Ragdoll

“All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.” — Edgar Allan Poe

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The rain had been falling for a week straight in Havenwood. A relentless, weeping sky that seemed to mirror the growing despair in the small, isolated town. First, it was little Lily Mae. Her parents, the usually boisterous Millers, were found staring at an antique toy chest, a tiny, crudely stitched ragdoll sitting where their daughter's favorite teddy bear once lay. The doll had button eyes, and a dress made from what looked suspiciously like Lily Mae's own quilt.

Then came the Blackwoods, their eldest, Thomas, gone. In his neatly made bed, nestled under his comic books, was another doll. This one with painted-on freckles and a miniature baseball cap, clutching a tiny, carved wooden sword – Thomas's favorite toy. The silence in the Blackwood home was heavier than the rain outside.

Now, Delta Green, you are being dispatched to Havenwood. The official story is a potential child abduction ring, but the whispers reaching their ears speak of something far older, far stranger. Something that replaces the warmth of a child with cold, inanimate fabric. Something that leaves parents cradling effigies, and their hearts screaming.

The town, once a quaint haven, now feels like a tomb. The air is thick with unspoken fear, the kind that makes shadows stretch and whispers crawl. And somewhere, in the sodden woods or the fog-choked streets, a seamstress is at work.

Welcome to Havenwood. Welcome to "Ragdoll."