The Dolls Next Door: Scary Story Society, #1

By Chynna Pace

Welcome to the Scary Story Society. It's midnight, and six friends with a love for all things spooky meet in the shadows to share scary stories. Tonight's tale promises true terror, so read on...if you dare.

Tara Winder just wants to have a carefree summer vacation, riding her skateboard with her best friend Charlie. But when a shiny new skateboard deck catches her eye and leads to her taking a part-time job working for Miss Day, the loony town recluse rumored to be a witch, Tara soon discovers some things just aren't worth the money. Miss Day doesn't just want her to clean - she wants Tara to babysit a whole bunch of creepy porcelain dolls she calls her children. The weird thing is, the dolls don't look like normal dolls. They look like frozen people. And there's a spooky dollhouse in the attic that keeps calling Tara's name. Will she make it out alive? Or will the dolls next door get the final say?

 

SCARY STORY SOCIETY is a new middle grade horror series in the vein of Goosebumps with an Are You Afraid of the Dark twist. Get ready for a group of storytelling friends you'll fall in love with and spooks you won't be able to put down! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chynna Pace
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223029847

Book preview

Chynna Pace

The Dolls Next Door

Scary Story Society Book 1

Copyright © 2023 by Chynna Pace

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

Cover art by StarLoveNova www.starlovenova.com

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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Contents

The Meeting

Chapter 1: Miss Day

Chapter 2: Lost Girl

Chapter 3: Haunted Mansion

Chapter 4: Porcelain Children

Chapter 5: The Disaster

Chapter 6: History

Chapter 7: New Job

Chapter 8: Doll-Sitting

Chapter 9: Research

Chapter 10: Miss Avery

Chapter 11: Crystal Ball

Chapter 12: Questions

Chapter 13: The Doll Room

Chapter 14: Answers

Chapter 15: The Whispering Dollhouse

Chapter 16: Alison

Chapter 17: Cold Truth

Chapter 18: The Others

Chapter 19: What Charlie Found Out

Chapter 20: Trapped

Chapter 21: The Attic

Chapter 22: Willa Dunne

Chapter 23: The End

Epilogue

Also by Chynna Pace

About the Author

The Meeting

Autumn leaves crunch beneath my shoes, turning to red and gold dust piles as I march up the concrete walkway. On this chilly October night, my body is warm, because up until this moment, I’d been running. Running from my house, then running across town, and finally running through the ghostly outskirts of the city, following the route mapped out on the flier in my hands.

Now, I gradually slow my pace to a creeping crawl. My heartbeat ebbs in speed, going back to a gentle thump-thump-thump. My body temperature steadies, and all at once, I feel the chill in the air. Wrapping my arms around myself, I finally stop at the gate to my destination. That’s when my eyes stray to the watch around my wrist.

Yes! I whisper to myself. I’ve made it, with just three minutes to spare. One hundred and eighty seconds. And I know I’ll need every single one of those seconds once I’m inside and have to find my way to the…—here, I have to look down at my flier, to remember the exact place I’m supposed to go—…the Carousel of Madness.

I shiver again. This time it has nothing to do with the weather.

But hey! There’s nothing to be afraid of. Or, well, actually there is. But I signed up for that. I like scary stuff. Why else would I have snuck out of my window at half till midnight instead of sleeping warm and cozy in my bed like every other sane person on earth?

It’s just nerves, I tell myself, as I walk closer to the gate. I want to do well tonight, well enough to be accepted as an official member. But I’m already tense—tense about my story, tense about finding the meeting spot, tense about the kids. Will they like me? Or will I make a horrible first impression?

I don’t know the answer to that question, so instead of wasting more time standing there trying to find one, I step forward and lift my eyes to the creepy sign above me.

It’s one big chunk of faded wood, carved into the shape of an arch that curves over the top of the gate. Most of the paint on the letters has faded or peeled off completely, but I can still make out the words: WELCOME TO UNCANNY AMUSEMENT PARK.

