I was adopted into a rich family and my new mother is a doll

I?ve always been a lucky one among the unlucky.
My mother was a teen who wanted to keep me against her better judgement, but was found to be terminally ill, so I was handed to the orphanage. Soon, one of the nuns became quite fond of me, and my life was good ? for an orphan, at least.
I was only adopted now that I?m 14, along with five other kids, but I?m happy. I can be happy wherever; I adapt easily, no matter what life throws in my way.
That?s probably the reason why I knew I should act like nothing was wrong at Courtenay Manor, even though everything was wrong.
First of all, some mirrors don?t show reflections. But you never know which, they are all moody.
Then there?s this terrible stench coming from the attic, poorly disguised by infusions of flowers and oils.
The maids say it?s Dad?s taxidermy workshop; whatever creepy truth lays on the top of the helix staircase, I don?t want to know. Ignorance is bliss.
Speaking of taxidermy, Dad seems to be very good at it. His trophy heads look so? alive. Sometimes I swear I can see their eyes moving, and weirdly I always feel observed when I?m around them.
Truth be told, I feel observed the whole time.
But the manor is really nice, even when I wake up and realize my room switched floors again.
Oh, I haven?t talked about that yet. About once a week you?ll wake up and notice the house in complete disarray, the rooms appearing in places they shouldn?t be. You?ll open the door to your bathroom and find the kitchen, or the courtyard.
Then you try to leave your bedroom and you see a hall, but it?s actually the hall from two floors below ? this sort of thing. I learned to think it?s kind of entertaining.
I asked the maids, but no one knows why it happens.
The maids are really nice and accommodating for us kids. They spend the day preparing our favorite meals, and the nights helping Dad at his workshop.
He?s a business man, so he?s never home during daytime, only for dinner. Then he spends the night crafting his beloved taxidermies.
Thinking back now, I don?t think anyone in the house ever sleeps, except for myself and my siblings ? unfortunately, you?ll soon find out why it?s pointless to learn their names.
It?s been a few weeks since the adoption now. On the first night, the youngest of us asked Dad why the mirrors have no reflexes. Then he gently said: ?I only have one rule here: no questions for Dad?.
Mere few minutes later, she asked him about the smell coming from the attic.
On the next morning, she was gone.
The maids said that she didn?t adapt to life on the manor and the adoption was cancelled.
After that, the remaining five of us were careful around Dad. But, as long as we followed this one rule ? and we did ? he was the kindest person in the world. He was funny, attentive, and always wanted to solve our every problem.
Dad talked excitedly about Mom for days, how she was travelling but couldn?t wait to meet us, and how we were all going to love her.
And then she was a ****ing doll.
She arrived around 10 days ago.
A life-sized doll, like an ugly Barbie. Head too big with pale-yellow nylon hair, eyes too large ? too unnaturally light-blue. Her ridiculously thin nose couldn?t possibly breathe, and her enormous lips, perpetually pouting, would explode from the excessive filling if she was a real person.
Her body was clearly made of hard plastic and segmented in the joints, with horribly long legs and arms and waist way too slender. Her feet were curved in an impossible angle, even when she wasn?t in high heels.
She was wearing human-sized Barbie clothes and human-sized Barbie rubber shoes.
She was already sat by the table on the first night, immobile. ?Go give your mother a hug!?
Awkwardly, all of us hugged the cold stationary plastic, her arms not embracing us at all. Then we sat down to eat.
One of the maids ?fed? the doll, letting the soup run down from her tightly closed oversized lips. My siblings and I were all incredibly uncomfortable, until one of my brothers ? the one I liked the most ? broke the heavy silence.
?Dad, I?m so sorry, but? is Mother a doll??
Cold electric fear coursed through my stomach.
No questions for Dad.
?[Name], come here?, Dad calmly asked. No one dared to breathe ? except for the maids, who went about their activities like the atmosphere wasn?t eerie. They almost seemed to be having fun, although their faces never betrayed emotions.
My brother approached Dad.
Dad just stared at him. He didn?t move a muscle.
And my brother?s eyeballs ****ing exploded.
All the kids screamed, and the maid that was feeding Mother slowly turned the doll?s head to watch the scene with her large plastic unblinking eyes, making it even creepier.
Dad got up, cleaning his mouth with a linen napkin.
?You?ll all do well to follow the one rule. Maid, take the boy to The Doctor.?
I haven?t seen my brother since.
I keep telling myself that he?s being treated at a good hospital.
But of course things got worse.
Dad started demanding that we spend time with Mother, doing ?bonding activities?, like sunbathing and gardening, and they all went horribly.
During sunbathing, her plastic chest started to melt. On gardening, she lost one of her plastic fingers. None of the maids were able to make her perform tasks like she was a person ? because, heck, she?s not.
Ever since Mother arrived, things have been hard. We have to hug her the whole time, eat breakfast with her, help her choose her outfits, do outdoors activities with her and sometimes even carry her to the dinner table or to her room.
I swear to God I tried to find it all entertaining, like I ended up living inside some sort of warped episode of The Addams Family. It?s how my brain copes. I?m an incurable optimist.
But just last night I saw something horrible enough to shatter this way of thinking.
I woke up feeling hungry in the middle of the night, and decided to head downstairs to the kitchen. I didn?t turn on any lights and avoided making noise, afraid to be found by something I wouldn?t want to. I felt observed as usual.
My oldest sister apparently decided to go for a late-night snack as well. I was going to make some small talk when I realized she wasn?t alone. A larger figure was with her, gleaming faintly in the penumbra.
She was having some mother and daughter bonding time.
This fact was creepy on its own, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized what my sister was eating.
It was a large piece of raw pork, bones and all. She was devouring it like a beast, drooling and staining her clothes in blood.
The doll?s mouth was stained with blood as well.
And for the first time, I saw some movement coming from it.
It was chewing.
I left the horrible scene as slowly and quietly as I could, and screamed in my pillow for a long time. I had no idea if they saw me.
It took me a long time to fall asleep again, and I only did it due to pure exhaustion when the sun was already bright outside. I missed breakfast.
Things feel so off today. My siblings look sickish and the stench that permeates the house is somewhat different.
My oldest sister didn?t join the rest of us for lunch; to my relief, neither did the doll. I asked the maids about them.
You can ask the maids anything; they never get mad, but sometimes they don?t answer at all.
?Your mother is out shopping. Your sister [Name]? Oh, she was granted access to the attic today. Must be there.?
I have been so overwhelmed with the doll that I completely forgot about the mysterious attic and all the other odd stuff on this manor.
The maid continued: ?That reminds me! Your mother left a note for you.?
She invited me for a little alone bonding time over a meal ? just the two of us, later today.


Source.