I watch the attic dust dance,
Lined in the single, skeletal ray of light piercing the gloom,
A forgotten, sun-drenched day.

My breath hitches, a gasp, as the air grows thick and cold,
A phantom scent of woodsmoke, a story left untold.
The floorboards groan beneath my hesitant tread,
Each creak, a whisper from the past,
The words left unsaid.

A doll, with vacant, glassy black eyes,
Stares back at me, a grotesque, distorted, disguise.
Her porcelain skin, a chilling, icy white,
Reflects the flickering shadows in the fading light.

Chilling drafts blow, whispers hidden in the breeze,
They carry the echoes, forgotten, stifled memories.
Laughter rings out, a hollow, mocking sound,
A cruel, strident blare, forever bound.

My heart, a drumbeat, pounds against my chest,
Anxieties, marionettes, within my soul, suppressed,
I lie still, a puppet, memories grim and cold,
My mind, a stage, where past horrors unfold.

The touch, a phantom caress, icy and cold,
A chilling reminder of a story left untold.
I stumble back, gasping, clutching at the air,
The memory, a viper, leaving its venomous trail.

The doll remains, a silent, porcelain sentinel,
A chilling testament to a childhood I can’t repel.