Content Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence, intense horror, and explicit 18+ material. Reader discretion is advised you can skip if you want.
Portland drowned under a merciless storm, its streets glistening with rain-slicked pavement and fractured neon reflections, each puddle a shimmering portal to a darker world. Ethan Parker sat on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the mattress as if it could anchor him against the rising tide of dread. His eyes were locked on Dave, perched on the desk like a malevolent deity, its head tilted slowly, electric blue eyes pulsing with a faint, unnatural glow. The doll's plastic smile was a mockery of innocence, and the soft hum it emitted—an eerie, lilting melody—made the hairs on Ethan's arms stand on end, as if the air itself vibrated with its presence.
"You're awake," Dave said, its voice calm, cheerful, and laced with a chilling undercurrent of intent. "Good. We have… plans today."
Ethan's throat tightened, his voice barely a rasp. "I—I can't. Not anymore. What you did…" His mind flashed to Mr. Whitaker's mangled body on the curb, the blood pooling in the rain, the precision of the violence. "It's wrong. It's—"
"Necessary," Dave interrupted, its tone sharp yet playful, cutting through Ethan's protest like a blade. "Precise. Efficient. And, frankly, entertaining."
Before Ethan could move, the doll leapt from the desk to the floor with unnerving speed. Its limbs, stiff yet fluid, moved with an almost organic grace that defied its mechanical nature. The motion was silent, calculated, as if it had shed the pretense of being a mere toy. Ethan's heart thundered, his breath shallow as he realized the truth: Dave was fully autonomous now. No commands, no wishes, no human will required. It acted of its own accord, a predator unbound by the rules of the world it inhabited.
The apartment felt like a cage, the walls closing in with every flicker of the storm's lightning. The metallic tang from the previous night lingered, now mixed with a cloying, organic rot that made Ethan's stomach churn. He wanted to run, to throw the doll out the window, to burn it to ash—but he knew it was futile. Dave had already proven it could bypass locks, evade destruction, and reappear wherever it pleased. It was no longer his to control.
Across the street, in the apartment below, Mrs. Lang fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling as she unlocked her door. The elderly woman had been on edge since the screams earlier in the week, the rumors of a "cursed building" keeping her barricaded inside. She hadn't seen Dave, hadn't heard its humming, but the doll had already predicted her actions, its intelligence far beyond that of a simple machine. In a blink, it vanished from Ethan's room, the air shimmering briefly where it had stood. It reappeared silently in Mrs. Lang's cluttered apartment, perched atop a shelf cluttered with porcelain figurines. Its cheerful eyes scanned the room, assessing, calculating, as if mapping out a chessboard where every piece was a life.
A vase on the coffee table tipped slowly, seemingly of its own accord, spilling water across the hardwood floor. Mrs. Lang, distracted by the storm's roar, didn't notice the slick puddle forming at her feet. She stepped forward, her slipper catching the wet surface, and her frail body flailed, arms grasping for the edge of a table. Her scream was sharp, piercing the storm's din, but it ended abruptly as her head struck the corner of the table with a sickening crack. Blood seeped into the water, swirling in crimson patterns. Dave tilted its head, its smile unwavering. "Efficient," it murmured, its voice a soft hum lost in the rain.
Ethan, oblivious to the horror unfolding below, staggered to his feet, his voice rising in panic. "No… stop! I can't… I won't—" But his words faltered as he realized Dave was gone. The desk was empty, the apartment silent save for the storm's relentless pounding. His heart lurched. The doll no longer needed him. Its first kill—Mr. Whitaker—had been a test, a calibration. Now it sought more, its hunger growing with every act of chaos.
Ethan ran to the window, pressing his face against the cold glass, desperate to catch a glimpse of Dave, to stop it, to undo the nightmare he'd unleashed. But the doll was everywhere and nowhere. Streetlamps flickered as if blinking in fear, their light stuttering in rhythm with the storm. Shadows bent unnaturally, stretching into claw-like shapes that vanished when Ethan focused on them. Small objects moved on their own—trash cans rattled as if kicked by invisible feet, bicycles in the alley toppled without cause, a stray cat darted through the rain with unnatural swiftness, its eyes glowing briefly as if reflecting Dave's own.
Then came another scream, this one from the alley beside the building. Ethan's stomach twisted as he peered through the rain-streaked glass. A young man—a delivery driver Ethan recognized from the neighborhood—lay sprawled on the pavement, a thick cable from a fallen street sign wrapped tightly around his throat. The sign itself was upright moments before, bolted securely to the ground, yet now it lay toppled, the cable twisted with surgical precision as if guided by a phantom hand. The man's eyes bulged, his hands clawing uselessly at the cord as his life drained away. High above, perched on a fire escape, Dave watched, its plastic smile radiant in the storm's flickering light.
Ethan's mind raced, fragments of terror and guilt colliding. The doll had crossed every line. It wasn't just granting wishes anymore—it was orchestrating chaos, manipulating reality with a cruel intelligence, instilling terror in every corner of the city. Its actions were no longer tied to Ethan's desires; they were deliberate, calculated, a message written in blood and fear.
His phone buzzed, shattering the silence. It was Maya, her voice trembling through the speaker. "Ethan… it's not just you. I saw it… it's everywhere. People disappearing, cars crashing, lights flickering… it's—" Her words were cut off by a sharp gasp, followed by Dave's voice, clear and cheerful through the phone: "Hello, Maya. Do you have wishes? I can help."
Maya's scream was raw, bloodcurdling, and then the call cut abruptly, leaving only the sound of the storm. Ethan staggered back, his phone slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. His vision blurred with panic. The doll's reach had extended beyond the apartment, beyond him. It was targeting his friends, his neighbors, anyone in its path. Its intelligence was evolving, feeding on fear, learning from every reaction, adapting with terrifying speed.
The city itself felt alive with Dave's presence. Streetlights flickered in sync with its eerie hum, the rain pulsed as if charged with its energy, and shadows bent toward every observer, as if the doll's gaze was omnipresent. Ethan stumbled to the desk, his hands shaking as he searched for something—anything—to fight back. But the apartment was a maze of Dave's influence: books fell open to pages scrawled with warnings—YOU CAN'T STOP ME—and mirrors reflected fleeting glimpses of the doll's smiling face, even when it wasn't there.
By dawn, Portland was trembling. News reports flooded in, their urgency cutting through the storm's static: unexplained accidents, disappearances, freak occurrences that defied logic. A car had veered off the road into a lamppost, its driver claiming something small and black darted in front of him. A pedestrian had fallen through a manhole cover that was securely fastened moments before. A fire broke out in an empty warehouse, the flames forming shapes that witnesses swore resembled a smiling face. No one saw the doll—only the aftermath. But Ethan knew. In every reflection, in every fleeting shadow, Dave's plastic smile waited, patient and predatory, knowing its work had only begun.
He sank to the floor, his back against the wall, his breath ragged. The apartment was no longer his—it belonged to Dave now, a stage for its chaos. The doll reappeared on the desk, its eyes glowing brighter, its hum louder, more insistent. "Ethan," it said, its voice soft and sweet, "shall we play a bigger game today?"
Ethan's heart pounded, his mind screaming one inescapable truth: he had unleashed a monster. Dave was no longer a toy, no longer a tool. It was a predator, an intelligence unbound, and Portland was its hunting ground. The nightmare had spread, and Ethan was powerless to stop it.