Maybe t2 ain't a place meant for fiction, but I'm gonna throw some your way anyway. It's short, it's scary, and it's what I do. This horror story has appeared on Mirror and Paragraph as well as web2 spaces. Enjoy!

~ Tom

It crept from the dollhouse on spiderlegs, too many joints, too many limbs.

Alexandra watched it first in fascination then with a growing dread that made her kidneys shrivel.

She’d named the doll Admordeo, a name which had merely slipped into her mind the moment the porcelain-cotton thing had been placed into her hands by her odd Aunt Chelsea. Aunt Chelsea, who favored the macabre in her dress, her entertainment, and her thought.

But Admordeo was a mouthful, just like Alexendra, so Alex started calling her Addie.

That had been yesterday. No — today. Earlier today.

Alex wanted to look at her green digital clock, but was afraid that if she took her eyes off the slowly crawling thing from the dollhouse, Addie would disappear, just like spiders always disappeared the very instant you went to get a swatter or shoe.

So Alex didn’t look away, though she intuited it was quite late. Too late to shout for Mom or Dad — they’d be so angry if she woke them again.

Addie, on her delicate hands and feet, crept closer still, her head up and bright black eyes staring at Alex. Some starlight filtered through Alex’s window, softened by sheer curtains, but she could see. Yes, she could see the doll’s eyes as black as sharks’ and the way Addie’s small mouth slowly began to grin.

“Stop,” Alex whispered.

The doll shot across the floor. It skittered, and Alex heard its little feet tittering across the floorboards like tiny wooden giggles.

Then the toy was up the quilt and racing toward Alex’s face. Addie’s grin grew wider, splitting her white face at the cheeks.

Alex inhaled for a scream — she’d risk waking up her parents — but the doll was faster. Alex felt its slight weight on her legs, her hips, her chest, and now her throat.

An inhuman hiss issued from the doll’s gaping maw, smelling briefly of garlic and old urine. It gagged the little girl, and then it was too late.

Addie the doll, her slender hands as sharp as tacks, tore into Alex’s open mouth. Alex instinctively bit down, and felt the wriggling and writhing of the doll’s arms like earthworms between her lips.

The toy hissed again, its features twisting into a mask of rage and hate. Alex coughed as blood ran down her throat and into her belly. This freed Admordeo to resume her attack with more ferocity. She tore the child’s tongue, bit her cheeks, scratched her face.

In mortal terror, Alex fought to push the wicked thing off her. Addie’s strength, she discovered, came from some other place, some magic from beyond this world that only a child could ever understand.

When Addie plunged her sharp hands into Alex’s eyes, the child was mercifully already gone.