…a doll. But not an ordinary one.
It was an old doll, darkened by water, with a painted smile that seemed to have grotesquely stretched across her cracked porcelain face. She had long, tangled red hair, and her left glass eye was missing its iris. A greenish-brown crust covered her in some places, a sign that she had been in the water for a long time.
— Don’t play with it, one of the fishermen said, making the sign of the cross. Throw it back.
But the one who had pulled it out did not budge. He stared at the doll as if hypnotized. He turned it in his hands, and then they all saw: under her wet, tattered dress was sewn a piece of cloth, with large letters embroidered in black: “Do not forget me.”
— It’s a bad joke, another one said, frowning. Who the hell does something like that?
Silence fell again. No one was laughing. There was no sound on the lake, no birds, no rustling of reeds.
— I’ve heard of these things, said the oldest among them. When I was a child, my father said that in this part of the lake, long ago, a girl drowned. They never found her, but they said her doll would appear on the shore a few days later. Something about a curse…
— Nonsense, interrupted a younger one. They are just legends.
But the old man did not listen to him. He gazed at the water with tearful eyes.
— She was my sister…
Everyone fell silent.
— She was five years old. I left her alone for a moment on the dock. She wanted to wash her doll… and she never came back. Mom said God took her. Dad, on the other hand, would walk along the shore at night, calling her name, crying. He only found the doll’s dress. Never the body.
He touched the wet fabric of the sack with trembling fingers, as if he were caressing his sister.
— This is her doll. This fabric… mom sewed it. I can’t forget her handwriting.
The young man started to laugh, but stopped when a gust of wind nearly overturned their net. Again, silence.
— Let’s take it with us, said the old man. I’ll take it home. To mom. If she’s still alive.
They slowly headed towards the shore, each lost in their thoughts. But as they got closer, they saw something that froze their blood: on the dock, an old woman was kneeling, her hands clasped, looking at them. As if she had been waiting for them.
No one had told anyone that today would have been the day of the lost girl. And yet, the old woman knew.
When the old man descended with the doll in his arms, the woman began to cry. She reached out her trembling hands and whispered:
— I prayed every year for you to bring her back. Thank you…
The lake remained behind, silent, mysterious. But for the first time in decades, it seemed calm.
Some say that from that day on, the songs of birds began to be heard again on the lake. And in the place where the doll was found, a bush of lady’s bedstraw bloomed.
And the fishermen? They never spoke of that morning again. But they never caught anything in the net thrown at the bend in the reeds. Just water. And silence.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for the way characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
