jacket and followed Mr. Holmes into the living room. He sat on the couch, while Mr. Holmes sat in his usual chair.

They talked for a while – about Caleb’s parents, their life, what they meant to him. After a few minutes, Mr. Holmes excused himself and went into the kitchen. He brought back a tray with a bowl of warm chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. “I was feeling a bit bored,” he said with a smile. “Figured I’d bake a batch. Still using the old recipe.”

Caleb took a bite, closed his eyes. ”Mmmm… just like I remember.” he said. “So tasty.”

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the cookies and letting the quiet stretch. After a bit, Caleb stood up. “I should be heading back. Thank you for everything, Mr. Holmes.”

”Of course. And Caleb…” Mr. Holmes paused, his voice softer. “You are always welcome here. And if you need anything, anything at all – just knock.”

Caleb nodded and stepped outside. He felt… a bit better. Not whole. But not empty, either. He got back to his house, and went to the living room. He sat on the couch, and started flipping through the photo albums, looking at pictures of Debbie. How much he mi- a sound interrupted the thought. The sound of a child’s laugh. It came from upstairs. His heart kicked harder in his heart. He stared at the ceiling, as if he could see through it. Slowly, he stood up. His voice barely a whisper. “Hello?”

No response. He made his way up the stairs carefully. At the top, he tried again. “Hello?”.

Just as soft. And unanswered again.

He was breathing hard now. His nerves were fraying. He turned to his parent’s room. Empty. Nothing out of place in there. He closed the door and let out a sigh.

Then he crossed to his old room. Also empty. He closed his eyes. Please let Debbie’s room be normal. His hand wrapped around the doorknob. Did he really want to do this? Slowly, he turned it. Cracked the door open. Everything looked the same. Immaculate. The small doll table and chairs in the far corner.

Wait. Old Tabitha was now sitting on the bed. She… it… had been sitting in one of the chairs earlier… hadn’t it? Had he imagined it? Or put it on the bed and forgotten about it?

No, this was getting too strange. He stood in the doorway, staring at the doll, just sitting on the bed. It’s lifeless eyes fixed on him. His stomach tightened, a knot forming in his chest. How had it gotten there? He was certain it had been sitting in the chair the last time he looked in the room. He pulled himself together, and took a deep breath and entered the room. He walked up to the bed and picked up the doll. Its painted eyes staring right through him. Glaring at him. Cold. Glossy. Still wearing that uncanny smile.

He made his way to the closet, opened it, and placed the doll inside. “No more doll shenanigans,” he muttered to himself. He’d had enough of this. He stepped out of the room, shut the door behind him, let out a long sigh of relief.

Downstairs, he heard the first taps of rain against the windows. He looked outside. It was pouring. A flash of lightning cut across the sky. Great, a thunderstorm. He resented thunderstorms. They had taken everything from him. Then again, it wasn’t like he had anywhere to go.

He decided to make himself a cup of hot chocolate. Something his mother used to do for him during thunderstorms. Cup in hand, he went back to the living room. As he sat himself in the couch, his hand knocked his cup over, spilling hot chocolate all over the photo album. He just stared at it in disbelief. It felt like a metaphor for his life – a small accident that ruined everything. He crumbled and cried. After a while, he pulled himself together, found a washcloth, and tried to clean up the mess. Maybe he could find a photo shop that can restore old or ruined pictures. At least he hoped he could.

It was getting dark outside. He started making some dinner. He sat down to eat, thinking about the day’s events. The meal was going smoothly, until he heard it.

A child’s laughter. Again. From upstairs. Caleb froze. He felt as if he was losing his grip on reality. Was he imagining things?

He slowly got up, and made his way to the base of the stairs. “Hello?” He called out, in a low, uncertain voice. No answer. Not that he had expected one.

He climbed the stairs slowly, each step louder than the last. There was only one room it could come from. The only room he didn’t want to explore right now. Debbie’s room.

