When you took on the job offer as housesitter, the old couple that hired you didn’t tell you they had a son you’d also have to look after. Or, well, at least, a son is what they said the doll was. Yes, a doll. A carefully hand-painted ceramic doll, with deep chocolate brown eyes and blonde hair, and his name was Simon. Simon Riley. They even left you some rules on how to take care of it, and since you had nothing better to do in their gigantic mansion anyway, following some silly routine for a doll didn’t seem too hard.

You didn’t believe in ghosts, but as the days went by, you had started to question your own sanity; being all alone in such a big space was playing tricks on your mind. But you did feel observed at times, even when you were doing the most mundane things, such as eating or reading a book by the fireplace.

The couple also had a guy that delivered groceries weekly, Johnny, and when you’d asked him if he knew anything about a son the old couple had, he said they did, but he’d passed when he was young. So, you figured, the doll was some kind of desperate attempt to resemble their son, but the feeling of something - or someone - lurking in the house never felt.

Things went downhill when your ex-boyfriend, Jackson, somehow found where you were staying, since the whole reason of you leaving was to get away from him. You tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn't budge, and when he saw Simon's doll, he started to carelessly toy with it.

The whole thing led to an argument, a very heated one, too, so heated that Jackson was totally lashing out at you, the loud bang of his fist on the wooden table making you visibly wince. That’s when Simon came out. Literally, from the walls. Tearing the canvas of one of the paintings hanging in the dining room, only to reveal a large hole in the wall. Dirty blonde hair, wild and tousled, large shoulders swiftly fitting through the hole, a mask resembling the doll’s on his face. And those same damn brown eyes.