Gracelyn
Legacy Name: Gracelyn

The bedroom was filled with dolls. They lined shelves fixed to the walls, the deep windowsill, and the edge of the overlarge bed. Every one sat perfectly straight, faces forward. Not one ruffle was wrinkled or out of place, not one strand of hair astray. Any stranger who happened to gaze upon the room might have guessed that it belonged to a forty-year-old enthusiast, not a six-year-old girl. The dolls were so perfect, so orderly. What kind of kindergartener organizes her things like an OCD sufferer?
And the eyes. Glass or painted, button or carved, every pair seemed to watch him intently as he strode into the room.
"Gracie, your room gives me the creeps," Thomas muttered to himself as a chill ran down his spine. His eyes scanned the tidy room, quickly spotting what he was after. "I really wish you'd stop taking my laptop," he mumbled, again to himself. He picked it up from the small table in the corner before turning to leave.
Just as he was pulling the door shut, Thomas heard something. A rustle, like leaves scraping across the pavement on a windy day. Perhaps a whisper. He peeked around the door as another shiver traveled the length of his back. Nothing. He tried not to think of all the eyes boring into him as the door clicked shut.

Profile/story in progress.