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"Sometimes the monsters are...you."

Your character is out and about, for what seems like a normal day, changes when you stumble on an old box that you just recognize to be your old toy as a kid, except it's glowing. What do you do?

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by

Howling autumn winds blow past Georgia as she reaches the gate. Hesitantly, she places her hand on the cold, wrought iron. Gazing up at the house, it looks foreign to her now.

"You've been unconscious for a week."

Unfamiliar voices still echo through her mind. Doctors, nurses, police officers, they all failed to provide many answers. The gate creaks as she pushes it aside.

"You appear to be suffering from dissociative amnesia."

Aging mahogany grumbles under the weight of her laced boots as she ascends the porch steps. Wind chimes greet her with a high pitched jingle. Behind her, dark clouds surrender to the late October downpour. As she reaches for the brass doorknob, she closes her eyes.

"Your mother's been killed."

She only permits a single tear before suppressing her grief. As her keys land on the little maple wooden table by the door, Georgia ponders the normalcy of the action. But nothing will ever be normal again.

Dead silence engulfs the mid-18th century Victorian property. Stroking back her unruly blonde locks, Georgia takes the five steps from the front door to the living room. Everything is exactly as it was, from the gardening magazines on the coffee table to the untouched cup of herbal tea her mother always forgot to drink while watching her crime shows. As Georgia peers into the dark brown liquid, it feels as if her mother could appear at any moment. But she can't.

Drifting across the hard wooden flooring, through the sliding French doors, her palms fall flat upon the kitchen island. Sinking ever so slightly, her knees tremble as she steadies herself. Every corner of her mind begs her to give in, to collapse in anguish. But then she sees it.

It's faint at first, hardly drawing any attention. But soon the light expands, enveloping the house. Puzzled, Georgia turns to face it. How did that get down here?

Nearing closer, gradually, she regards the childhood object as it glows ominously. Perched upon the mantle over the fireplace, the old Russian nesting doll beckons her.

The radiance of the doll should have alarmed her, scared her off. But something inside her is pulling her to it, until her fingertips grasp the painted surface of the outermost layer. Georgia remembers the doll vividly, remembers the day her mother found it in an old antique shop on Cherry Lane. Georgia was only 7 years old at the time, and probably played with the doll for a week, before forgetting about it entirely. Until now.

As she grips the doll firmly with both hands, the light emanating from it diminishes to a slight gleam. The carved basswood feels warm to the touch. A woman, adorned in bright red and blue, is carefully illustrated upon the toy. Her gentle smile appears to be taunting Georgia.

On instinct, she twists the doll, opening the first layer to reveal a second one. The glow intensifies again, arising from the smaller doll now uncovered. The light reflects in Georgia's deep blue eyes as her gaze is pulled in, spellbound. But when she reaches out to take it, grazing the doll only an inch or two, a sudden scream rips her from her trance.

Mom.

"Mom?!" Breaking into a sprint, Georgia flies up the staircase to the second floor. In violent panic, she slams open one door after another. "Mom!" She calls out, to no avail. Desperate, she races up the stairs to the attic, the only place she hasn't looked.

Heavily panting, she finally comes to a halt. Daylight protrudes from the little round window at the far end of the attic, shedding light on the vacant room. I could have sworn...

Defeated, she drops her head, only to notice the Russian nesting doll still clutched in her fist. The glow persists, tempting her. Her defined eyebrows draw lines on her forehead as she frowns, studying the doll once more. I wonder...

Holding it out in front of her, Georgia carefully but determinedly grips the second figurine.

"Stop!"

She nearly drops the doll at the sound of her mother's voice. But when she glimpses the woman standing behind her, it's like she's not really there. It's as if a dream and an apparition collided, taking the form of her mother.

"Please, don't!" her mother pleads, her frame almost transparent, like an old movie in a projector.

When a dark figure emerges from the other side of the attic, violently swinging a walking cane, Georgia gasps and drops to the floor. But as she tries to evade the attack, she realizes the figure doesn't even discern her. The assault was meant for her mother instead.

Georgia could swear she heard bones crack as the figure brings down the cane. Stumbling backwards, her mother slams into a wall, screaming as she bolts for the stairs. "Mom!" Georgia shouts, but a moment later both her mother and the dark figure have disappeared.

Bewildered, she remains pinned to the floor. What is going on? She tries to rationalize, blame her amnesia, conclude that she's hallucinating. But as the doll in her hand continues to light up the room, a crazy notion takes hold of her. Is the doll doing this?

On a hunch, Georgia descends the stairs as she begins to open the second layer. The clattering of raindrops against the windows welcomes her on the second floor. Peering out into the backyard, she watches the old oak tree furiously swing its branches in defense against the wind.

With a deep breath, Georgia releases the third doll from its confinements. As she suspected, the contact triggers another vision as her mother appears before her. With her hand enclosed over the wound on her head, her mother backs away warily.

