The Watchers Return

In a certain building, in a certain state, in a certain city, there is a certain display.
Valley of the Dolls (3)
There they stand, a distaff army of pale porcelain faces and carefully done hair, each with her own unique dress. They are different women, mostly — sometimes, they are the same woman at different points in time, the same woman made different from herself by her dress and her hair. Yet their faces are all the same, and their empty eyes and still lips all whisper the same thing (if only one could hear it).
Valley of the Dolls (1)

Sometimes, perhaps when one least expects it, one pale face will seem to turn. One pale face out of the crowd of identical faces will lift, just the slightest bit. Out of one dark, false pair of eyes, she will look upon you, and she will know you.
Valley of the Dolls (2)

She will know you.

Are you ready?

[Originally posted in 2013, and again in 2016 and 2017, revived because creepy dolls are the thing for October!]

About L. M. Bernhardt

Deaccessioned philosopher. Occasional Musician. Academic librarian, in original dust jacket. Working to keep my dogs in the lavish manner to which they have become accustomed.
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