The Hollow Mannequin

My cousin Dana had always been the one to take me in when things got rough, so when she landed a job managing the old Thornewood Estate, I wasn’t surprised she’d asked us to stay for the weekend. The estate was a sprawling, crumbling Victorian mansion that had been converted into a rent house, with a guest cottage out back that Dana and her wife, Mira, had claimed. Dana’s two kids, Leo and June, and Mira’s two, Sam and Ivy, were away at a school camping trip, so it was just Dana, Mira, my boyfriend Ethan, my toddler Max, and me.

We arrived Friday evening. The place was a maze of dusty rooms and peeling wallpaper, but Dana had done her best to make it cozy. The living room was enormous, with a vaulted ceiling and a fireplace big enough to roast a pig. Behind the living room was a long hallway leading to the bedrooms, and off to the right was a small den that Dana used as an office. She told me the previous tenant had left some old furniture, including a mannequin in the den that she’d covered with a sheet because it gave her the creeps.

That night, after we’d put Max to sleep in Dana’s room with a portable crib, Dana and Mira headed out to a late dinner and a movie. Ethan and I stayed behind to watch over Max. I put a frozen pizza in the oven and sat in the living room, chatting with Ethan, who was sprawled on the couch. The kitchen was behind me, the den to my right, and the hallway to the right as well. A huge bay window faced the front yard, the moon casting long shadows across the overgrown lawn.

Ethan went out for a smoke, and I was alone in the living room. The pizza had a few minutes left, so I leaned back and closed my eyes. When I opened them, something in the den caught my eye. The sheet that covered the mannequin was gone. I hadn’t heard anyone come in, and the wind outside was still. I got up, my heart thumping, and walked to the den’s doorway. The mannequin stood in the corner, facing me. It was a woman, with a porcelain face, painted eyes that seemed to follow me, and a faded floral dress. Its arms were slightly raised, as if reaching out.

The hair on my neck stood up. I told myself that the sheet must have slipped off, but something felt wrong. I called out to Ethan, but he didn’t answer. I backed away and went to the kitchen, checking on the pizza. When I turned around, the mannequin was in the hallway, just outside the kitchen. It had moved. My breath caught. I ran to the bedroom where Max was sleeping, and he was fine, but the mannequin was now standing in the doorway, watching me.

I screamed for Ethan, and he burst in from the back door. He saw the mannequin and froze. ‘What the hell?’ he said. He cautiously approached it, but the mannequin didn’t move. He grabbed it by the shoulders and dragged it back to the den, propping it against the wall. He found the sheet and threw it over. ‘It’s just a stupid mannequin,’ he said, but his hands were shaking.

We tried to ignore it, but the atmosphere had turned sour. We ate our pizza in silence, and I kept glancing down the hallway. The sheet was still there, but I could have sworn the mannequin had shifted. Later, as we got ready for bed, we heard a thud. Ethan went to check. He came back pale. ‘It’s in the hallway again. The sheet’s gone.’ We decided to lock it in the den. We closed the door and put a chair under the knob.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I heard scratching sounds, like fingernails on wood. Around 2 AM, I felt a cold draft. I peeked into the hallway. The den door was open, the chair pushed aside. The mannequin was standing at the foot of the hallway, facing me. This time, its head was tilted, and its painted eyes seemed to glisten with malice.

I woke Ethan, and we grabbed Max and ran to the car. We drove to a motel, and I called Dana, but she didn’t answer. We stayed at the motel for the rest of the night. The next morning, we returned to the estate. Dana and Mira were there, looking worried. They said they’d found the front door open and the mannequin in their bedroom, standing over their bed. They’d thrown it into the backyard shed.

The four of us stood in the yard, staring at the shed. The door was slightly ajar. I knew, with a sinking feeling, that no lock would keep it contained. We packed our things and left, but as we drove away, I saw the mannequin standing at the bedroom window of the second floor, its arm raised as if waving goodbye.