He stood in front of the door and stared at it. He took a deep breath as his hand wrapped around the doorknob. This was it. Either he was losing his mind – or someone, or something, was waiting for him, inside. He slowly turned the doorknob and cracked the door open.

As the door opened up, he could see Debbie’s room. Still so immaculate. He didn’t look at the small doll table and chairs in the far corner. He didn’t look at her nightstand. His eyes were fixed on Debbie’s bed.

Where on it sat Old Tabitha. That creepy, old doll. He let out a short gasp. This couldn’t be. He had put it in the closet. He was sure of it. No matter. He would do it again. And this time, the closet door would stay shut this time. Staring at the doll, he moved toward the bed, his feet heavy, each step feeling like a struggle. The room was too quiet – too still. It almost felt as if the very air itself was waiting in anticipation for whatever would happen next.

He closed in on the bed, his heart beating. Every step he took, the doll’s gaze followed him, unwavering. The bright red dress seemed to shimmer in the dim light, the fabric impossibly crisp, as if it hadn’t been touched by time. Caleb reached out with trembling hands, his fingers brushing against the doll’s smooth face. It was cold to the touch. Too cold.

Suddenly, he heard it again – that soft skittering, like small feet, but coming from the corner of the room. His body froze, but his eyes scanned the shadows, trying to see what was making the noise. Nothing.

His breath hitched. I’m imagining things, he thought. I’m tired, exhausted, and I’ve been through a lot. My mind is not in the best of spaces. That’s all.

But the situation… and the room, just felt wrong. The stillness, the air felt too thick to breathe, it was too much. He turned his back on the doll, a shiver creeping down his spine. He needed to get away from here. As he walked toward the door, the floorboards creaked behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

The bed. The bed was empty now. The doll was no longer sitting on it. Caleb’s heart skipped a beat, and his blood ran cold. He looked around the room, but there was no sign of it.

Then the silence was broken by a sound. A child-like giggle, coming from the far corner of the room. Caleb didn’t think twice. He bolted out of the room, slamming the door behind him. What is going on, he thought.

He went downstairs, and grabbed the phone. The line was dead. Great, he thought. No way of communicating with the outside world. And the storm still raged outside. What was he going to do? And more importantly, who would even believe him? He could almost hear the conversation in his mind. “Yes officer, I came back to my old parent’s house and my sister’s old doll started to attack me.”

He chuckled at that thought. Then he heard a loud crash. From upstairs. From his sister’s room.

He took a deep breath, his pulse racing. It was probably a bad decision, but he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly and methodically he climbed the stairs. He stopped in front of the door to his sister’s room. What terrors would he be facing this time?

He could feel sweat breaking on his brow. With a trembling hand, he reached for the doorknob. He took a deep breath as he hesitantly opened the door. He peeked inside.

The doll was again sitting on his sister’s bed. Smiling. He felt chill running down his spine. This was a bad idea. But he knew he had to. He stepped forward and grabbed the doll – but instantly felt a sharp pain running down his forearm. He screamed, spooked by both the pain and the shock. He looked at his arm. Three claw marks ran down his forearm. He looked at Old Tabitha. The doll stared back at him. With those damned glossy eyes.

He slowly backed away, wondering how he had managed to get scratched. Had Old Tabitha attacked him? But that was just nonsense. Wasn’t it? Dolls are not alive, they can’t move. Yet Old Tabitha kept moving. Unless… he had imagined everything. He circled carefully around Old Tabitha. And Old Tabitha kept her eyes on him – it’s head turning to track him. He stopped in his tracks and let out a short, terrified scream. What was going on?

The storm raged outside, and just as Caleb’s eyes locked onto Old Tabitha’s twisted grin, the power went out. The room plunged into darkness. He let out another scream. Lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the room. In the flicker, it looked as if Old Tabitha was standing up, wielding that terrifying smile of hers. He backed up until he hit the wall.

The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang. His heart skipped a beat as the sound echoed through the house. Panic seized him as he realized he was trapped.

There was no escape.