The night was unnervingly quiet, as if the city itself had stopped breathing. Only the occasional car sliced through the darkness with its headlights. Sergeant David Miller, a seasoned patrol officer, knew that it was during these silent hours that the strangest incidents tended to happen. But nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see.
His shift had been uneventful—some routine checks, a few minor traffic violations, a couple of calls from worried residents. But close to midnight, his earpiece crackled with the voice of the dispatcher, reporting a suspicious object on the outskirts of the city.
Turning onto a deserted street, Miller immediately spotted something that made his pulse quicken. Right there, illuminated by the streetlights, stood a massive wooden coffin. It looked new—the dark lacquer gleamed, and the metal handles glinted coldly.
He brought his cruiser to a stop, flicking on the emergency lights. The air seemed to grow colder. Not a single sound, not even footsteps or distant chatter—just an empty street and the faint rustle of wind pushing dry leaves along the curb.
Miller stepped out of the car, closing the door quietly behind him. His hand instinctively rested on his holster. Each step toward the coffin seemed louder than the last.
When he was close enough, his heartbeat quickened. Slowly, he reached for the lid. The hinges groaned as it lifted, and for a moment, it felt as though the air itself had grown heavy.
Inside lay… a doll. But not an ordinary doll—this one was life-sized, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding gown. The fabric, once pure white, had yellowed slightly with age. Its face was disturbingly realistic—closed eyelids, delicate eyelashes, and even the faint movement of breathing as its chest rose and fell.
The sergeant flinched, slamming the lid shut. A sickening thought struck him—this was either some twisted prank or something far worse. He stepped back quickly, grabbed his radio, and called it in.
While he waited for backup, the silence thickened. Then, a faint rustling came from the coffin. The lid slowly creaked open again, and the doll’s head turned toward him. Its eyes—alive, cold—locked onto his.
Miller drew his weapon, but in the next instant, everything went still. When other officers arrived, they found nothing but the lifeless figure inside, with hollow glass eyes. Yet Miller could never shake the memory of those eyes moving—watching him.
Since that night, he has avoided that street entirely. The coffin now sits in the police evidence warehouse, tied to a case with no name, no suspect, and no explanation. But sometimes, deep in the night, officers swear they hear a faint knocking coming from inside.