Shhh, Samara's Here

“But Mommy said we should never lie! Don’t you want to tell her the truth, Suzie?”

I heard her say before she chopped my head off and dragged me towards the cold ground. I felt the rain pouring heavily on my mud-covered skin as she started digging the soil to bury me. I should’ve noticed this a long time ago.

It was my 6th birthday and Grandma decided to pay me and mom a visit here in the suburbs. We used to live in the city until dad died from a car accident so we had to move to a smaller town. I remembered it was a sunny afternoon on my birthday. I ran towards Grandma who was just getting off the cab, smiling as she reaches for my hand while holding a boxed gift wrapped nicely on a pink wrapper on the other. “Grandma!” I shouted, hugging her tightly while she chuckled. “Happy Birthday, honey. Did you miss me?” She gave me a hug, but for the first time, I felt something different from the way she hugged me. Grandma’s hugs were usually warm to the touch. It always reminds me of sunflower fields during summer and hot chocolate during rainy days. But today, it was unusually cold and smelled distinctive in an eerie manner… like something was wrong with Grandma. 

She gave me a smile and said, “Honey, I have a gift for you and I’m pretty sure you’ll love it.” Grandma gave me the gift and I opened it. 

It was a slightly rugged porcelain doll, which reminded me of a Raggedy Ann but only looked more modern with her facial features, and well, it was porcelain. Her white nightgown dress was made of silk and satin. She might have a slightly yellowish skin because she’s a vintage item, but she still looks beautiful. I could easily tell she’s different from other dolls. 

“Her name’s Samara. I loved that doll so much, Suzie. She’s been with our family for several generations, that’s why I’m passing her down to you. But promise me one thing.” Grandma said. “Never ever show Samara to your mom or mention her name in front of her.” Clueless about what Grandma said, I silently nodded.

Here’s the thing: I hate dolls because I can’t have a nice conversation with them. Whenever I got a doll for my birthday which I get every year, it’s either someone dies or I get sent to the hospital and stay there for weeks. Nobody ever seems to believe me when I tell them that I can usually talk to things that don’t usually talk. Maybe it’s because kids like me sound too innocent when we tell adults unimaginable things which sounds all too delusional.

And now I have Samara. Great.

I hid the doll somewhere between the bookshelf above my bed so mom wouldn’t be able to see her. During the first few nights, nothing unusual happened. But on the sixth day of her in my room, I suddenly woke up at 12 midnight to the sound of little footsteps. There, I saw Samara walking by herself towards the door. Usually, I tend to ignore these kinds of behaviors as long as they wouldn’t try threatening me. 

But when I woke up at 6 AM, something smelly forced me to wake up immediately. To my surprise, I found the decapitated head of a dog in my room. I screamed. Mom was still sleeping, so I got up to find Samara so I can keep her in the attic. She was back on the bookshelf, but she looked dirtier. Her dress was slightly stained with blood, so I was pretty sure she was responsible for chopping the dog’s head. I picked her up, ran towards the attic, and sealed her shut in a wooden box. I know things are going to get messier because I started hiding her.

That same night, I was getting ready for bed when I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, but nobody was there. Upon closing the door, there she was. Sitting on the bed. Holding a butcher’s knife. Kids would typically shout for help, but I mustered the courage to ask her in a weak voice, “Why do you keep bringing chopped heads in my room every morning, Samara?” to which a dark smirk appeared on her face as she replied, “Well, just in case you try to tell your mom about our little dark secret.” “Secret? What secret? We barely even talk. I don’t like talking with dolls, you know.” I kept my distance at a bare minimum, in case she runs towards me to attack. “Oh, you’ll find out soon. So keep things shut and hide me well because if you don’t, you’ll be receiving more bloody gifts you’ve never even asked for. And who knows? Your mom could even get involved in this.” She laughs maniacally before running towards the window and jumping down, disappearing quickly. 

I wasn’t able to sleep that night at all.

What did that doll mean by getting mom involved? Why would Grandma never want mom to know about Samara? I needed to find out what that little dark secret was. I tried calling Grandma, but there was no answer on the other line. I checked in on my mom, she was still awake. I knocked on the door and asked her, “Mommy, I need to tell you something.” to which she asked, “Sure love, you can be honest and tell Mommy about anything.” “Mom, do you believe me when I tell you that dolls can talk?” I said. 

Mom always understood me when I tell her strange things that people would never believe in. Whenever something bothers me, she would be persistent in knowing what’s wrong and often, she’d handle things calmly.

