Character: Kaname Sono
Island of Dolls
In a particular Mexican island named Isla de las Muñecas, there lived an old man in a decrepit bamboo cottage. His house was poorly constructed with its deformed A frame and misplaced foundation. He didn't own the land nestled in the middle of nowhere, but he just remembered finding and proclaiming it as his home. The territory wasn't the most accommodating, but the plant and animal biodiversity was a nice break from the human race.
Every now and then, the fishermen from the nearest village would end up washed to the island's shore after ruthless hurricanes. The old man would tend to their injuries and give them exactly one stuffed toy each.
"Take it," he croaked with his feeble voice.
The fishermen, however, were terrified of the old man - lifeless dolls were hung on branches of trees, scattered on the rich island soil, or buried deep in the sand. The dolls were literally in rags, and some of them even had their limbs or eyes taken out. As if the whole island wasn't horrifying enough, the dolls, according to the fishermen, came to life at night, and the old man would be singing along their sad, little tune drowned by the thunder of the crashing waves.
One seaman wasn't like the rest, though. Similar to the others, he stumbled upon the seemingly nonexistent island by accident. He had gone out to fish for whatever it was that was still left alive under the water, but the rain began to drizzle over him and his sailboat. Soon enough, the weak downpour evolved into a full-fledged storm.
He didn't have any memory of his face pressing against the damp beach of the island, but he knew that the old man wasn't the one who carried him to the cottage. The seaman woke up to the sight of the elderly handing him a dusty stuffed toy with a smile.
Instead of giving him an incredulous look, the seaman peered at the stuffed toy - at its button eyes, its ripped belly, its dirty arms. He took his straw hat off and let his dark mane fall over his forehead.
"Why?" he asked the old man with no fear lacing his tone. He cradled the stuffed toy and looked up curiously. "Did you make this?"
The old man laughed silently. "You're the first man to ask me that, son. Why, yes, I created it to have a companion, especially since no one finds this island without getting lost."
"How about the dolls? You've created quite a legend here, sir."
"Ah, the dolls," the old man mused. He stared outside the window and at the immobile toys dangling from the trees with the strings on their backs. "Long ago, children lived happily. They were special in a way that only they could understand - but their uniqueness came with a large price."
Wistfully, the old man continued. "The island isn't a horror house, as many have deemed it to be. It isn't haunted. It's only a graveyard for those children, because little shreds of their spirits dwell in the dolls, and only by being feared do they become alive once more."
The seaman held the stuffed toy to his chest - he didn't understand how special children deserved death. As far as he knew, special children were sent to schools for the gifted and not to cemeteries. There was something else bugging him - why did the old man look so familiar even if this was their first meeting?
"I think I have a photograph of you, sir," the seaman said. He scratched the back of his head. "I remember you from a picture, if I'm not mista-"
The sound of bells ringing startled and disrupted him; on the other hand, the old man merely stood up from his seat and pointed his index finger to the dolls. "Come on, it's time for their hymn. You should see this, my child."
My child. The seaman oddly didn't feel awkward when he heard the sentence - instead, he felt comfortable and safe, as if it was his own father whom he was speaking to.
Right when the sun disappeared in the orange and purple horizon, the dolls began swaying, to and fro, to and fro, and their strings stretching made eerie noises. It was almost as if there was a choir humming a heavenly song. The seaman couldn't quite understand most of the lyrics (he guessed that the song was Chinese or Korean or Japanese) but he caught the word arisu - which clearly sounded like 'Alice'.
After exactly four minutes, the dolls became immobile again, and everything was as dead as it was before. The old man touched the dolls with his fingertips and sighed. "This is what everyone's afraid of. Little children, singing their school hymn just as they sang it before they were murdered in cold blood. Only two of the kids escaped that night."
That was when the seaman noticed- the old man had an Asian accent.
Perhaps he was one of the two survivors, but it was best to leave the matter clouded in doubt.
Morning came - the old man had healed all of the seaman's wounds, and the seaman himself had rebuilt his sailboat using bamboo. He tucked the stuffed toy in his pocket, forgetting how the old man appeared to be someone from his past. "Thank you, sir, for taking care of me."
"The kids didn't have the chance to live, and this is the least I can do." The old man gently pushed the younger to his vessel. "Go on. You won't forget about this island, will you?"
You won't forget about me, will you?
"Of course I won't, sir."
And he assured himself that he would never, because later in the afternoon he gazed at his own father, rocking to and fro, to and fro in his chair, smiling and crying at the photograph in his hand - there were two boys in the image, one blonde and one raven-haired, standing side by side and holding one stuffed toy each.
The seaman's father didn't like anyone to see him like this, so he quickly wiped the tears with the back of his hand and cracked his ever so famous grin at his son, the impish crescent on his face still radiant in the midst of surrounding wrinkles.
"Oi, never thought I'd see you again, Andou Junior."
noteIsla de las Muñecas is a real island in Mexico. You can research about it - I found the island very interesting. Oh, and please note the subtle TsuKaname.