The Doll Walked Away

It had been half a month since I finished my last custom doll.

No orders.

No income.

No hope.

So I asked my master if he had any work for me.

He replied instantly.

That alone was suspicious.

Master Howard He never replied instantly unless money was involved.

He recommended a client.

I added the client.

The other side approved almost immediately.

The client wanted a life-size doll.

Not a normal one.

A difficult one.

He said the materials were complicated, many parts needed custom production, and the detail requirements were extreme.

I waved my hand confidently.

As long as the money was right, difficulty did not exist.

The money was very right.

Full payment: three hundred thousand.

For that price, I could have built him a terracotta warrior.

The client sent the deposit first, then a very long list of requirements.

Hair texture.

Nail shape.

Skin pores.

Chest cavity structure.

Body proportions.

Even the curve of the left pupil.

At the end, he attached a photo.

A man.

A disgustingly handsome man.

The kind of handsome that made jealousy feel as natural as breathing.

And this handsome man was the prototype of the doll I had to make.

The next day, I entered my workshop and began a month of darkness.

The client seemed determined to make the doll into a living person.

At one point, while filling the chest cavity with internal structures and layering skin texture, I wondered if I was not making a doll at all.

I was creating a body.

Creepy?

Yes.

But three hundred thousand makes all creepy things acceptable.

The client asked for delivery within two months.

I nearly finished it in one.

Everything was going smoothly.

Then I went out to custom-order the left pupil.

When I returned, the doll was gone.

Gone.

The material cost alone was over ten thousand.

I had worked for an entire month.

My vacation-to-the-Maldives money had grown legs and disappeared.

Damn thief.

Steal jewelry.

Steal electronics.

Why steal a life-size doll?

Wouldn’t you scare yourself to death going to the bathroom at midnight?

Luckily, I had security cameras.

I vowed to find the thief who stole my three-hundred-thousand order.

After watching the footage, I wished I had never installed cameras.

Half a day earlier, the doll moved.

It flexed its limbs.

Then began exploring my house.

For thirty minutes.

Maybe it thought my apartment was too small for its talents.

So it turned the doorknob and walked out.

By itself.

I watched the video more than ten times.

That day, I defected from materialism.

The first thing I felt was not fear.

It was panic over the unpaid balance.

If a thief had stolen it, I could call the police.

But the doll had left on its own.

How was I supposed to report that?

“Hello, officer, my custom billionaire doll ran away.”

Absolutely not.

I was about to ask property management for hallway footage when the client messaged.

Are you there?

I replied:

I am here.

The doll was not.

The client wrote:

The doll went home by itself.

Then sent a crying emoji.

Wonderful.

More terrifying.

The doll had returned to its own home.

At least it had not frightened the client to death.

Otherwise, I would not know which direction to cry toward for the balance payment.

I typed:

I was about to install his eye. I can come take a look.

The wealthy client sent an address.

Not the delivery address he had given earlier.

So the doll had a home.

A real one.

Probably the home of the handsome man in the photo.