The Haunted Marionette

My assignment was straightforward, at least on paper: pick up the dolls scattered throughout Mr. Leinhart’s house and place them in their respective seals. Each seal was carefully marked with a symbol that corresponded to the type of doll it was meant to contain. It sounded easy enough, but there was a strict deadline—everything had to be done before sunrise.

As I stepped inside, the atmosphere felt oppressive, almost alive, like the house itself was breathing. The dolls, though inanimate, seemed to observe me with an unsettling intensity. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the first one, trying to dismiss the prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I reminded myself of the reward waiting for me, but a gnawing sense of dread whispered that this task was far from ordinary.