I bought a mannequin from a dead actress’s estate sale. I think something is wrong with it.

I found a mannequin at a Hollywood Hills estate sale. It’s not like I work in fashion or have any reason to be especially interested in a mannequin… but I was drawn to her.

Pale, smooth skin. Hair pinned up. A lace dress and pearls. And there was something about her eyes. Were they glass? Plastic? Neither seemed right to me.

The woman running the sale said her name was Cynthia. She’d been made by a soap sculptor in the 1920s. When the sculptor died, he left her to this beautiful actress named Ruby del Mar. Ruby did a bunch of noir movies in the 40s. Had kind of a tragic life though. Lots of sudden deaths. And there I was digging through her underwear. 

Anyway, I decided that the mannequin could be cool decor, maybe a conversation starter. But when my friends took one look at her, they laughed. Said she was creepy. Too human. 

Then one night, I woke up to this sound. Like something trying to crawl out of a wall. Maybe a palm rat. But when I went out to the living room, there was no rat. No sound. Just Cynthia sitting there where I left her. Well, she was in the same place. But she was now facing my bedroom. I closed my door when I went back to bed.

By day, I’m an esthetician. I have this small studio just off Sunset in West Hollywood. I do facials but also botox, filler, that kind of thing. On Monday I was at the office and one client said she was trying that “mental toughness” trend. Didn’t want numbing cream for her microneedling (basically a tiny, sharp needle stabbing your face over and over). I warned her it would hurt. She gritted her teeth and insisted.

The next morning, I went to brush my teeth and stopped cold. My skin looked smoother. It felt smoother. My face was somehow more symmetrical. My hair fuller. It wasn’t anything drastic. But we always notice the smallest of changes on our own faces. Especially when you do what I do. 

It was there when I was looking at my reflection when a shadow passed behind me. I jumped. Turned. Cynthia had shifted once again. She was smirking. Looking right at me. 

I tried moving her out of the apartment. I took her down to the alley behind my apartment building. Left her by the dumpsters. But when I came back upstairs from a night of drinking, my front door was cracked open. When I pushed it further, Cynthia was back in her usual spot.

Then came the accident.

My friend Cassie was over. We were cleaning up after dinner and when I handed her this open tomato can to rinse out, she cut her hand on the sharp tin. Blood everywhere.

I ran to get the first aid kit, but when I returned, she was angry at me. Asking why, when she was in all this pain, I had gone and put makeup on. I hadn’t. Obviously. But when I looked in the mirror, I could see she was right. I looked… refreshed. Rejuvenated.

It sounds insane, I know. But as the days went by, every gasp, every wince from a client, I could feel something inside me shifting. Waist cinched, lashes darker, lips fuller. 

I had no idea what was happening. But every night, I’d come home and it was like Cynthia was nodding. Not physically, but like she was silently approving of each laser burn, each needle poke, each moment I inflicted pain. Like she was proud of me.

I told myself that I was imagining things. But then I’d look in the mirror and see a line erased, a pore vanished, and it was like I knew Cynthia was keeping score. The more suffering I inflicted, the prettier I was becoming. 

Looking back at it now, I should have tried harder to destroy her. Burned her. Smashed her. Done anything. But there was something intoxicating about the way she made me feel. Like a version of myself I didn’t know I could be. Who wants to give that up?

I didn’t realize it then, but it wasn’t just the outside that was changing.

One night, I woke up and Cynthia was at the foot of my bed, sitting. Staring at me. Stock still. But then for a moment, I swear I saw her inhale. 

I wanted to jump out of bed. Run. But when I looked in the mirror across the room, I froze. It wasn’t just me staring back. It was Cynthia. Her face had replaced mine. Eyes too black, as if filled with blood. Mouth too wide, a cruel smile carved from ear to ear.

I’m writing this because I’m worried I’m losing control. Of her. Of me. I’m scared to tell my friends. My family. But her grip on me is tightening. 

I just hope someone out there can help. 

Has anyone else ever dealt with something like this before? A mannequin or doll that has a power over you? That feels alive?

I just hope someone reads this before it’s too late.