Free His Cemetery Doll by Brantwijn Serrah

confessional screen, Frederick waited some moments before making his reply.
    "What sorts of things?"
    Conall shook his head, knowing, of course, the priest wouldn't see the gesture. "It's so hard to explain. The fog in the night. I could swear it has a mind of its own, a...a motivation. The way it moves, the way it creeps about the house, curling and pressing at our windows. It's almost... alive. For several days in a row now, too, there've been creeping roots and vines growing up where there weren't any before. Growing up overnight and disturbing the ground. It's how I hit my head the other day...I tripped over a root which hadn't been there before. Like it...sprung up purposely to cause a fall."
    The father's reply sounded doubtful as he said, "Are you...certain of this?"
    "Positive. I've got the goose egg on the back of my head to prove it."
    "But Con...plants don't simply appear overnight. They certainly don't have intelligence. "
    "Maybe...maybe the ground is shifting?" he asked, desperate for his friend to help him find reasonable explanation. "The roots, maybe breaking up from the soil?"
    Even if Frederick had agreed, Conall already rejected the idea. Last night, the vines which toppled Maya...they had been too deliberate in their formation. As if the graveyard itself had wanted her to fall.
    Frederick offered no answer, however. He simply said, "What else, Con?"
    Conall paused a long moment before going on.
    "I...I see...a woman, Father."
    His friend made a curious sound. "You mean you've started courting someone?"
    "No," he answered. "I mean I see her in the graveyard. A strange, silent woman...like a dancer in the fog. She comes to me at night. Sometimes I think she is trying to tell me something...but she never speaks. She denies my attempts to try and communicate. She...sometimes she runs from me, and sometimes..."
    He didn't want to tell this part to Father Frederick. Not out of shame, nor fear he would be marked insane for it. No...he didn't want to share the doll. He didn't want to reveal her to any other, anyone who might try to take her away from him.
    But she frightens you, Con. This morning—those hands grasping at her—you ran. You didn't try and help her...you left her to them.
    After a long silence, Frederick cleared his throat, reminding Conall the priest still waited for an explanation.
    "Sometimes what, Con?"
    He ran a nervous hand over his mouth.
    "I don't understand why she comes to me, or what it is I'm meant to do for her," he admitted. "I can hardly decide if she's real, but...I've touched her. Her skin is like the most delicate china. Her lips—"
    "Her lips?" Frederick interjected. "You don't mean you've imagined carnal knowledge of this woman? Have you dreamed she's come to seduce you?"
    Seduce? Is she seducing me?
    "I...sorry, Fred. I guess my mind got away with me there. She is...at least, I...the vision I have of her is very beautiful. I hate to believe her presence in my dreams might indicate...anything dangerous."
    Frederick remained silent long enough, this time Conall had to prompt the conversation on.
    "So what do you think? Have I lost my mind? It's...all of it is utterly impossible. I have to be imagining it, right?"
    Instead of answering, Frederick asked, "Why did you bring Shyla here this morning?"
    Conall considered it. Shyla remained the one factor preventing him from accepting he'd gone mad. She's seen all these things as well. She agreed the roots and the bramble, even the nameless thorny vines, appeared without cause or warning. He trusted she understood the graveyard as well as he did: she'd played there all her life and she cared about the graves.
    She'd seen Maya toppled, as well.
    She'd seen his broken doll.
    "I worried for her safety," he finally replied. "Last night...we both heard sounds from the cemetery. I went to investigate, and what I found...I couldn't allow her to stay there, alone, while I came to you."
    "What did you see?"
    "More vines. They'd crept up around