Chapter 19
My nightmare unraveled in sharp flashes—rapid images stitched together at random.
A large, metal door creaked open.
Inside: the white, padded room was empty except for a motionless body beneath a thin white sheet. Alongside it was a creepy doll—with a cracked porcelain face and glassy, lifeless eyes.
When I blinked, a narrow, dark alleyway materialized, a thick fog surrounding it. A motionless figure with a shadowy face was slumped against a brick wall, a camera strap tangled around its red, slit-open neck—more than likely a journalist.
A doll is propped beside it, dressed in a tiny plaid shirt to match the victim’s own. A photograph of the gruesome scene was held up by the doll’s tiny arms—a terrifying display of evil.
When I blinked again, I saw a hotel door that hung broken from its hinges. I floated inside, overturned luggage and scattered papers littered the floor.
Half a body was sticking out, underneath the bed. A press pass splattered with blood sat beside two outstretched hands that had been severed. A dark red outline showed the violent butchering of the arms.
On the nightstand, a doll sat with its legs dangling over the edge, a newspaper clipping embedded in its torso.
The headline said: “THE DOLLHOUSE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN.”
A sudden darkness overtook my eyes, and the vision shifted to a hardwood table illuminated by a single flickering bulb overhead. Newspapers were spread out like evidence of a series of grisly, interconnected murders.
The papers floated in front of my eyes, showing me the various, shocking headlines:
“DOCTOR THOMAS T. TUTTLE — DISREGARDED AND DISRESPECTED BY THE MEDICAL RESEARCH COMMUNITY.”
“5TH VICTIM DEAD IN STRING OF BIZARRE MURDERS. ALL HAD SPOKEN OUT AGAINST DR. TUTTLE. CONNECTION OR COINCIDENCE?”
“DOCTOR TUTTLE STRONGLY REFUTES ALL CLAIMS THAT HE HAD HIS OUTSPOKEN CRITICS—MURDERED.”
“WHAT IS THE SECRETIVE, DARK HISTORY OF THE GIbrALTAR INSTITUTE?”
The papers started to flutter around each other—pages screaming and flying like a ferocious tornado. A stitched doll with glinting, red eyes flashed in front of me, making my heart drop.
Everything went black.
I woke up, heaving and panting, rubbing the sweat off my forehead—before it dripped down to my eyes. I scanned my bedroom—thankful that I was safe, for the time being.
I checked my watch, it was: December 19th.
I got up quickly and glided over to the kitchen. I needed something in my stomach—anything would’ve sufficed.
I had stayed behind after Castillo left. She had told me to keep my head down and to stay out of trouble. Her exact words were, “Don’t move, Lenny. Stay put.”
She carefully took Doctor Tuttle’s head with her and the dollhouse. I didn’t tell her about the letter he had left behind—my morbid instructions. I couldn’t let them stop me. The only concern I had was Angela’s life and what I had to do to preserve it.
I had been restless almost the whole night—thinking about this Dollhouse Killer and if they had a connection to the Xmas Day Butcher.
I thought about how my brother and I had played with dolls in Mercy’s Light.
Someone had been watching us—someone had been keeping track of us.
The more I thought about it, the more I believed that the Xmas Day Butcher was someone from my past—coming to destroy me.
Maybe it was Colton Kilhouser, or maybe it was someone else.
I decided to make myself a hot chocolate in my kitchen, something sweet in a futile attempt to calm my nerves.
I wrestled internally with the idea of having to kill Mayor Hamonte. I didn’t even know how I’d be able to get close to him like that. It was madness. I contemplated telling Detective Castillo the entire dark truth, but that’d be the death of Angela and me.
I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Xmas Day Butcher had me cornered, and there was no getting out.
Castillo had mentioned that she needed to visit her mother after dropping off Doctor Tuttle’s head and the dollhouse in evidence. She was worried about her after I’d told her about the threat against her life.
She said her mother was a bit frail and wanted to make sure that the Butcher wasn’t going after her in an attempt to draw her out.
I was so sick and tired of staying home, the snow falling all around me, the white blur of nothingness blanketing the entire town. I hated remembering the horrid nightmares of the night before.
I wanted to get out of the house.
So, I left. I zipped up my coat, slipped on my boots, and left my home.
I trudged through the snow along Coldview Street—a one-way road that stretched outside the town square, towards Castillo’s neighborhood. As I walked along the snow-lined path, I felt someone following me—watching me, but every time I turned around—I saw nothing.
I’m losing my damn mind.
Castillo’s place was in the oldest part of Whisper’s Creek, where the houses were wrapped in decaying porches, with old street lamps flickering the whole night. But to be fair, all the houses in Whisper’s Creek were like that or beginning to look that way.
I knew I had arrived when I saw Castillo’s police cruiser parked in the driveway of a one-story home, snow piled up on the rooftop.
Castillo’s mother answered the door.
“Hi, Ms. Castillo,” I said, giving her the softest smile I could manage. “Is everything alright? ”
She squinted up at me, her voice dry. “Not really, but I’m not dying yet, so there’s that.”
She looked very much like her daughter, just older, shorter, and with a few more wrinkles.
I managed an awkward chuckle. “That’s good to hear. What happened?”
She ushered me inside, letting out a heavy sigh. “Someone broke in and stole some documents from Juana.” The house was dark except for the glow of a TV in the back bedroom. The place looked normal, but Castillo’s desk near the front window told a different story.
There were drawers open and papers scattered. The place looked ransacked. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s in the back,” Ms. Castillo said, shuffling toward the kitchen. “She’s upset.” Right on cue, she came out and looked at me in surprise. “Lenny? What are you doing here?”
I shrugged awkwardly. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. I see they broke in.”
She came around and inspected her desk. “Yeah, they took some documents from me. It’ll be fine. I’m just glad my mom’s okay.”
I nodded. “Right, of course.”
My gaze stayed locked on the desk. “Did they take anything specific? Something classified, maybe?”
She waved a hand, not looking at me. “No, nothing like that.”
I stepped closer. She was acting suspiciously, like they had taken something specific—something she didn’t want to get out.
What are you hiding, Castillo?
Before I could think further on the situation, the front window exploded. Glass flew in our direction like razors. I ducked on instinct, covering my head and face. Castillo and her mother screamed at the top of their lungs.
An axe wrapped in Christmas lights had buried itself in the wall beside Castillo’s desk.
I just stared at it, breath frozen in my chest. Then I saw it—taped to the axe’s handle, a piece of folded paper, fluttering slightly from the wind that had come in.
I crawled towards it slowly and pulled it loose, heart beating in my ears.
“Don’t you pout; it’s all coming out. Lenny, may I ask, have you figured out what this is all about?”
I didn’t have time to process it as a surge of anger erupted in me.
I shoved the note into my pocket and bolted out the front door; Castillo ran out alongside me.
We were met with nothing but snow and an empty neighborhood.
I jogged ahead, trying to see if anyone was around—nothing. There was absolutely no one.
“Do you see anything?” she asked.
“No,” I whispered. “You? ” I asked, glancing back at her.
She shook her head furiously. “We’re chasing a fucking ghost!” Her eyes swept across the darkened neighborhood, wild and unfocused. “This evil fuck is always one step ahead. I don’t know how. They’re always watching. They know too much. How? How do they know so much?” she mumbled to herself.
She was beginning to lose it too; her resolve was cracking.
I stared into the darkness and saw nothing.
“When will this end?” I whispered.