“So these are my two options?” Melanie asked.

“Yes, this,  Daisy’s room, and the other one is Belinda’s room.”

Melanie took a deep breath, weighing her options. “Are  Daisy and Belinda your children?” If it were up to her, the two options she’d been given would be called “the Nightmare Painting Room,” and “the Creepy Doll Room.”

“Yes they are!” the owner said. Mrs. Hatfield was as always super enthused.

Melanie walked to the closest painting, tentatively touching the canvas, feeling the texture of the oil paints under her fingers. The picture was an impressionist painting of a woman, her face crooked and distorted, her mouth frozen in a silent scream, her eyes inky black dots.

Clearly, previous guests were being polite, grasping at anything positive they could say about the bedroom with its dark walls adorned in pictures of the artist’s worst dreams. Melanie kept her opinion to herself. “Did your daughter paint these?”

“No, they were here when we moved in,” Mrs. Hatfield explained.

“And all the dolls?”

“Every single one of them. Quite the collection.”

Melanie nodded. It was quite a collection.

It was tradition, Melanie reminded herself. It was a secret, but not a well kept one, and one she didn’t look forward to participating in. She was likely to be one of the detectives that warned the newbies, just like Detective Handler had warned her. “Melanie, they’re going to feed you some bullshit about disappearances in an old B&B. It’s creepy as all get out, but if you let yourself relax, it’s basically a paid vacation. Enjoy it. You deserve it. And you won’t get another for awhile.” Her old captain had given her the heads over a cup of coffee, his, not looking at her over the top of his newspaper. It was pretty standard, and useful.

“How long have you owned the house, Mrs. Hatfield?”

“It’ll be thirty years come February.”

Melanie wondered if Mrs. Hatfield was aware her Bed and Breakfast was being used as a hazing ritual for the police department. Perhaps she was in on it. The elderly woman appeared pleasant enough, eagerly giving the newly promoted detective a tour and telling her about all the local attractions she should check out. The woman was probably just excited to have business. Melanie had checked all the reviews before coming. Most were quite positive, a few even praising the “extensive and authentic doll collection” on display and the works of “unique and soulful art” exhibited.

“I guess I’ll take the Belinda’s room then.” Melanie could turn the dolls away to not watch her sleep, she couldn’t do anything about the creepy paintings staring at her.

“Excellent choice! You’ll love it!”

The detective nodded, trying to feign half the level of enthusiasm as her host. “Thirty years, huh? Have you run it as a bed and breakfast the whole time?”

“Oh, gracious no. My daughters stayed in the rooms when we first moved here.”

Melanie shuddered, imagining children having to live in those rooms. “How old are your daughters?”

“Thirty eight. They’re twins. But I like to imagine them as they were when we all lived here together,” Mrs. Hatfield said wistfully. She opened the door to Belinda’s room again, bustling inside. “Hello dearies!” she greeted the dozens of dolls staring at her.

Melanie did the quick mental math, figuring that Mrs. Hatfield’s girls must’ve spent ten years staying in these rooms. Looking again at the glassy eyes staring up at her, she wondered if she really wanted to do one night.

“Do they live nearby, your daughters?”

“No, they both got jobs that pulled them away from me. But they know there’s always a place for them here.”

Melanie set her overnight bag down on the bed, mindful of the single doll resting on the pillow staring up at her. It had raven hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed in a colonial era dress. “Did they take any of the dolls with them?”

“No, they wanted to leave everything exactly as it was.”

Melanie bet they did. She suppressed another shudder. “Well this is just lovely,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hatfield.”

“You’re quite welcome, sweetie.”

“I think I’m going to get settled and turn in early. It’s been a long day.”

The owner of the little B&B left Melanie alone with the dolls. She briefly considered moving them, but there was literally no space. A brief look in the closet revealed even more dolls, all staring up at her when she opened the door, nestled in between the towels and spare linens. She sighed, and after gingerly moving the doll off the pillow, Melanie flopped down on the bed and pulled her phone out. The bed was comfortable at least, the mattress giving and supporting her weight just right as she lay back and stared at her phone.

“That’s just perfect…” the little No Signal icon in the corner of her phone mocked her when she opened up Tik Tok, looking for a distraction. She glanced at the nightstand for a Wi-Fi password, knowing there wouldn’t be one. Instead two more dolls stared at her with their creepy glass eyes.

“Who gave this place five stars?” she wondered aloud, looking up at the ceiling. It was the one place she could look without seeing dolls staring back at her. She was no stranger to be stared at. The attractive redhead got plenty of attention from both guys and girls, and being a young woman on the force garnered the gaze of her superiors and peers alike. She’d grown accustomed to being watched, but this somehow unnerved the rookie detective.

“You’re being crazy,” she told herself. “You’re just being jumpy because you’re so used to having a screen in front of your face. You can do one night.” She tossed her phone in her bag, but she did take her gun out and slip it under her pillow. It made her feel better, just imagining shooting some of the dolls. She could hear the other detectives laughing at her. “Mel got spooked and shot a bunch of dolls!” She’d be the laughingstock of the precinct for months. Still, it was comforting to feel the solid form of her service pistol under the downy pillow. She fixated on the ceiling, studying the old, brass lighting fixtures.

How did people pass the time before phones? She wished she’d thought to bring a book. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax. Melanie harkened back to being grounded as a teenager, lying in her room, trying to cope with the boredom. Back then she’d just masturbated to pass the time, especially given that typically when she was grounded it was because she’d been out with some boy, and it was easy. She couldn’t imagine doing something like that here, in someone else’s house, not to mention in front of al the dolls. She didn’t care if they were inanimate or not, the idea of all those creepy little dolls watching her while she touched herself gave her the heebee jeebees.

Why was she even thinking about such things? With a frustrated sigh, she rolled over onto her front. Melanie froze, staring at the dresser. Had one of the dolls moved? Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the collection of toys staring at her. She could have sworn there hadn’t been that much exposed surface on the top of the dresser.

