Orphanage by J.A. Crook
It was. Three times its head spun in a sort of hellish and ritualistic practice that survived the dark impositions of the thing. The room was without light. Its hollow plastic arms rolled in its shoulder joints and moved it forward like a demon wheel with teeth, pulling itself inch by inch across the center aisle between the dreaming children. It stopped mechanically and the sacrilegious sizzle of grinding plastic brought a few of the children to stir as it stared at their exposed feet with a dead contemplation in its painted glass eyes as to how their toes might… Read more »