One day, I stumbled upon a doll at a flea market that looked strikingly familiar. It was the same doll I had buried with my six-year-old daughter a year ago, identifiable by my name embroidered on its dress. I decided to document everything using a dictaphone, not realizing this would eventually save me from a deeper trouble.
July 9, 3:30 PM – Recording 1
[click]
Hi, this is Kate, 33 years old. I just returned from the flea market. I found a toy that looks exactly like the one my daughter had. She passed away a year ago… I even buried her with that doll. It can’t be the same one, but I need to check something when I get home.
[click]
July 9, 3:45 PM
[click]
I’m home, checking the doll. It’s identical. There’s a small embroidery inside the dress with my daughter’s initials, which I sewed. How is this possible? I need to find out where it came from. I’ll keep recording everything to piece together the puzzle.
[click]
July 10, 9:00 AM
[click]
Couldn’t sleep last night. Looking through photos of my daughter calms me down, but the doll… It makes me think something’s wrong. Today, I plan to go back to the flea market. Maybe the seller remembers who brought this doll.
[click]
July 10, 11:15 AM
[click]
Back at the flea market. Found the same seller. I’ll record our conversation now.
Kate: Good afternoon!
Seller: Hello! Are you looking to buy something? I remember you bought a doll from me yesterday. Did your child like it?
[pause]
Kate: Um… Actually, this doll reminds me of something. Could you tell me its story?
Seller: Ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t know its story. It’s just a regular doll. It was given to me by a woman to sell. She even paid me extra to make sure I sold it to you.
[pause]
Kate: Who was this woman?
Seller: Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t have any useful information about her. But she was wearing vintage clothing.
Kate: Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.
Seller: Have a good day, ma’am.
[click]
July 10, 1:00 PM
[click]
Driving home. Feeling strange. Can’t shake the thought that some woman brought this doll to the flea market. Maybe it’s some kind of message meant for me? I need to figure this out.
[click]
July 10, 7:00 PM
[click]
My husband Michael just got back from work. I need to talk to him about what happened. I can’t keep this to myself anymore.
Michael: Hi, honey! Who were you talking to?
Kate: Oh… just talking to myself. Don’t mind it.
Michael: How are you? How do you feel?
Kate: Thanks, it’s strange. I went to the flea market yesterday and found a doll. Do you remember Sonya’s favorite doll?
Michael: Kate, come here. I miss her so much too.
[pause]
Kate: But this doll… You have to look at it.
Michael: Why? What do you want to say?
Kate: Here, it’s here, let me get it.
[sounds of rustling]
Kate: Look, does it remind you of anything?
Michael: Kate… This is the doll our Sonya had. But what are you getting at?
Kate: This isn’t just a doll like Sonya’s. This is her doll!
Michael: Honey, don’t make things up. It can’t be. We buried that doll with our daughter.
[sighs]
Kate: But the embroidery on the dress—look! I sewed this here myself.
Michael: Are you sure you didn’t do it again?
Kate: What do you mean?
Michael: Mom called. She’s worried about you. It’s been a year, and you’re still trying to connect with Sonya. Sweetheart, I miss our angel too, but she’s in a better place now. Maybe it’s time to let her go? We need to move on.
Kate: You don’t understand! This is the same doll! I want to know how this happened! And Cynthia… your mom—she never understood our family and our grief.
Michael: Sweetheart, don’t say that… she’s grieving too.
Kate: No!
[sound of glass breaking]
Michael: Enough for today. You need to rest. And so do I.
