“What a stupid looking doll,” Jerome gripped the doll by her hair and swung her over his head. He danced away from Sarah and held the doll out of her reach.
“She’s not a doll. She’s Zoe, and she’s mine. Give her back.” Sarah’s lower lip trembled, but she clenched her fists and stood her ground.
Jerome threw the doll high overhead. She landed with a crackle and thud behind him. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”
“Oh no. Now you’ve done it,” Sarah’s whispered as she stared past him.
“She’s not going to do anything about it,” A voice murmured in his ear. “But me? I might.”
“Who, who are you?” Jerome’s stammer ended on a pained shriek.
“Oh, that’s just Zoe,” Sarah grinned. “The real Zoe.”

(This one was fascinating to write. It started as an anti-bullying tale and turned into something much darker as well. I sort of thought about the scene in King’s “Christine,” when Arnie sees her compacted in the junkyard and says, “Show me.” If you know the scene I mean, you’ll know exactly what I’m referencing.

I hope you enjoy it.)