Her face suddenly appeared puzzled, yet scared.

Was there someone watching her- impossible: there was no-one else around!

She heard a whirr, a click. She turned, blinked- and for the first time she noticed a gothic-style shop. It appeared to have a face and… fangs? Her eye was suddenly caught by missing posters- she shook off the feeling of gloom; the smell of death and ran closer.

What appeared to be her stood in the window? She squinted before rubbing the condensation away.

A doll?

Alma loved dolls and this one was a perfect replica of her! The uneasiness that should have loomed over her had flown away like a balloon. Unaware of the horrific fate she’d suffer from, she gripped the handle and taking a breath tried to open the door.

It was locked. She kept trying, frustration brewing inside her; minutes later she begrudgingly gave up. She picked a snowball and threw it at the shop, pretending to be angry when she was holding back hot, and stinging tears.

The door suddenly opened and a spark of a smile lit her lips, sending her into a bliss of joy. There it was- the centrepiece of the room. Running to it, Alma kicked another doll.

It had black hair and was a monotone figure, like the people she had seen in those old tapes that crackled and blurred. Feeling bad; she smiled and turned it over- watching it on its trike spiralling towards the door and bashing it as it slammed shut.

The doll had moved again- this time in a sea of other dolls. She ripped of the glove and reached up, the boy on the trike still bashing against the door although Alma couldn’t hear the thudding past the adrenaline drumming ears.

Black, Alma tried to scream but her plastic lips were sealed shut.