“You’re just paranoid,” she assured herself even as she grabbed her phone again and took pictures of the dolls’ configuration around the room. “At least it’s something to do,” the detective murmured while she started counting the dolls. She should have just taken the room with the unsettling paintings; there were at least a manageable number of those. She counted 68 dolls without even opening the closet. Melanie shuddered as she considered that the drawers might be full of more. If she lifted the bed skirt, would she find more hidden away under where she was supposed to sleep? She felt like a little girl again, afraid to step off the bed for fear that the monsters lurking underneath would grab her.

“Dozens, probably hundreds of other people have slept in this room,” she told herself out loud. “A kid grew up in this room. You’re a detective, you’ve faced actual murderers and you’re letting yourself get freaked out by some toys.” Her nerves steeled, Melanie leaned over the side of the bed and lifted the bed skirt, peering into the dark space. It was mostly empty, save for a few dust bunnies and a single object placed under the bed. Slowly, she reached down with her phone and turned on the device’s flashlight, lighting up a lone doll. The thing was facing her, its glassy blue eyes staring back at her.

“Lucky number 69,” she muttered, switching her camera back on for the hell of it, the space under the bed going black again as the light turned off. She snapped a picture, the flash illuminating everything for a brief second before everything went dark again.

Melanie pulled herself back up on the bed and looked at the photo.

A chill ran down her spine and her arms broke out into gooseflesh.

“What the hell?”

In the picture, the doll had red eye.

She wracked her brain, trying to remember back to high school biology, where she’d learn what caused red eye to show up in photos. Surely that was a phenomenon that only occurred in humans. Maybe pets too, she was sure she’d seen a picture of a dog with red eye. But for sure it had to be limited to living things.

“Screw this.” She dropped off the bed to the floor onto her knees. The bed was low to the ground, and the doll was just out of reach. Flattening out onto her belly, the detective squeezed her lithe frame under the bed and grabbed the doll. She slid back out, ignoring the dust covering her as she examined the doll. Its glass eyes stared up at her, blue and realistic looking, but still very much glass. She even touched them, running her finger over the smooth surface. Doll in one hand and phone in the other, she looked back and forth between the real thing and the picture.

“What a dumb feature to put in a toy,” she muttered, looking at the picture. She flipped through the other photos, but none of the other dolls had red eye. “Enough of this.” She tossed the doll in amongst the rest of them piled on the dresser. She just had to stop freaking herself out and go to sleep. They were just toys.

Even still, as she unbuttoned her jeans to change into her pajamas, she hesitated. She’d just change in the bathroom, it wasn’t because she didn’t like the idea of dolls watching her undress, it was just more convenient. Grabbing her toiletries, she ducked out of the bedroom and went down the hall to the bathroom. Along the way she glanced into  Daisy’s Room, seriously doubting her choice in rooms. The paintings stared back at her as she poked her head in.

She wasn’t normally prone to being spooked. Melanie chalked it up to new job jitters. She wanted to do a good job in her first case, even though there wasn’t really a case to solve. Her mind was creating problems, clues to find, and creepy dolls and paintings made better suspects than the sweet old lady running the bed and breakfast.

The detective felt a lot better when she returned from the bathroom, her face washed, her teeth brushed, dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and shorts. It was still a good deal earlier than she normally went to bed, but she could fall asleep without too much trouble and get up early tomorrow. Or just sleep in. It would feel so good to sleep in. And the chief had told her to relax and enjoy herself.

“Goodnight, creepy dolls,” she said as she slid under the covers. The sheets felt luxurious on her skin, easily a much higher thread count than her sheets at home, and she nestled down into the comfy bed, feeling the comforting shape of her gun under the pillow. Reaching over, she flicked off the lights, bathing the room in the pale moonlight through the thin curtains. Yawning, she closed her eyes.

“Tee hee.”

Melanie’s eyes snapped open, her hand immediately under her pillow, wrapping her fingers around the grip of the gun. Her eyes darted around the room, canvassing the dark silhouettes of dozens of dolls surrounding her, still and quiet.

Movement caught her eye in the window and she sat up in a flash, drawing her gun.

Outside, a branch rubbed against the screen in the wind, making a light scratching noise, muffled through the glass.

Melanie lowered her gun, switching the safety back off. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming quick and fast as her adrenaline surging. “I’m rating this place one star. Minus one for the weird art, minus one for the creepy dolls, minus one for lack of cell service, and minus one for having trees scratching on the windows,” she said to herself as she slipped her gun back under her pillow and lay back down. “I will not be coming back here.”

“Then we’ll make sure you never leave.”

Melanie whipped her head to the other side of the bed at the sudden voice right behind her. She found herself face to face with a doll, its blue eyes glinting in the dim moonlight. Its red, painted lips twisted upwards in a smile, revealing a tiny mouthful of pearly white teeth.

“Oh fuck!” Melanie reached for her gun, but her wrist got tangled in the silky sheets somehow.

“Tee hee!” the doll giggled again. It was the same one she’d found under the bed, she recognized it immediately even as its face impossibly moved. “Do you wanna play with me?” Its voice was high pitched and girlish.

Melanie’s other hand darted under the pillow, but she slid her hand inside the pillowcase, and her silk covered hand slipped over the handle of her gun, unable to find purchase. Her mouth worked, words failing to come to her.

“Because I want to play with you!”

Melanie screamed. She gave up on getting her gun, and just swung her pillow-covered fist at the doll, sending it flying off the bed, smacking against the wall. Tentatively, the terrified detective peered over the edge, squinting into the dark. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.

The tiny, humanoid figure climbed to its feet against the far wall, joining the dozens of other animated dolls walking towards the bed.

Melanie tried to bolt, but the second she started to get up, the sheets snapped tight over her, slamming her back down into the mattress. Smiling faces appeared on all sides of her as the dolls climbed up onto the bed.

