Nara didn't move.
A pair of small eyes was still visible beneath the bed.
Black.
Silent.
Staring at her without blinking.
Nara held her breath.
Her hand gripped her phone so tightly that her fingers turned white.
"Nara..."
The voice beneath the bed came again.
Soft.
Like a little child whispering to a playmate.
"You left me."
Nara took one step back.
"No..."
She shook her head.
"I don't know who you are."
The eyes slowly disappeared into the darkness.
Nara waited.
Several seconds passed.
Nothing happened.
Then something emerged from beneath the bed.
Not a hand.
Not a foot.
Instead, it was a small object being slowly pushed toward Nara.
Scritch...
A doll.
Nara stared at it.
The doll had the body of a little girl, with long black hair made of yarn.
Its face was made of white cloth.
Its eyes were two black buttons.
Its mouth was nothing more than a thin red stitch.
The doll wore a little white dress.
Exactly like the dress Nara had just found inside the wardrobe.
Nara didn't dare touch it.
Yet something about the doll felt deeply familiar.
At last, she crouched down.
Her hand slowly reached out.
The moment her fingers touched the doll, her head began to ache again.
A memory surfaced.
Little Nara was sitting on the floor.
A little girl sat in front of her.
They were laughing.
Then little Nara picked up a doll.
"What's her name?" the girl asked.
Little Nara answered cheerfully.
"Nara."
The little girl laughed.
"Your own name?"
Little Nara nodded.
"So if I lose this doll, I'll know what to look for."
The memory vanished.
Nara opened her eyes.
Tears fell from them.
"This doll..."
She turned the doll over.
There was a small line of stitching on the back of its dress.
Nara shone her phone's light on it.
The writing was perfectly clear.
NARA.
It wasn't just a name.
Beneath it was a date.
A date that made Nara freeze.
It was her date of birth.
"Who made this?"
She stared at the doll.
There was no answer.
Nara searched the entire room.
A small wooden box sat on the table.
She opened it.
Inside were several spools of thread, needles, scraps of cloth, and a small pair of scissors.
Everything was still neatly arranged.
As if someone had just used them.
Nara swallowed.
Then she saw a photograph inside the box.
It showed Grandma Sari sitting at the same table.
She was holding a doll.
The same doll now held by Nara.
But there was writing on the back of the photograph.
> "The first doll for Nara."
Nara turned the photograph over.
There was more writing.
> "The second doll for Mira."
Nara's heart pounded.
"Mira..."
The name felt familiar again.
She looked at the doll in her hand.
Then her eyes fell on the wardrobe.
There was something inside it.
A small door.
Nara opened the wardrobe.
At the very bottom were two boxes.
The first box was labeled:
NARA.
The second:
MIRA.
Nara knelt down.
Her hands trembled as she opened her own box.
It was empty.
There was nothing inside.
She opened Mira's box.
Inside was another doll.
But this doll was different.
Its hair was black.
Its dress was white.
Its face had no eyes.
No nose.
No mouth.
Only blank cloth.
Nara immediately shut the box.
Bang!
Footsteps sounded outside the room.
Tap...
Nara turned.
Tap...
The footsteps drew closer.
Then stopped right in front of the door.
Nara stood up.
She held the doll named Nara tightly.
There was no sound.
She waited.
Then a child's voice came from the other side of the door.
"Nara..."
Nara closed her eyes.
"I know you're still in there."
Nara didn't answer.
The voice came again.
"Give me back my doll."
Nara slowly opened her eyes.
She looked at the doll in her hand.
"Your doll?"
The voice behind the door gave a small laugh.
"That one doesn't belong to you."
The hair on the back of Nara's neck rose.
"If it doesn't belong to me..."
She looked at the name stitched into the doll's dress.
"...then why is my name here?"
Silence.
Then the child answered:
"Because Grandma made it."
Nara froze.
The voice grew softer.
"And Grandma made it to remember..."
A long pause.
"...the child who was supposed to die that night."
Nara stared at the doll in her hand.
Suddenly, the doll's head moved.
Crack.
Its cloth face slowly turned toward the door.
Nara flinched.
Then the doll raised one small hand.
It pointed beneath the bed.
Nara looked over.
In the darkness beneath the bed was something that hadn't been there before.
A wooden box.
And written on its lid was:
MIRA.
Nara hadn't even moved yet when a whisper sounded right beside her ear.
"Don't open the box, Nara."