“Why, is the new doll talking to you?” she asked. “Don’t worry honey, you must’ve been having nightmares lately. Here, take this pill before you sleep and you’ll be fine.” She hands me a white pill that she drinks at night and says it’s safe for all ages. I drank it before going to bed. To my surprise, I had a good sleep.

Weeks easily passed by but things started getting worse since asking Mom about how dolls talk and taking that pill. What seems to be shallow gruesome chopped heads in my bedroom every morning suddenly became severed human fingers. I would always find Samara on the bookshelf, clean as a slate. There was no single hint of chopping people’s fingers every night. Samara was a very tricky haunted doll. 

Not long after, things started to get creepier. 

Every night, mom would always open her door and sleepwalk. I was creating theory in my head that maybe Samara and mom might have had a history together since Grandma would probably pass the doll to someone in the family. I tried finding out the reason why, so I investigated in her room the moment she vanishes at night. I tried looking for her pills but her drawers were empty. However, I’d always find her sleeping in the bed every morning looking spotless. Maybe my hunches were wrong. Was it me who was going crazy?

But then on a rainy Friday night, mom started acting weirder while we were having dinner. She seemed more psychologically disturbed and noticeably grew bulkier than ever before. Was this the effect of withdrawing from the medication she was taking? Her fingers were twitching badly, she couldn’t even hold the fork properly. I asked her, “Is everything fine, Mom?” She just looked at me and said, “I’m fine love. By the way, you were asking me about dolls last week. I found one while cleaning your bed today.” 

She then brings out Samara and sits the doll beside her. “Is this her? What’s her name?” she asked.

I knew from that moment she asked me, I turned extremely pale. I started sweating profusely as she tries to ask repeatedly, “What’s her name, Suzie? Why won’t you tell me?” This time, her voice was getting louder and more irritated. 

I ran to my bedroom upstairs and locked myself in before they can catch me. I tried calling Grandma. No answer on the first ring. The second time I tried, she picked up. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry Grandma, mom found Samara! I locked myself in the bedroom, what should I do?” 

Grandma, in her trembling voice, asked, “Did you tell her the doll’s name? If you haven’t, you have to kill both of them now.” 

The line suddenly went busy. 

“Grandma? GRANDMA!” 

Kill my mom? But she didn’t do anything. It was all my fault, I didn’t hide Samara well. I’m barely hanging for my life now and I have to decide. Should I kill her? Can I think of another way to spare her and only kill the doll instead?

A few minutes have passed and there were no signs of noise inside the house aside from the lightning’s sudden jolts in the dark sky. Silence. Where were they?

Suddenly, mom swung across and broke the bedroom window. “Found you, love. Can you tell me what her name is?”

Faint flashbacks of a story that Grandma told me when I was 5 were starting to sink in me now. She’d often tell me the story about a little girl who would wander at night and kill people who never answered her questions. When the little girl was killed through decapitation, her body decayed but her soul remained and had to live elsewhere to avenge for her death. This is where the history of the haunted doll began. Whatever family the haunted doll would belong in, that family tree will suffer for several generations. 

I would ask her then, “Is the soul in the doll the same one who killed people a long time ago?” and she would respond, “No, honey. Once the doll kills someone in the family, the victim’s soul would transfer to the doll and would seek revenge. But if the victim that the doll killed survives, the victim will remember nothing unless the doll shows up after some time to seek its second revenge.” So I asked her again. “Is there a way for that person to not be killed again by the doll?” to which she would say that there’s a way and that’s by negotiating and giving the doll to another child in the family once they turn 6. The child must keep the doll away from people and never mention her name in front of its guardian, or the soul of the child’s guardian would be cursed and will be the one to kill the current doll owner. 

Clueless as I was, I only laughed at Grandma’s story because it wasn’t true. But then she would only tell me, “Oh, you’ll find out soon.”

So this was what Grandma meant. 

Mom was now behaving erratically while holding the doll in her arms and a butcher’s knife on the other. It was as if Samara has possessed her. 

“WHAT’S HER NAME, SUZIE? DON’T YOU WANT TO TELL ME?” 

I ran for my life as fast as I could. The streets were empty and fog covered the roads. It was raining so heavy, no one will be able to hear loud noises around this time.

“But Mommy said you should never lie! Don’t you want to tell the truth, Suzie?” She chased me down. 

I’m running out of breath, my little feet were getting tired. 

There’s no way out of this.

I turned around and whispered, “Samara.”

Samara winked at me before I saw the last glimpse of life there is during that stormy night. That was the last word I’ve said before mom chopped my head off and dragged me towards the cold ground. 

I could still feel the rain pouring heavily on my mud-covered skin as she started digging the soil to bury me in front of our yard.

Thanks for having me killed, Grandma. I’m coming for you.