The old cellar

The macabre laughter echoed off the walls of the old cellar. He shone the torch into the dark corners, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

Through the cobwebs and dust, he made out the outlines of misshapen figures. He approached slowly, holding his breath.

They were dolls, dozens of them, but not as he had seen them before. These had sunken eyes and mouths twisted into demonic grimaces.

Some lacked limbs, others exhibited revolting stitching that reconstructed them in aberrant ways.

He recoiled in horror - who would have created such abominations? A shudder shook him at the thought that such mocking laughter could have come from these creatures.

He shook his head, trying to calm himself. They were just puppets, however disturbing they looked.

He opened the next door with trembling hands. The room was empty, except for an old boot in the corner. Holding back the urge to flee, he knelt down in front of it and slowly opened it.

Inside, wrapped in bloody rags, were more dolls. He stifled a scream as one of them twitched faintly and its black eyes bore into him. Needles protruded grotesquely from its deformed face.

A high-pitched, childish laugh burst from its red, open lips. He ran madly, vowing never to enter that cursed cellar again.