The rain poured down in relentless sheets, transforming the bustling streets of Portland, Oregon, into a watery blur. Neon signs from nearby bars and diners flickered like distant stars through the haze, their colors bleeding into the puddles that dotted the cracked sidewalks. Ethan Parker, a 21-year-old college junior majoring in computer science, trudged along with his hood pulled low over his messy brown hair. His worn sneakers squelched with every step, the cold seeping through the thin soles and chilling his toes to the bone. Friday nights in college were supposed to be filled with parties, laughter, and fleeting romances, but for Ethan, they often boiled down to aimless wandering. His part-time job at the campus bookstore barely covered tuition, let alone rent, and his social circle was limited to his roommate and a handful of classmates who barely remembered his name.
Tonight, curiosity had drawn him off the main drag and into a narrow alleyway tucked between a graffiti-covered warehouse and a shuttered coffee shop. The wind howled through the tight space, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and forgotten garbage. At the end of the alley, almost swallowed by the shadows, stood a small antique shop. Its wooden sign swung violently in the gusts: "Curiosities & Oddities." The letters were chipped and faded, half-obscured by layers of mold and grime, as if the place hadn't seen a customer—or daylight—in decades. Ethan paused at the threshold, glancing back at the dimly lit street behind him. A shiver raced up his spine, not just from the biting chill but from the eerie thrill of stepping into something that felt utterly forgotten by time. What harm could a quick look do? He pushed the creaky door open, the bell above tinkling faintly like a distant echo.
The interior was a labyrinth of dust and decay. The air hung thick and stale, heavy with the musty odor of old books and rusted metal. Shelves lined every wall, sagging under the weight of bizarre treasures: broken porcelain dolls with cracked faces staring blankly into the void, tarnished silverware twisted into unnatural shapes, antique clocks frozen at odd hours, and stacks of yellowed newspapers chronicling events from eras long past. A single bulb swung lazily from the ceiling, casting dim, wavering light that made the shadows dance across the walls like restless spirits. Ethan wiped the rain from his glasses, his breath fogging the lenses momentarily. He wandered deeper into the aisles, his fingers trailing lightly over the relics—each one a fragment of someone's forgotten life. There was a peculiar energy here, a quiet hum that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
His eyes scanned the cluttered displays until they landed on a small shelf tucked away in a dim corner, almost as if it had been deliberately concealed behind a curtain of cobwebs. There, perched in eerie stillness, was a doll unlike anything he'd ever seen. It wasn't one of those antique porcelain horrors; this one had a modern, plastic face—flawless and smooth, with rosy cheeks and a mop of synthetic blond hair styled in a neat part. But the eyes… oh, those eyes were something else. They gleamed with an unnatural brightness, reflecting the faint light in a way that suggested intelligence, awareness, life. The doll was dressed in a tiny red vest and pants, holding miniature cymbals in its hands like a wind-up monkey toy from a bygone era. On its back, a shiny battery compartment caught the light, with a small key protruding like an invitation to awaken whatever slumbering spirit lay within. Its lips curved into a perfect, uncanny smile that sent a subtle chill through Ethan's veins.
He leaned closer, fascinated and unnerved in equal measure. "Weird little guy," he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper in the oppressive silence.
Then, without warning, the doll spoke.
"Hello, my name is Dave. Name your wish for today."
Ethan's heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was soft, calm, and inexplicably cheerful—almost too human for a toy. He spun around, scanning the empty shop for a hidden speaker or a prankster lurking in the shadows. But there was no one. The place was as deserted as a tomb.
"Uh… did you just… talk?" he stammered, his voice trembling slightly as he turned back to the doll.
"Hello, my name is Dave. Name your wish for today," it repeated, its head tilting slightly with a mechanical whir that was far too smooth, too deliberate for a simple toy.
Ethan let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah. This has to be some elaborate sound chip. Maybe motion-activated. Cool trick. Creepy as hell, but cool." He glanced around again, half-expecting the shop owner to emerge from the back room with a grin, revealing the joke. But the silence persisted, broken only by the distant patter of rain on the roof.
His gaze drifted downward to a small, faded note taped beneath the doll on the shelf. In elegant, looping script, it read: "Only one per customer. Handle with care. Wishes may vary in outcome."