“This isn’t happening! This isn’t happening!” she kept saying to herself as she struggled to get her arms free. She could see the dolls pulling on the edge of the sheet, keeping her pinned with inhuman strength.

The doll she’d thrown clambered back up onto the bed, walking through the ring of grinning toys surrounding the helpless detective. It walked up onto her wriggling body, navigating the writhing, silk covered form, its little arms held out for balance as it ascended to the peak of Melanie’s breasts, standing over her face.

“You’re not real!” Melanie said, even as she could feel the weight of the thing’s feet on her body.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” the doll chided, its tiny porcelain hands on its hips. They shot out again to steady itself as Melanie bucked wildly again. “Mommy says I’m a real girl.”

“Who— who’s your mommy?” Melanie asked, still not fully able to believe she was talking to a doll.

“Eloise,” the doll said.

“Who’s…” There was a brief moment of confusion before it clicked where she’d heard the name. Eloise Hatfield, owner and proprietor of the Bed and Breakfast she was now trapped in. “Does, does that make you…”

“My name’s Belinda!” the doll said, curtsying. “What’s your name?”

“Melanie. Detective Melanie Kemper.” She stopped struggling, instead easing her left arm slowly up, the tight silk cocoon providing less resistance when she wasn’t thrashing like a wild animal caught in a trap.

“Detective. Hmmm. Is that like a policeman?”

Her hand was getting closer to the top of the sheet. She could see the outline creeping upwards under the taut sheet out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, a detective is like a policeman,” she said. If she could just keep the thing talking, she might be able to figure out what the hell was going on.

Or at least distract it long enough to reach her gun.

“But that’s a man’s job, it’s even in the name, silly.”

Melanie took a deep breath, letting the anger go. She couldn’t get bent out of shape about the antiquated opinions on gender roles, especially when those opinions belonged to a talking doll.

“And you’re definitely not a man,” the doll said, jumping up and down on Melanie’s boobs. “Are you playing dress up? Do you like to pretend?”

“I can pretend.” She could play along. Her hand was so close to the edge of the confining sheet.

“Goody! We can play cops and robbers! You can be the cop, since you’re already playing one, and we’ll be the robbers!”

She hesitated, her hand just at the edge of the sheet. If she went for her gun again and missed, she might not get a better opportunity, but if the dolls let her up to play the game, it might be easier. “Alright. How do we play?” Just keep them talking until she could figure out what was going on. They had to be robots of some kind, or she was just having a very, very vivid dream. She couldn’t discount the possibility that she’d been drugged either, and this was some sort of hallucination.

“The cop tries to stop the robbers,” Melanie felt the sheets slacken slightly while Belinda spoke. “And the robbers tie up the cop!”

Melanie’s hand went for the gun, diving under the pillow, her fingers wrapping around the familiar grip. Simultaneously, she rolled her body to the side, the small doll perched on her breasts losing its tenuous balance and toppling to the mattress. “Freeze!” she shouted, pushing herself up onto her knees with her free hand while she leveled her gun at the doll.

Belinda didn’t move, lying still and motionless on the bed where she’d fallen, her face frozen in a porcelain mask, her glassy eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Melanie panted, her finger poised on the trigger, her eyes darting around. None of the other dolls were on the bed. Had she dreamed the whole thing? What the hell was happening? “You’re under arrest,” she said, but the confidence was already draining from her voice. Could she even arrest a doll? She could hear her coworkers laughing at her as she tried to bring in a doll, telling crazy stories about how they’d threatened to tie her up. Her career as a detective would be over before it even started.

Slowly, she nudged the doll with these side of her gun barrel. “Hello?” she whispered, suddenly worried that the owner had probably heard her scream freeze, and might check on her to find her holding a toy at gunpoint.

The doll didn’t move. Slowly, the detective reached her finger for the doll’s face. The surface was cold and smooth. Her finger wavered as she reached for the eye. The convex glass eyeball stared at her fingertip as it made contact.

Nothing happened.

Melanie gasped, realizing that she’d been holding her breath. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she asked out loud as she switched the safety off and tucked her pistol into the waistband of her shorts. She needed water. She needed a lot more than water, but a drink was a good place to start. Climbing up from the bed, she started for the door.

“Tee hee!” the high-pitched giggle emanated from behind her.

Melanie spun, just as something wrapped around her legs, and she lost her balance, falling forward. Her instinct to catch herself overrode her training to reach for the gun as she crashed hard into the floor. She looked over her shoulder to see several small figures, shrouded in the shadows, wrapping something around her legs. Above them, standing on the bed, Belinda looked on, rubbing her little porcelain hands together in unbridled glee.

“Shit!” Melanie reached behind her back for the gun, only to feel her hand come into contact with the ruffled fabric of a doll’s dress. She could feel little feet and hands, dozens of them, scrabbling to climb onto her, through the thin fabric of her shirt and shorts. Her whole body shuddered when she felt little hands on her bare thigh. They were grabbing her arms, wrapping more silky material that felt like the sheets around her wrists.

“Get off me!” she roared, surprised at the strength the tiny things possessed. They worked quickly, efficiently, like a pack of tiny predators taking down large game, the dolls swiftly had her legs bound at the ankles and knees and her wrists tied behind her back.

“Shhhh,” Belinda said, the doll suddenly right in front of Melanie’s face while the detective ranted and struggled, her cries getting more desperate with each passing second.

“What’re you mmmmmphh!”

Belinda shoved a wad of fabric between the detective’s lips, stuffing it in deep. “We don’t want to wake up Momma,” the doll said, holding a finger to her lips.

“Hmmmmphh?” Melanie cried, only to have two more dolls yank another silk strip of cloth between her teeth and tie it tightly behind her head, cleave gagging her.

