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
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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
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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.
[sound of footsteps receding, click]
July 10, 11:50 PM
[click]
Can’t sleep. Michael and I fought even more, and he went to sleep on the couch. I’m thinking about the woman who brought the doll… Who is she?
[click]
July 11, 7:30 AM
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Woke up with the thought that maybe someone is playing with me. But who? And why? This is my new mission—to find out what really happened. I’m going to visit my daughter’s grave.
[click]
July 11, 12:45 PM
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At my daughter’s grave. Someone’s been here. Fresh flowers and a note on the grave.
[sound of paper rustling]
“Mom, let the doll be with you.”
[sounds of sobbing, rustling, silence, click]
July 11, 2:00 PM
[click]
Found some forums online where people discuss similar cases. They all seem far-fetched, but I’ll post something. Maybe someone will respond.
[click]
July 12, 10:00 AM
[click]
Sitting in a café with my laptop. Feeling strange.
[café sounds]
Someone replied to my post on the forum. They say it might be a coincidence. But how can it be a coincidence? Someone writes that it could be a cruel joke. Here’s another message.
“See a therapist. It could be a stress-induced condition.”
[click]
July 12, 5:30 PM
[click]
I want to show the note to Michael. Entering the house.
[sound of a key turning in the lock, click-clock]
Michael isn’t alone. I think Cynthia is there with him. I want to record their conversation.
Cynthia: Michael, I’m worried about her. You can’t waste your youth on a woman who has completely forgotten about you in her grief.
Michael: Mom, what are you saying? I love Kate. We have to go through this together, in good times and bad—remember the vow?
Cynthia: Oh, my dear. You’re too kind. This will destroy you. You need to move on. Look at Kate—she’s made up this story about the doll because she can’t let go. She just wants you to pity her.
Michael: Mom, you…
[sound of footsteps]
Kate: Hello, Cynthia. Darling.
Cynthia: Oh, Kate. Glad you’re home. We were just talking about your situation.
Kate: Oh really? And what?
Cynthia: The doll story has Michael worried. I think you should better see a psycho…
Michael: Mom! Enough. You were just about to leave.
Cynthia: Oh no, I’m staying for dinner.
[unpleasant laughter]
Kate: Cynthia, were you at Sophie’s grave? Someone brought fresh flowers.
Cynthia: Oh, dear, I was on a business trip, came straight from the airport to you.
Kate: I found this at her grave.
[sound of paper rustling]
Cynthia: Kate, dear, are you sure it’s not your handwriting? It looks very similar…
Kate: Michael, how can you say that?!
[sounds of stomping up the stairs, click]
July 13, 8:00 AM
[click]
Can’t stop thinking about yesterday’s conversation. Looking at the note—it really is my handwriting… But how did this happen? Maybe I really need to see a specialist? Am I losing my mind?
[click]
July 13, 3:45 PM
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Met with a psychotherapist. He says he experienced similar feelings after losing his mother. He thinks it’s our subconscious playing tricks on us. But I still feel there’s more to this than just imagination.
[click]
July 13, 7:00 PM
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Michael was very kind. He suggested we have dinner with Cynthia and try to mend our relationship. Maybe he’s right, and this is just grief. But I won’t give up. The doll stares at me with its plastic eyes, and I know the woman in vintage clothes is behind this. I have to find her.
[click]
July 14, 9:30 AM
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Talked to Michael for a long time last night. It’s hard to accept, but maybe I really have lost touch with reality. We agreed to go to dinner at Cynthia’s.
[click]
July 14, 12:00 PM
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Found a photo of my daughter with the doll. It was her sixth birthday. I remember Cynthia gave her that doll. That day, she was wearing a long dress with a vintage brooch. Vintage things… She collects them. Could this be a coincidence?
[click]
July 14, 6:19 PM
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We arrived at Cynthia’s for dinner. I went to the bathroom and lingered near her wardrobe. It’s full of vintage clothes! How did I not notice this before? I feel the need to look deeper into the closet.
[sound of clothes rustling, click]
July 14, 6:23 PM
[click, whispers]
Someone’s coming. I need to hide.
Cynthia: Kate? What are you doing in my closet?!
Kate: Cynthia, I…
Cynthia: This is outrageous! Michael! Come here!
Michael: Sweetheart, what’s going on?
Kate: Michael, I can’t explain it, but your mom is somehow involved in this…
Michael: Stop it! Both of you! Let’s go have dinner, and we’ll talk about it later. Okay? Cynthia, I’m sorry for the intrusion.
[sound of footsteps, click]
July 14, 9:00 PM
[click]
Dinner was tense. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. As I lay in bed, I wonder, who was that woman at the flea market? Why did she bring the doll there? Cynthia must know more than she’s letting on.
[click]
July 15, 11:30 AM
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Michael took me to see another therapist. I agreed, but deep inside, I still feel that I need to solve this mystery. Today, I want to visit the flea market again, talk to the seller one more time.
[click]
July 15, 1:00 PM
[click]
At the flea market. The seller is here.
Kate: Hi. Do you remember me? We spoke about the doll.
Seller: Oh, yes, ma’am. Did you find anything out?
Kate: Not much. But I need to know more about the woman who brought the doll. Did she leave anything behind? Any clues?
Seller: I… I do remember something. She dropped this envelope. I didn’t think much of it, but maybe it will help you.
Kate: Thank you so much.
[sound of rustling paper, click]
July 15, 1:45 PM
[click]
Opening the envelope now. There’s a letter inside. It’s… a confession.
“Dear Kate,
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found the doll. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused. I wanted to help you move on, but I see now it was a mistake. I hope you can forgive me. – Cynthia”
[click]
July 15, 7:00 PM
[click]
I confronted Cynthia. She admitted everything. She found the doll at a vintage store and thought it would help me move on. She never expected it to cause so much pain. We cried together and decided to let the past rest.
[click]
July 16, 8:00 AM
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I’m starting to feel a sense of peace. I understand now that sometimes, people do things with good intentions, even if they hurt us. I’m ready to let go and move on. This will be my last recording.
[click]
The dictaphone clicks off, and the tape comes to an end. Kate took a deep breath and closed her eyes, ready to face a new chapter in her life.