The Dead Game by Susanne Leist
Thursday, July 14, 2016
The staircase crumbles over time,
leaving a film of white-out over it all.
Air whistles through the broken windows,
a high-pitched moaning sound to my ears.
Cobwebs catch hold of my hair,
twirling the strands against my face.
I climb the creaking stairs to the attic,
to see what lies behind the peaked window.
A doll house sized door waits at the top,
its tiny knob small for my fingers.
I stoop to enter the round room,
lit by beams of light from the beveled window.
A collection of dolls sleep in the morning sun,
lined up like soldiers around the room.
Porcelain skin shining white,
so lifelike in their slumbering pose.
I reach to touch the Elizabethan girl,
dressed in a gown of burgundy and lace.
Skin so soft and warm,
for a doll created for make believe.
The room feels even smaller,
eyes following my every move.
A movement from the far corner
catches my roving eye.
Pinocchio stands up to face me,
an evil grin across his wooden face.
He says in a high shrill voice
as he lumbers on wooden legs to me,
“Hello, Nice to meet you.
Time to play our nightly game.”
Arms and legs come at me,
a cacophony of sounds hit my ears.
I go down beneath the dolls,
now one of their creations
of make believe.
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