“That was pretty easy,” Belinda said. Another doll walked up to her, carrying Melanie’s gun, the pistol slung over its shoulder looking like a rocket launcher on the small doll. Belinda took the offered weapon, examining it. “You’re not a very good cop.”

“Mmmmph!” With all her training and experience, the dolls had subdued and restrained her in minutes. Of course, her training had never prepared her to get jumped by a bunch of one-foot tall animated dolls. Still, she didn’t feel like a very good cop, tied up and gagged with bed sheets in her pajamas, her captor holding her own gun in front of her. She didn’t know what she felt like, and she kept hoping she’d wake up and find that it was all a bad dream. The painful bite of the tight silk sheets digging into her wrists and ankles felt real enough, and taste and texture of her silk was too vivid. And she’d stared down the barrels of enough guns to know that panicked feeling in the pit of her stomach was all too real.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” Belinda said. Melanie flinched when the doll carelessly dropped the gun to the floor. “Maybe if you were a cop I’d have to shoot you.”

Melanie squirmed in her bonds, unsure how to feel about that remark. Not getting shot was good, but all she’d ever wanted was to be a cop.

“You’re really more of a damsel in distress.”

“Mmmphmmm?” Melanie’s toe’s curled as she brought her legs back, recoiling. She wasn’t some helpless damsel, needing to be rescued, even though her current predicament said otherwise.

“Oh yes, quite the cute damsel in distress, all tied up and gagged and helpless.” Belinda grabbed her gag, pulling her over until Melanie rolled over onto her side. Like an animal, Melanie curled her legs up under herself, to protect her soft underbelly from attack, but the doll didn’t seem to mind, plodding up to her and putting her hands over her breasts. “Without your big gun, and your badge, you’re really not much, are you?”

“Mmmmhpphh!” Melanie squirmed indignantly, only for the doll to grab her again by the gag, stunning her with a surprising display of strength as the doll easily held her still.

“Your nipples are hard.”

It was only a few inches, but Belinda dragged out the process of slowly turning her head from Melanie’s green eyes, wide above her gag, down to her breasts, where two small points stuck out beneath the flimsy material of her shirt.

“Does that mean you’re excited?” the doll asked. “I’ve always been curious.” Suddenly she grabbed the front of her dress, pulling the fabric down, revealing two perfectly round, smooth orbs protruding from the doll’s chest. “I don’t have and nipples. I bet they’re fun!”

“Mmmphmmmm!” Melanie recoiled, shaking her head violently, but there was no escaping the little doll who grabbed at her shirt, pulling at her collar. Belinda’s face contorted in a grimace until the fabric of her collar gave way, and with a tearing sound her shirt was ripped down the middle. A smile reappeared back on the doll’s cherubic face as she pulled Melanie’s shirt open, baring her breasts, her small, pink nipples rock hard.

“I’ve missed these,” Belinda said, grabbing one in each hand, her tiny fingers latching onto the sensitive nubs.

Melanie shrieked into her gag, her terrified mind running over the myriad of many meanings of Belinda’s words. The helpless detective turned away, avoiding the doll’s gleeful grin as she played with Melanie’s tits. The rest of the dolls had formed a ring around them, standing and silently watching on with their creepy glass eyes from the dark shadows of the room. Her eyes landed on her bag, only a few feet away. Her neatly folded clothes rested atop a few other odds and end she took with her when traveling, a flashlight, a bottle of water, and most importantly, a utility knife.

Melanie looked back at Belinda, to see the doll take a step back, cupping her own tiny boobs, a disappointed frown on her porcelain face. “Yours are so squishy. So soft and fun.”

Melanie rolled back onto her front, her bare breasts pressed against the scratchy carpet, hiding them from her tormentor.

“I wonder if the rest of you is as soft…”

Melanie’s eyes widened. “Nnnph! Mmmphh!”

“Stand up. I want you back on the bed,” Belinda commanded, snapping her little fingers. More dolls moved in, grabbing the bound woman, lifting and pushing, their strong, cold little hands all over her body. Melanie found herself first on her knees, her tits hanging out of her ruined shirt once more, exposed and vulnerable to their grabby little hands, and then coaxed to stand up, teetering precariously on her bound legs, throwing her shoulders from side to side in a valiant effort to stay balanced. The detective looked down at the bed before her, where Belinda had seated herself on a pillow, her little legs splayed, her dress hiked up to her waist, her tiny white panties barely visible in the dim light.

“I don’t have a pussy, either,” the doll said, that same sad tone she’d displayed when she’d revealed her smooth, featureless boobs. Melanie watch, wide eyed, as Belinda tugged her panties to the side, revealing just a smooth surface of porcelain, reflecting in the moonlight. “I can’t really do anything with this. But I bet I could have fun with yours.”

A chill ran down Melanie’s spine. Every time she’d helped a victim of sexual assault, in the back of her mind, she’d always been grateful it had never been her. She knew the statistics, she was well aware she wasn’t the norm. She was lucky.

And her luck had run out.

“Come here, my damsel in distress,” Belinda said, beckoning her bound and gagged plaything towards her.

Melanie’s eyes narrowed. She had no clue what was happening, why these dolls had come alive and were tormenting her. But she wasn’t some helpless damsel in distress. And she wasn’t going to submit to this perverted doll without a fight.

Bracing herself for the pain, Melanie threw herself back to the floor, diving for her bag. She slammed shoulder first into the ground, and rolling with the impact, she scooted her back up to the bag, her hands plunging inside, feeling around until her hand wrapped around her knife. Even in the dark with her hands bound behind her back, in one easy flick she had the blade out. The dolls were on her again, grabbing her body, but they were at her front, pulling on her hair and clothes. She ignored them, biting down on her gag while she switched the knife around in her hand and began sawing through the silken sheets wrapped around her wrists.

“Silly damsel. What do you think you’re doing?”

