Elena was six years old when she first saw the dollhouse.
It was in the attic of their newly inherited countryside home—a decaying Victorian estate that had been in her mother's family for generations.
The dollhouse looked just like the real house.
Same structure. Same color. Same six rooms.
But it wasn't dusty.
It was immaculate. Like someone had just cleaned it.
There were even miniature versions of her family inside—tiny dolls that resembled her parents, herself, and her baby brother.
"Weird," her father said, chuckling. "Creepy little replica."
They left it in the attic. But Elena kept going back.
At first, she just moved the dolls around.
She'd place her doll-mother in the kitchen.
Her doll-father in the study.
Then she noticed something strange.
The real family would do exactly what she placed in the dollhouse.
If she moved the doll-mother to the kitchen, minutes later, her mother would go make tea.
If she placed her baby brother's doll in the crib, he'd fall asleep in real life.
She thought it was funny.
Until she broke one of the dolls.
It was the doll that looked like her father.
It had fallen off her hand and cracked its leg.
That same night, her father tripped in the hallway and fractured his ankle.
Elena didn't say anything.
The next day, she tested it again.
She bent the doll-mother's arm backwards until it snapped.
Her real mother screamed from the bathroom.
Her arm was broken in two places.
Now she knew the rules.
Whatever she did to the dollhouse… happened in real life.
And someone else knew, too.
Because one morning, the dolls weren't where she left them.
Her doll was lying face-down in the living room.
Its arm bent behind its back.
That same day, Elena dislocated her shoulder on the stairs.
She started locking the attic door.
But every night, she heard the door creak open.
And faint shuffling. From above.
One night, she crept upstairs with a flashlight.
The attic door was open.
The dollhouse was glowing faintly.
She looked inside.
There was a new doll.
It didn't look like anyone in the house.
It had hollow eyes, a torn mouth, and long hair that trailed onto the floor.
The next morning, Elena was gone.
Only the doll remained—sitting quietly in the attic.
Smiling.