MY DREAM DOLL Chapter 8 Into the Past

The following days were a blur of restless nights and obsessive research. Ruby became determined to understand what was happening to her and why the doll seemed to be at the center of it all. She began by asking her parents and grandmother about the doll’s origins, but no one seemed to know much—only that it had been in the family for generations, a gift passed down from mother to daughter. Her parents, concerned about Ruby’s growing fixation, gently encouraged her to put the doll aside and focus on school, but she refused.

Instead, she turned to the only place she thought might hold answers: the dusty old attic, where her family kept boxes of old photographs, journals, and forgotten family heirlooms.

One rainy afternoon after school, while her parents were still at work, Ruby grabbed a flashlight and crept up the narrow staircase that led to the attic. The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing a dim, cluttered space filled with cobwebs and shadows. She hesitated, feeling the weight of the doll in her arms, but then took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It took hours of searching—digging through piles of yellowed papers and fragile photo albums—before she finally found what she was looking for. At the bottom of an old chest, hidden beneath a faded quilt, was a thick, leather-bound journal. It looked ancient, the pages brittle with age, and the name written on the inside cover sent a shiver down Ruby’s spine:

Munin Smith 1735

Munin Smith. Ruby knew that name; she had heard it before in whispers from her grandmother. Munin had been her great-great-aunt, a young girl who had died mysteriously when she was only eleven years old. Her death had always been a family mystery—never spoken about openly, as if it were a dark stain on the family’s history.

Ruby carefully opened the journal, flipping through pages filled with neat, delicate handwriting. She read about Munin ‘s life—her friends, her family, and the things she loved—but then she found an entry that made her blood run cold:

“I found a beautiful doll today, tucked away in the old storage chest in the attic. Mama says it belonged to my grandmother, and now it’s mine. It’s the prettiest doll I’ve ever seen. I love it so much, and I think it loves me too. I named her Annabelle. She’s my best friend, even if Mama says it’s silly to talk to her. I don’t care. She understands me.”

As Ruby read on, she felt a sense of dread settle over her. The entries became darker, filled with strange events that mirrored her own experiences—the whispering at night, the feeling of being watched, and dreams of a shadowy figure crying in the dark. Munin had become obsessed with the doll, just as Ruby had, and the final entry sent a chill down her spine:

“Annabelle has a secret. She showed me a place under the old oak tree in the garden, a place where I can hide when they don’t believe me. She promised she would always be with me. Even after…”

The writing trailed off, leaving a smudge of ink and a page that looked like it had been torn out. Ruby sat back, her heart racing, and stared at the name scrawled across the journal’s cover. There was no doubt now—the doll was the same one Munin had written about, and whatever had happened to Munin was happening to her.

The doll, which Ruby had placed beside her on the attic floor, seemed to stare back at her with those cold, unblinking eyes.