Belinda’s mocking from the bed only fueled her, and with a muted growl of triumph her blade severed the sheets. She swung her arms around, swatting away dolls like the toys they resembled. Her hand clenched around the knife as she looked up at Belinda. Even without freeing her legs, she could easily make it up onto the bed and ram her knife through the doll’s creepy eyes.

She could make it, but her unattended gun was closer. She dove for it, dragging herself across the floor the last few inches until it was back in her hand. It felt good.

It felt right.

“Naii , bimmphh,” she growling, whipping her gun up and firing.

Belinda’s stunned face exploded, shards of white porcelain flying away from the ruined crater that had been her face. Deafening gunshots boomed through the room as she kept firing, emptying her clip. The detective kept pulling the trigger until the ringing in her ears had subsided and she could hear the empty click of each subsequent squeeze.

Feathers floated lazily down from the exploded pillow, coming to rest amid the tattered remains of fabric and chalky dust, all that remained of the broken doll. Melanie looked around wildly, but the other dolls had scattered and were lying motionless on the floor. She didn’t know if destroying Belinda had somehow killed the rest of them, or if they were just pretending like they had earlier, but she didn’t intend to find out. Rolling her legs under her, she hastily cut her legs free. Melanie jumped to her feet, grabbing her bag as she pulled the cleave gag down around her neck and spit out the wet wad of silk. She’d almost reached the door when there was a knock on it.

“Is everything okay? I heard some loud noises coming from your room?” Mrs. Hatfield called.

Melanie froze. Belinda had called the nice old woman Momma, and Mrs. Hatfield said her daughter was named Belinda. “Step away from the door,” she said, trying to muster as much authority in her voice as possible. She wished she could’ve put another shirt on. Raising her pistol, she gingerly turned the door handle and pulled it open.

“Oh my goodness!” the old woman gasped, illuminated by the light in the hall. She was in a long, floral nightgown, her gray hair done up in big pink curlers, worn pink slippers on her feet.

“Step back, please,” Melanie said, keeping the gun trained on her.

“What happened?” Mrs. Hatfield asked, unable to help herself as she first stared at the gun, then at the detective’s breasts, then craning her neck to try and get a peak behind Melanie into the room.

“I don’t know, but until I figure it out, I’m not taking any chances. Keep your hands where I can see them and back away from the door. Do you have a landline telephone, Mrs. Hatfield?”

“I do, but it’s shut off.”

“Why is it shut off?”

“So you can’t try and call for help, of course,” the old woman said with a smile, baring her yellowed teeth.

Melanie might not have had any bullets left in her gun, but she made a big point of flicking off the safety while she leveled it at Mrs. Hatfield’s face. “What’s going on here? What the hell is this place?”

“Did you shoot one of my dolls, sweetie?” the old woman asked, seemingly unconcerned with the gun less than a foot from her face.

The old woman’s condescending tone struck a nerve. Melanie’s fingers tightened around both the gun and the knife still held in her other hand. “I did. I shot your precious Belinda right in her face. I killed her! And if you don’t start telling me what’s going on here, I might shoot you too.” Melanie barged forward, jamming the gun right up against the old woman’s temple. There was a brief moment where she looked at herself, a detective, half naked and on the verge of screaming as she pushed her gun into the face of this kind, elderly owner of the B&B she was staying in. But then she thought about the dolls, and she needed answers. Any of her colleagues would do the same. “What’s with those dolls?” she asked, her voice low and threatening.

Mrs. Hatfield chuckled. “There’s no need to get all worked up, sweetie. You didn’t kill my Belinda.”

The hair stood up on the back of Melanie’s neck. Slowly she turned her head, her eyes locked on Mrs. Hatfield, until finally she dared glance away. The army of dolls were standing behind her, looking up at her with their creepy, glass eyes. Their blue eyes. The same blue eyes.

“That was my favorite dolly,” all the dolls said in perfect harmony.

“I can fix it, dear,” Mrs. Hatfield said. “But that doesn’t mean our guest shouldn’t be punished for breaking one of your toys.”

Melanie spun back to face Mrs. Hatfield, but in the short time she’d taken her eyes of the old woman, the proprietor grabbed her wrist holding the knife, her plump fingers digging into the detective’s arm with incredible strength.

“Get off me!” Melanie screamed, squeezing the trigger. The gun was still empty, three hollow clicks echoing into the hall before she drew her hand back and slammed the butt of the gun into Mrs. Hatfield’s forehead.

Thick, black ooze, too dark to be blood, dribbled from the gash on the old woman’s forehead. “Naughty naughty,” she chided, seemingly unfazed by the blow to the face.

Screaming, Melanie raised the gun again. Her swing went wild as the old woman twisted her captured wrist, throwing her off balance. Wrenching her arm behind her back and grabbing the scruff of her neck, Mrs. Hatfield hustled the struggling detective back into Belinda’s room. Within seconds Melanie found herself on her stomach over the old woman’s lap.

“Take her little toys away from her.” On their momma’s command, several dolls were grabbing her knife and gun, ripping them away from the startled woman’s hands.

“No! Stop! You can’t— wait, what are you— aaaughh!” Melanie flailed and floundered, her fingers failing to find purchase on the slick silk sheets. A rush of cold air hit her as she felt her shorts and panties yanked down, and then Mrs. Hatfield’s hand came down on her bare ass like a hammer striking an anvil.

“Belinda just wanted to play with you, and you went and broke her favorite dolly,” Mrs. Hatfield said sternly as she spanked the helpless detective over her knee.

Melanie grit her teeth, still trying to push herself up off of the old woman’s lap, but Mrs. Hatfield kept her pinned effortlessly with one hand held on the small of her back while the other rained blows upon her backside. The detective tried to brace herself for the pain, but it was unlike anything she’d ever felt. The closest thing she had to compare it to was getting shot by a bean bag round back in the police academy, but even that was nothing compared to the spanking she was receiving. Her cries to stop turned to inarticulate wailing, tears streaming unbidden from her eyes.

