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In an antique shoppe, there it was. The doll. The doll, everyone wanted. She wore a beautiful American flag print dress. Her long, silk black heair was tied into two pigtails, which fell behind her shoulders, ending at her shoulder blades. One of her arms stuck out, parallel, holding up two fingers. She seemed, to passerbys, to be giving a peace sign. A lopsided smile was painted on her face. And when the wind struck her, just right, she would sway softly.
Many people wanted the doll, but theowner continuously refused all offers to sell the doll. When he died, his son took over the buisness.

Ann wanted to get her daughter something nice, for her sixth birthday. When Sally saw the doll, she pointed to it excitedly, and jumped up and down,
Mommy! Mommy! I want that doll!" Ann looked up at where her daughter was pointing, and smiled. She walked up to the clerk, and asked for the price on the doll. "Sorry, ma'am, but the doll's not for sale."
"What? Why not?"
"Um, no clue. But my dad told me not to sell it for anyone. Not even the Queen of England."
Ann shook her head. "Please, my daughter is very responsible, and knows how to handle old things." The clerk sighed, and scratched the back of his head. "I'm going to be feeling guilty soon. Okay, fifty dollars."
"Deal"

When they got home, Sally and Ann took the doll up to the little girl's room. Ann placed the doll on the ground, and watched the little girl play with the life-sized antique. The doll swayed with every step Sally took. After a while, Ann left to go fix dinner. She allowed the door to close behind her, as Sally turned around, to find something else to play with along with her new doll.

A few minutes later, Ann went to check up on Sally. She opened the door, and stared in horror. Her daughter was laying next to a window, her eyes glassy, and full of terror. Ann shreiked, and rushed to her daughter's side. Too buisy trying fruitlessly* to revive her daughter, Ann didn't notice the doll swaying, though lack of wind. Nor did she notice that the doll was now holding up three fingers, instead of two. The smile had twisted into a sinister snear, as the doll's other hand raised up, and all ten fingers flexed slightly, as her gaze fixed itself on the back of Ann's exposed neck.

The End

(*fruitless: unsuccessful: producing nothing, or nothing worthwhile
ex: a fruitless discussion)