by Hadassah Shiradski
The Toymaker sat in his workshop, gloved hands folded in his lap. His apron was heavy; the iron thimbles on his slack fingers scraping faintly against his lead lap. His once-focused eyes dulled as his arms jerked up, as if to grasp and pull at the whims of a puppeteer, but that incremental, insufficient movement stilled and stopped, slumping back down before he reached his goal.
The porcelain hands cradled a shuddering, stuttering lump of flesh and blood, the Toymaker’s ribs laid open in a picnic spread of bone and tendon and sinew. The doll raised the pulsating thing up and took a long-awaited bite. And smiled through the viscera.
Hadassah Shiradski (she/her) is a horror writer from Hertfordshire, UK, who recently graduated with a BA (Hons) in Creative Writing and Philosophy. She has a love of gothic fantasy, quiet horror and folklore. Her ramblings can be found on her twitter, @DassaWrites.
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