Finally the punishment stopped. Melanie lay limp over Mrs. Hatfield’s lap, struggling to catch her breath between wracking sobs.

“Get her secured again,” the old woman said, unceremoniously dumping the well-spanked woman back on the bed. Instantly, the dolls were all over her again, tiny fingers grabbing at the remains of her clothes. Weakly, she tried to bat them away, but they were everywhere. She clung to her shorts and panties still around her thighs for as long as she could, until they were wrenched from her fingertips by many, much stronger hands.

“Stop! You can’t!” she whined.

“I like you better gagged,” a doll said, climbing in front of her face, brandishing a wadded ball of silky cloth.

“No!” Melanie pouted through clenched teeth. “I won’t let you!”

Tiny fingers grabbed her hair. She could feel the little porcelain nails all the way down to her scalp as they yanked, jerking her head back.

“Open up,” the doll in front of her sang, the rest of them echoing the words. Another grabbed her lips, putting its tiny little fingers in her mouth as it pulled her bottom teeth, forcing her mouth open.

“Neughhh!” Melanie screamed as more tiny hands grabbed her face and mouth. She couldn’t keep her mouth closed any longer, and as she finally lost the fight, Belinda shoved the cloth in.

“That’s it. Take it all. I like the cute little noises you make when you’re gagged. It’s much better than all that nonsense you spout when you’re allowed to talk.” She finished stuffing the detective’s mouth, and more dolls quickly grabbed the cleave gag from earlier still around her neck and yanked it up between her teeth.

“Mmmmmph!” Melanie moaned.

“See, that’s much better.”

“Much better.”

“Better.”

The dolls echoed, their voices out of sync, but all still that same high pitched, girly voice.

Melanie was powerless as they maneuvered her body, dragging her arms to the corners of the bed, more silk sheets binding her wrists to the headboard. She kicked out when they went for her legs, a few getting knock off the bed, but for every one she sent flying, two more scrambled to replace it. They got sheets knotted around her ankles, and lines of the little things dragged her feet up the bed, until Melanie was bent in half, her ankles tied to the same bed posts as her wrists, leaving her bruised ass front and center and her pussy obscenely spread and on display, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She wiggled and shook, whining and sobbing into her gag, but she couldn’t escape. Her eyes looked away from her nude, helpless body, seeing the throng of dolls surrounding her, watching with unconcealed glee in their matching blue eyes. The bound detective looked up at Mrs. Hatfield, moaning one last plea for an ounce of compassion from the woman.

“Try to relax, sweetie,” Mrs. Hatfield said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, picking up a doll and setting it on her lap. “My daughters always had such a curiosity about the female form.” She leaned forward and kissed the doll she was holding on the top of the head. It beamed happily. “I discouraged it; it wasn’t natural, for sisters, to be so intimate with each other. They wouldn’t listen to their momma, so I had to take more…” she paused, looking down at the doll whose hair she was gently stroking. “…drastic, measures. But they’ve been very well behaved lately, and they’ve earned a little fun.”

The dolls started to touch her. It wasn’t the same desperate grabbing and pawing at her body that she’d been subjected to so far. Their little hands were slow, gentle, tenderly exploring her naked flesh. Melanie shook, screaming into her gag, but her struggles only made her softer, more feminine bits jiggle invitingly, and the dolls giggled, eager to touch and play with her boobs.

“I like her body, Momma,” the doll on Mrs. Hatfield’s lap said.

“I’ll bet you do,” the old woman said, gently placing the doll down on the bed right over Melanie’s bared snatch. “You can play with her all you like.”

Belinda reached up, her little hands cold and almost soothing on Melanie’s stinging bottom. Slowly, she felt her way up, her palms flat, fingers leading the way as she felt up the detective’s labia.

“But you have to share with your sister.”

“Momma!” the doll protested, her face mere millimeters from Melanie’s pussy.

“You heard me, little missy. She gets to have her fun too.”

“”Hmmph,” the doll between Melanie’s legs pouted. Another one by Melanie’s earlobe leaned in and whispered, “I get to have my way with you first. You won’t be as fun after Sissy gets ahold of you.”

Melanie’s blood went cold. She’d been thinking since there were so many of them, the other sister was one of the dolls. But the dolls were all Belinda, and if Belinda was a bunch of dolls, then  Daisy might be—

Everything else was pushed out of her mind as a small hand was pushed inside her. “Mmmmphh!” the detective screamed, looking down to see the doll elbow deep in her vagina, smiling up at her. Her little hand felt around, her fingers teasing her sensitive vaginal walls.

“Does that feel good?” the doll by her ear asked.

“I remember it feeling good,” another doll, this one’s arms wrapped around Melanie’s left tit in a bear hug, added.

“To have something inside you,” the doll penetrating her finished.

“I don’t have a coochie anymore.”

“Momma took that away from us.”

“But I can remember.” The doll inside her reached up with her other hand and stroked Melanie’s clit.

“Hmmmmphh!” the detective squealed, shaking in her bonds.

“You just have to touch the right spot.” Belinda’s arm turned, her little fingers touched, stroking, exploring.

“Gnnnnmmmfffff!” Melanie shrieked as the doll’s hand caressed her g-spot.

“There it is.” Belinda whispered in her ear.

“Just like that,” another rubbing the sensitive undersides of Melanie’s boobs said.

“It feels so good,” the one violating her said, her fingers working their magic.

“Nnngh mmphh!” Melanie cried, shaking her head, but there was no denying it. Her body responded, and Belinda noticed, teasing her bullet-hard nipples, massaging her engorged clit, caressing her sensitive ear lobes.

“It gets better.”

“And better.”

“And better,” the dolls echoed.

“Until you hit that perfect moment.”

“NNNNNPPPHHHHH!!!” Melanie howled into her gag, her whole body tensing as she came.

The doll between her legs was soaked in cum as Melanie exploded. A tiny tongue slipped between her porcelain lips and she lapped it up. “Mmmmm, I’ve missed that taste.”