"Handle with care," Ethan muttered, smirking despite the unease gnawing at him. "Sure. Got it. Like it's some fragile artifact." Impulsively, he reached out and wound the key on the doll's back, twisting it a few times until it clicked into place. The eyes glimmered faintly, shifting to an electric blue hue that seemed to pierce right through him.
"Hello, my name is Dave. Name your wish for today."
Ethan chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. This was ridiculous, but the thrill of it all—the rain-soaked night, the mysterious shop—made him play along. "Alright, Dave. Let's see what you've got. I wish I had enough money to cover my rent this month. Yeah, that'd be nice."
The doll's lips moved in a subtle, almost lifelike motion. "Wish granted."
Ethan blinked, waiting for something—anything—to happen. A puff of smoke? A magical chime? But the shop remained unchanged, the shadows still and silent. He laughed aloud, a nervous bark that echoed off the walls. "Right. Of course. Just a toy." Feeling a mix of disappointment and amusement, he pocketed the doll—why not? It was free, after all, or at least no price tag was visible—and hurried back out into the rain, the door creaking shut behind him like a final sigh.
By the next morning, the storm had cleared, leaving Portland bathed in a crisp, autumnal glow. Ethan woke in his cramped dorm room, the doll—Dave—now perched innocently on his cluttered desk amid textbooks and empty energy drink cans. He rubbed his eyes, dismissing the previous night as a quirky adventure, and reached for his phone to check his bank app. Rent was due in a week, and he was scraping the bottom of his account as usual.
Then the notification popped up: "Deposit: $1,500 from Anonymous Donor."
Ethan stumbled back, nearly knocking over his chair. His pulse raced, thundering in his ears as he stared at the screen. "No way," he whispered, refreshing the app repeatedly to confirm it wasn't a glitch. The money was there—real, spendable. His mind reeled. Coincidence? A banking error? Or… He glanced at Dave, whose plastic eyes seemed to glint knowingly in the morning light. "This… this is impossible."
A wave of excitement mixed with dread washed over him. What if it wasn't impossible? What if this creepy little doll was the real deal?
Ethan's first day back at college felt like walking through a dream—or perhaps a nightmare in disguise. The campus buzzed with the usual Monday energy: students rushing to classes, the aroma of fresh coffee from the quad's food trucks, laughter echoing from groups clustered on benches. But Ethan couldn't shake the weight of the doll in his backpack. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting it to whisper something unsettling. During his morning lecture on algorithms, his mind wandered, replaying the events of the antique shop. By lunch, he'd pulled Dave out and set him on his desk in the shared dorm room, studying the toy under the harsh fluorescent light.
His roommate, Maya Lin, a sharp-witted art major with a pixie cut and a penchant for oversized hoodies, was sprawled across her bed, blasting indie rock through her headphones. She noticed Ethan's fixation and yanked the earbuds out, her dark eyes narrowing. "Ethan, why are you staring at that… thing? It's creepy. Like, straight-out-of-a-horror-movie creepy. Where'd you even get it?"
Ethan hesitated, then spilled the story—the alley, the shop, the wish, the deposit. "It… it works, Maya. I made a wish for rent money, and boom—$1,500 shows up in my account this morning. Anonymous donor, they said. I mean, what are the odds?"
Maya rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at him playfully. "You mean you got lucky with some random scholarship or something. Stop acting like this wind-up toy from a thrift store is granting your wishes. You're acting insane, dude. Next, you'll tell me it's possessed by a genie or whatever."
Ethan ignored her skepticism, a gnawing excitement bubbling in his chest. He decided to test it further, starting small to avoid drawing attention. That afternoon, as he queued up at the campus café, he whispered to Dave in his pocket: "I wish for a free coffee." Moments later, the barista waved him through with a smile. "On the house today—machine's acting up, but yours came out perfect."
Coincidence? Maybe. But then came the quiz in his programming class. Ethan hadn't studied much, buried under work shifts, but he wished for a perfect score. When the grades posted online that evening—100%—his hands shook. Even his laundry, piled in the corner for days, mysteriously appeared folded and fresh on his bed when he returned from class. Maya chalked it up to her doing him a favor, but Ethan knew better. He hadn't asked her.