"Why are you doing this?" she begs, her eyes wide in terror.

The dark figure appears on cue, threateningly heaving the cane as it ignores her queries. "No!" Mother nearly chokes on her words as the figure shoves her into a wall, ramming the cane against her throat. Frozen, Georgia can do nothing but watch as they struggle.

Arms flailing about desperately, Mother attempts to fight off her assailant. And somehow, even as she suffocates under the pressure of the cane, she manages to break free. As she knocks back the dark figure, she directs her escape towards the ground floor.

Georgia takes a step, hoping to follow her mother to safety. But it seems the reel has run its course, and the vision evaporates in the last streams of daylight.

Breathless, Georgia stares from the empty hallway back to the doll in her hands. Try as she might, she can barely wrap her head around what's happening.

Is it a dream? A hallucination? Or worse... is it a memory?

Delicately, she wraps her fingers around the doll, feeling it turn with ease. The edges are instantly set ablaze as light seeps through. It appears the answer to all of this lies at the center of this doll. And so she follows the next layer back down the stairs.

The living room is as empty as she left it. Anxiously, Georgia comes to a halt as her thumb and index finger clinch the little doll's head. Her eyes shoot up in anticipation. For one excruciating moment, silence persists. And then suddenly, her mother runs past her.

Whimpering and hyperventilating uncontrollably, Mother barrels into the kitchen, her arms outstretched as she reaches for the counter. She nearly knocks over a stack of dirty dishes as she launches herself at the white maple knife block. A sharp slicing sound echoes across the room as she releases a carving knife from its slit.

"Stay back!" Mother threatens, pointing the knife out in front of her as she announces the dark figure's presence. The sheer terror in her eyes is undeniable. But underneath it is a hint of... sadness. "Who are you? What have you done with my daughter?!"

The terrifying plea rips the air from Georgia's lungs. She's given no time to contemplate it, as she sees the attacker charge. Mother hesitates, a moment of weakness that could mean the end for her. But she succeeds in holding on to the knife, and with violent jerks and tears they battle over its possession.

A hideous, inhuman cry erupts from the figure as Mother pushes with all her strength, forcing the knife into the figure's abdomen. Furious, the figure flings her across the ivory tiled floor. Backed into a corner as the dark figure advances, its blood beginning to drip onto the floor, Mother has no choice but to retreat to the basement. And then, with the blink of an eye, they vanish again.

Scared stiff, Georgia's line of sight centers on the door, her wide eyes chipping away at the viridian paint. Her hand trembles as it hovers over the final layer of the doll. Whatever dreadful turn her mother's fate has taken, it seems the basement is where it all comes to an end.

I'm not ready for this... but I have to know what happened.

Aging wood gives way ever so slightly to Georgia's first step into the darkness. She can feel her heart pounding in her throat, her blood pressure rising with every inch she advances. As she touches down upon the cold concrete, the smell of iron invades her nostrils.

Blood.

With a swift tug at a cord, the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling switches on. The soft yellow light flickers as the bulb swings to and fro. Georgia casts her eyes down, observing the doll as it lies idly in her palm. The eerie little smile drawn upon the innermost figurine makes her blood run cold. She prepares herself.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Pinching its tiny head, Georgia pulls the doll free. A loud crack pierces the air, and she veers around. Its ominous presence sends a chill through the room as the dark figure gravitates down the staircase. Like a black shadow in human form, it moves through the space with quiet determination. It's looking for mom.

Even as the figure carries itself calmly, Georgia can feel the hostility emanate from it. Whoever or whatever this thing is, it wants destruction.

A sudden clang upon the hard flooring makes Georgia jump back. A mistake. A can of beans rolls out into the light, giving away Mother's location. The figure does not hesitate, propelling forward and into the dark corner. Mother screams.

Oxygen is constricted within Georgia's lungs as she slowly advances, watching as the figure raises a knife above its head. A second scream echoes off the walls. Hot tears burn their way from Georgia's eyes as she witnesses it all. Until finally, the figure rises and steps aside, revealing Mother pinned behind it, slowly bleeding out.

Mother's eyes trail their way up to the figure, her breathing shaky as she attempts to find her voice.

"Why... Georgia?"

In the blink of an eye, the figure is standing before Georgia, black shadows fading as the real killer is revealed. Blood-red eyes stare back at her as Georgia recognizes herself.

And then, like a violent flood, the memories all come back.

Georgia remembers that day. A day as ordinary as any other. Until she went to the attic, in search of an old book. But what she found instead was a forgotten toy chest. And inside that chest, that cursed Russian nesting doll. Glowing, luring her to damnation.

Two hands grip her arms tightly, long fingernails piercing her skin. Her demonic self grins as it creeps into Georgia's consciousness. And in that last moment, before she is lost to the devil, she finally grasps the truth.

"Sometimes the monsters are inside you."