“Nnnph,” Melanie moaned softly, barely able to keep her head up, her body spent. Her head lolled back, staring at the ceiling, watching the flecks of movement reflecting in the brass chandelier. Her legs were freed, snapping forward and bouncing on the mattress. She struggled to lift her head, looking forward in time to see a very wet, sticky doll standing on her chest, holding another twisted up length of sheet.

“You’ve gotta go see Sissy now,” Belinda said. There was a heavy note of sadness in her usually chipper voice.

“Npph,” Melanie moaned, weakly shaking her head.

“Yes,” Belinda said, nodding gravely as she wrapped the length of sheet around Melanie’s neck, tying it off securely like a collar, holding the remaining length like a leash. The doll tugged on the sheet, dragging Melanie up just as the detective’s wrists were freed. Melanie scrambled forward to keep up. The doll was so strong; the detective grabbed the sheet to avoid choking.

“Pmmmphh! Nnnfff!” she moaned, trying to dig her heels in, but she had to keep her legs moving, her thighs slick with her own cum, a vivid reminder of what Belinda had just made her do.

“I know, I’d rather keep you all to myself to play with, but Momma says I have to share you.”

Melanie grabbed the doorframe, trying to keep the doll from dragging her into the hall, but another sharp jerk on the sheet forced her to keep moving, inexorably forward to the open door at the other end of the hall.

 Daisy’s room.

Belinda stopped just outside the door, leaning inside. “Sissy?” The doll’s voice wavered. “Sissy, I have something for you.”

The doll waited, her head cocked, as though listening to a response Melanie couldn’t hear. The detective desperately pulled at the sheet around her neck, her fingers fumbling with the tight knot.

“She wants you,” Belinda said, giving another tug on the leash.

“Nnnph nnnn!” Melanie cried, shaking her head.

More dolls she hadn’t noticed following her pushed the backs of her knees, and the detective toppled forward, landing hard on her hands and knees.

“Go on,” a doll behind her said, slapping her bruised ass. Melanie yelped into her gag. They kept spanking her until she began crawling forward.

The doll at the entrance to  Daisy’s room stroked her cheek as she reached the threshold and balked. “I had fun playing with you,” Belinda said. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed the helpless detective, planting her cold, porcelain lips on her cheek. “Have fun with Sissy.” She let go of the leash, and the dolls behind Melanie spanked her again, ushering her forward.

Detective Melanie Kemper crawled into the dark room. She looked back over her shoulder to see Belinda waving goodbye before shutting the door.  Daisy’s room was darker than Belinda’s, the thick black curtains sealing away all but a thin sliver of moonlight that managed to get in at the edge. Melanie climbed to her feet, working at the knot around her throat while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The paintings loomed large at the edges of her vision, splotches of faint color amid the black walls.

“Hello?” a husky, feminine voice asked.

“Mmmmph?” Melanie gave up on the sheet around her neck and went for her gag, struggling to pull it from between her teeth again.

“What have we here?” 

Frantically, Melanie looked around, but the voice didn’t seem to come from anywhere. It was like she wasn’t hearing it with her ears, but the voice resonated from deep within her own mind.

“Come here.”

Again, the voice didn’t come from anywhere, but instinctually Melanie felt drawn to the far wall. She could make out the frame of the picture, but what was in it was still just a blurry mass of dark, inky shapes. She took a step towards the painting, giving up on removing her gag.

“I want to play with you.”

Melanie took another faltering step forward, the picture slowly coming into view as she got closer and her eyes better adjusted to the dark. A vaguely humanoid shape appeared out of the writhing mass of dark colors, exaggerated feminine curves amid the serpentine swirls. Perhaps it was a trick of the dim light and her terrified mind, but the painting seemed to move, the figure leaning forward. The canvas seemed to stretch outwards, reaching for her.

“Closer,” the voice reverberated in her mind.

It was like she couldn’t help herself. A small part of her was screaming at herself to stop, to run, to get the hell out of there, but that persistent voice in her head drowned it out until it fell silent. Her voice of reason seemed as thoroughly gagged as her mouth was, and she obeyed, making her way across the room.

“That’s right, little plaything.”

Plaything. A toy, just like she’d been to the collection of dolls. It made Melanie hesitate, just long enough for her inner voice to break through her trance.

Run!

Melanie spun, the naked detective bolting for the window. Something cold and slimy brushed against her waist as she ran, but she couldn’t look back. Throwing open the curtains, moonlight spilled into the room, blindingly bright.

“Nnph,” the groaned as she tried to lift the window, straining with all her might, but the window wouldn’t budge. Gasping, she looked around, seeing the sheet still dangling behind her. Melanie grabbed it, wrapping it around her fist. She brought her arm back, ready to strike the glass, to break the thin barrier between her and freedom.

Something coiled around her elbow. At first she thought she was tangled in the sheet, and she reached back for it with her other hand. It wasn’t the silky material of the sheet. It was wet, sticky, and very cold.

“Mmmmphhh!!!” Melanie looked back over her shoulder to see the inky black tentacle stretching all the way from the painting to her arm.

“Don’t run away, little plaything,” the voice appeared again in her head.

The detective slammed her free hand against the window, not caring if she cut herself. The glass pane shook under the impact, but held strong. She brought her hand back again, only for that same awful slimy sensation around her wrist, holding her fist back. “Nnnnmmmpphh!” She looked back, to see the two intertwining tentacles grabbing her arms. They crossed and pulled apart, spinning Melanie around, and started pulling her, dragging her back towards the painting.

“Come to me.”

“Nnnmpfff! Stmmmpppmhhh!” The helpless detective tried to dig her heels in, but the tentacles just raised up, easily lifting her so she was on her tippy toes. The surface of the canvas in front of her stretched and bubbled, another slick appendage forming, stretching out towards her, reaching for her ankle. She tried to kick it away, as if that might somehow do something against the eldritch nightmare pulling her into its clutches. Her toes sunk into the viscous surface, and it enveloped her foot, wrapping around her ankle. Another tentacle shot out, grabbing her other leg.