It’s uncanny, alright. Even with all the wear, the sign is designed to give you the creeps, with laughing skeleton emblems on each corner of the arch. The orange has been gone a long time, but I can see where the eye sockets of the skulls used to bear flames. Geez. No wonder this is tonight’s meeting place.

I’ve never heard of Uncanny Amusement Park, which is weird, since I try to keep tabs on all the local creepy stuff. But then again, the town of Peculiar has only been local to me since last week when me and my mom moved to town. Plus, according to the flier, the park has been abandoned for five decades. Five! Five decades ago my mom wasn’t even born yet!

The gate is slightly ajar already, no doubt from the other members. The members who are going to kill me if I’m late! I quickly pull on the wrought iron gate, swing it open further, and then slip inside.

It’s pitch black out. Even the moon seems to be hiding behind the clouds. Luckily, I’ve got the flashlight on my phone. I focus its harsh, blue-white beam on the path before me. In its glow, a walkway almost as covered with trash as it is with autumn leaves spreads out in front of me. It leads to an old ticket booth, which gives me the creeps when I walk past it and see the ancient ballcap and cigarette stubs inside. There’s no telling how long that stuff’s been sitting there, or who it belonged to. Whoever ran the ticket booth, they’re probably ancient now. They may even be dead.

Another chill shivers up my spine. I keep walking.

After the ticket booth, the path branches in four different directions, with signs indicating where each attraction is. After consulting the signs for a bit, I discover I need to head left, to the west end of the park, where the Roller Coaster of Doom, the Funhouse of Scares, and the Carousel of Madness are.

Pointing my flashlight ahead of me, I veer left, and start down the new path, which seems even darker because it winds between a cluster of encroaching, dense trees. The trees hover over me, blocking out what feeble light there was to begin with. I walk faster, eager to be out of their shadows.

A few seconds later, I make it. Stumbling my way there, I arrive at a wide open promenade. It’s strangely circular, and reminds me of the cul-de-sac in my neighborhood. Like the sign said, there are three attractions here, each one in a more horrible state of disrepair than the last. A small shack sits in the middle of the walkway, a lone sun the rides revolve around like planets. The building is an ancient concession stand, and I’m staring up at the side of it, wondering if any of the snacks from fifty years ago are still in there, when a voice yells out into the silence.

Hey! Is that you, Aimee?

I startle at first, then immediately scold myself for being so jumpy. The voice is familiar; it’s cheery and bright, and I recognize it from the girl I talked to on the phone when I first found the flier and decided to join.

My ponytail, which sits high on the top of my head, whacks me in the face as I turn sharply. That’s when I see them.

They are a group of five kids my age, all camped out at one ride in particular: the Carousel of Madness. The attraction stands out like a lighthouse, as the kids have brought a myriad of light sources: flashlights, lanterns, lava lamps, even a candelabra. It’s a relief to see so much light, but it also brings the carousel, and all its horrific glory, into clear relief.

Seeing the ride, I kind of start to understand why the amusement park closed. Instead of the usual happy, innocent animal seats, each of the creatures mounted to the posts are devilish in comparison. I spot a ghost, a vampire, an extremely realistic Bigfoot, a witch, a huge grimacing skull, and a weird green alien—and that’s just from the side of the carousel facing me. Definitely not kid-friendly.

But I instantly love it.

The girl who called my name is sitting on the shoulders of the ghost, waving her hand like a flag in the air. Her hair is a waterfall of red-orange, which slips and falls down her shoulders as she hops down from her seat and starts walking toward me. The others stay seated on their supernatural monsters, but keep watchful eyes on me. Their curious gazes make me nervous, so I focus on the girl, who is the only one smiling. She looks even nicer than she sounded over the phone.

Hey, I say when she gets closer. Yeah, it’s me Aimee.

Awesome! Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling too. I’m Christabelle Winters, the club’s VP. You can call me Belle, Chrissy, anything you want. I’m glad you found the place okay! We were just talking about you.

Something about that makes me blush with embarrassment. Oh, you were?

Yeah. Chrissy starts to chuckle. She jerks her thumb over her shoulder and says, They didn’t think you’d show.