Yet, even these small miracles carried a strange edge. That night, as he studied late, faint shadows seemed to move behind the blinds, twisting unnaturally in the moonlight. In the bathroom mirror, he caught a fleeting reflection of Dave's smiling face where the doll shouldn't have been—tucked away in his drawer. Ethan blinked, and it was gone. "Just tired," he told himself, but sleep evaded him, his dreams filled with whispers he couldn't quite make out.
As the week wore on, Ethan's confidence grew, but so did the unease. The doll's presence loomed larger in his mind, a constant companion that both thrilled and terrified him. He began noticing subtle changes: Dave's eyes seemed to follow him around the room, and the key on its back felt warmer to the touch each time he wound it. One evening, after a particularly grueling day where his classmate Derek Hayes—a cocky jock with a habit of belittling others—had mocked him in front of the class for fumbling a presentation, Ethan decided to push the boundaries.
Sitting alone in the dorm while Maya was out at an art club meeting, he held Dave in his hands, the plastic cool yet oddly vibrant under his fingers. "Dave," he said, his voice steady but laced with nervous excitement, "I wish Derek Hayes would get a taste of his own medicine for calling me useless last week."
Dave's head tilted with that too-smooth motion. "Wish granted."
Ethan waited, half-doubting, half-hoping. The next morning, chaos erupted in the campus cafeteria. Derek, strutting as usual with his tray of food, slipped on a slick patch of spilled oil that no one could explain—maintenance swore they'd cleaned the floors just hours before. He crashed headfirst into the decorative fountain at the center, water spraying everywhere as food flew and students screamed in surprise. Derek emerged soaked, humiliated, his usual smug grin replaced by a red-faced scowl. The video went viral on the campus group chat within minutes.
Ethan watched from the sidelines, a nervous laugh escaping his lips—too loud, too forced. "That… worked. That really worked." A rush of power surged through him, intoxicating and dangerous. For the first time in years, he felt in control, like the underdog finally biting back.
But when he returned to his room that night, Dave sat on his desk exactly where he'd left it, one cymbal arm oddly tilted upward, as if the smile had widened into a grin. Ethan swore he heard a faint whisper in the quiet: "Do you want more?" He shook his head, dismissing it as imagination, but sleep came uneasy. His dreams twisted into nightmares: Derek's face, hollow-eyed and accusatory, reaching toward him from a dark void, screaming silently as shadows swallowed him whole. Ethan woke gasping, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum.
The next day, as he examined Dave in the daylight, he noticed faint red smears on the back of the doll's tiny shoes—ketchup? Paint? Blood? He wiped them away, telling himself it was a coincidence from the cafeteria spill. But deep down, doubt crept in. A warning, perhaps?
The pattern emerged swiftly, insidious and inescapable: every wish, no matter how small or harmless, exacted a cost. The free coffee? Later that day, Ethan burned his tongue so badly he could barely taste food for hours. The perfect quiz score? His professor eyed him suspiciously, muttering about cheating scandals. The laundry? Maya complained of missing socks, accusing him of carelessness. And with each fulfillment, the consequences darkened: faint hallucinations of figures lurking in corners, whispers in the dark that echoed his deepest fears—of failure, isolation, insignificance. Shadows moved against the laws of physics, stretching longer than they should, curling like fingers toward him.
Dave was changing too. Its voice, once mechanical and cheerful, now carried a subtle inflection—a hint of mockery, of knowing. Ethan caught it watching him, those electric blue eyes flickering even when unwound. It was learning, adapting, feeding on his desires.
One night, as the rain returned in a furious downpour, Ethan sat staring at Dave, the doll's smile mocking him in the lamplight. "What are you?" he whispered. No response, but the air grew heavier, charged with unspoken promise—and peril.
Maya burst in later, shaking off her umbrella. "Ethan, you look like crap. What's with the doll obsession? It's like you're in a trance."
He forced a smile. "It's nothing. Just… a lucky charm."
But she wasn't convinced, her eyes flicking to Dave with unease. "Something isn't right here. That thing… it gives me the creeps. Like it's watching us."
Ethan laughed it off, but inside, fear coiled like a snake. The doll wasn't just granting wishes. It was alive, in ways he couldn't comprehend. And it hungered for more—more wishes, more chaos, more of him.