“Pmmmphhh! Nnnmmpfff!” Melanie flailed until the tentacles pulled apart, stretching her limbs taught. She was held aloft, restrained spread eagle in the middle of the air, completely and utterly helpless. The tentacles slowly brought her closer to the painting.

The humanoid shape in the center seemed to ripple beneath the canvas. More swatches of dark colors swirled, moving away from a head that slowly looked up. It was barely recognizable as a face, a nightmarish Picasso of features only vaguely human. All except the eyes. Those piercing blue eyes. Despite it being oil paint on canvas instead of glass, there was no mistaking them.  Daisy had the same deep blue eyes as her sister.

“Hello.” What could barely be described as a tongue shot out of roughly where the mouth would be, bulging through the membrane of the painting’s surface. It lapped upwards between Melanie’s legs, the tip slapping against her lower back and then slowly licking down, diving between her ass cheeks, enveloping her sex, running up her belly. A shiver that started as revulsion wracked her body, but it ended as something else.

“Come to me.”

The tentacles dragged her closer. Her very erect nipples hit the canvas first. The wet, oily surface adhered to her sensitive nubs, sucking them in. The detective tried to pull her body back, but the canvas already had her, her boobs stretching uncomfortably as the painting tried to suck her in.

“Mmmmmmphhhh!”

The tongue-like appendage shot out against, licking her again, but this time the tip lingered between her legs, she lunging deeper.

“I’ve missed that taste.”

It was the same thing Belinda had said. Two sisters, somehow both twisted into terrible forms by their mother in this house, and she was the one to bear the brunt of their pent up sexual frustration.

Melanie screamed.

She screamed and screamed, her gag barely stifling her cries while  Daisy tasted her. And when one of pseudopods, possibly the same one, possibly a different one, ripped the gag from her mouth, she screamed even louder. Her voice cracked, pain, pleasure, terror, confusion, ecstasy, all blending in her mind until she couldn’t form words, just guttural, animalistic screams, until a tentacle forced its way into her mouth, penetrating deep down her throat. It plunged deeper, and reeled back, pulling her with it, dragging her into the painting.

Melanie’s fingers grabbed onto the frame. Her fingernails dug deep gouges into the wood as she was sucked through the portal. The inky blackness surrounded her, and finally her last fingertip lost its tenuous hold, and the writhing canvas went still.  Daisy’s room was quiet once more.

The door eased open, and a doll peaked its head in, the blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Sissy?” Belinda called softly.

There was no reply. The doll looked at the painting on the far wall. It was different than it had been before. Bits of lighter colors dotted the painting, flesh colored tones that almost resembled a leg sticking out of the oily mass of tentacles here, an arm reaching out from the frenzy there, what looked to be a breasts, squeezed and contorted, pressing up against the frame in the bottom corner, and if you used your imagination just a little, what was very clearly a mouth buried deep in some very yonic folds.

Belinda smiled. She would have liked some more time with the detective, but she was happy for her sister. She loved her sister dearly, and she hoped  Daisy wouldn’t get tired of this one for a long time. Slowly, she eased the door shut and retreated back to her own room.

***

“I hope we’re not cutting into your business, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t worry another moment, detective,” Mrs. Hatfield said. “I’ve got no bookings until next weekend. And even if I did, it’s no matter. I just hope you find the poor thing. She seemed like such a nice girl.”

“Thank you ma’am. I appreciate that. We’ll find her, I just don’t think we’ll find her here,” Detective Handler said, taking one last look around  Daisy’s room. “We’ll be out of your hair shortly.”

“It’s no bother, the old woman repeated for the umpteenth time. She’d been very cooperative and helpful when the police had turned up, looked for their missing detective. No one had heard from Detective Melanie Kemper in three days, and last anyone had heard she was on her way to Mrs. Hatfield’s Bed and Breakfast. “She said she a wonderful night, signed the guest log, and was on her way.”

Detective Handler nodded. He’d already seen her name in the guest book. Many of his other detective’s names were in that book as well, his included. It was a bit of a hazing ritual, but it was in the service of rewarding new detectives. Mrs. Hatfield’s place was quaint and a little weird, just odd enough to put the newbies on edge, but nothing bad ever happened to anyone at Mrs. Hatfield’s. Something must’ve happened to Melanie somewhere else. “I appreciate your help ma’am. We best be on our way now. Let us know if…”

He trailed off, rubbing his ear.

“Is something the matter, detective,” the proprietor asked.

“No, just keep thinking I’m hearing a humming noise. My hearing’s not what it used to be.”

“It only gets worse,” the older woman sympathized. “Every time they visit, my girls keep telling me I need hearing aids.”

“How are your daughters,” he asked as he walked with her out of the room.

“Oh, they’re just wonderful, little angels, the both of them…”

Her voice echoed up the hall into the room as they made their way downstairs. It sounded like it was coming through water to Melanie as she tried in vain to scream for his attention. She’d been able to see him, plain as day through the frame, but if he could see her, trapped in the painting, he hadn’t been able to recognize her.

Not that there was much to recognize. Only her eyes were uncovered, the rest of her stuck under a tight, sticky film of some ethereal material.

For a moment it seemed like he’d been able to hear her. She’d been trying to reach him, the way  Daisy had spoke to her when Melanie herself was still on the other side of the canvas. Perhaps if a huge, phallic tentacle wasn’t filling her mouth under the tight cocoon she might have been able to articulate to him her plight.

“Don’t worry, my little plaything,”  Daisy whispered in her ears, her voice penetrating deep in her brain as the matching phallic tentacles in her pussy and ass penetrated deeper. “He won’t find you here.”

Melanie screamed silently into the void.

“No one will find you here.”