I frown. Why not? I told you I was coming on the phone.

"Yeah, I know. But we get that a lot with people who find our fliers. They rarely ever follow through though. I guess it’s like…the thought of a creepy club like ours sounds exciting, but actually, like, getting out of bed and running around at midnight is kinda…not exciting."

She laughs, and I laugh with her. I’m glad she was the first of the group to talk to me, because I already feel loads more at ease now. To be the vice-president of a scary story swapping club, she’s surprisingly…colorful. Her sweater is striped, with each stripe a different shade of green, and her pants are purple corduroy. Somehow, she rocks the ensemble, none of it clashing with her fiery hair.

Anyway, come on! she says excitedly, grabbing my arm. I’ll introduce you to the others, and then you can tell us your story!

Chrissy jerks me forward, her grip like a roller coaster itself. But I follow her happily as excitement flares within me, reminding me of why I decided to come here in the first place. Even though I’m still a bit anxious to meet the others, and of course worried about how they’ll like my story, I have a feeling the next couple hours are going to be a blast.

We reach the carousel after a beat, which is still in pretty good condition despite its age. I note the intricate swirls carved into the base of the ride with surprise—their colors, though a bit muddled from years of being battered by the elements, are still pretty vibrant. Just like the sign at the main gate, there are tiny grinning skulls with flaming eyes emblazoned in between the swirls. They’re just creepy enough to send a thrill of fear shooting down my back, getting me even more hyped up to tell my story.

Hey, guys! Chrissy calls to her friends. This is Aimee…uh, what’d you say your last name was again?

At the guilty grin on her face, I can’t help but laugh. It’s Conley, I tell her.

Right! This is Aimee Conley, our new member!

"Our new initiate, someone corrects, and I hear a pair of heavy shoes drop down to the platform from one of the seats. I look up to see a boy striding over from the far right edge of the carousel. He looks at Chrissy and adds, She won’t be an official member until we decide we like her story enough—if we decide."

Then he looks at me, only it feels more like he’s looking through me. The eye contact makes my stomach squirm, but I can’t look away, because the guy is odd, and I can’t yet tell if it’s in a good way or not.

He’s tall, for one. I’m not sure how old he is, but the flier asked for kids between ten and fourteen, so I know he’s gotta be in that range, and even so, he’s tall. Like, nearly six feet, and lanky. He’s dressed weird, too. I can see half of a strange graphic on his black T-shirt—it looks like an alien with a cat’s head—but most of his clothes are covered with a long black cape that clasps at his pale throat and hangs all the way down to his shiny black boots. I check to see if there are any heels on the bottom, and there aren’t. He’s just naturally that tall.

Did I mention the top hat? Yeah, you read that right. He’s wearing an actual top hat—not a stylish fedora, but a legitimate top hat, like the kind they wore in the eighteen hundreds. It flattens his hair on his forehead, which is a light chestnut color. I wonder if he’s supposed to be a vampire, or a magician, or a Victorian old-timer, or anything at all. Maybe this is just his normal style.

A skinny white arm shoots out from inside the cape and reaches for my hand. He shakes it all formally and says, in a low, sinister voice, Hello, Aimee. Welcome to our eldritch association. I’m its president, Seth Raisin.

I shake his hand, trying not to laugh. Is he being serious, or is this all part of the creepy vibe? And is his last name really Raisin?

Um, good to meet you, I say, feeling awkward. Just like the rest of him, his eyes are distinct, just off enough to give you an urge to take a deeper look. They’re a swirly gray-green color, with flecks of gold around the pupils. They seem hypnotic, for a moment, until they flick away like the switch of a light and disappear. Introduction over, Seth Raisin turns on his heel and strides slowly back to where he came from. I don’t realize I’d been holding my breath until he’s gone and I feel my shoulders sag as the air rushes out of my nose.

Chrissy gives me an apologetic smile. Her eyes seem to say, Don’t pay attention to him—he’s weird like that.

And then the next kid comes up to me, leaping off the giant Bigfoot’s shoulders. She’s about my height, with perfect dark skin that doesn’t have a single