The Little Wooden Doll and The Family

Everything was brown.

It was like running into an old photograph. Or an old movie. A really really dirty film.
It was on an open field because I see the dusky sun setting along the brown mountains. I was running.
Running in a pathway of some sort, both sides were of fields of brown. Grass I suppose. And pieces of everything are scattered along. It was like a circus of some sort just packed up and left bits and pieces of their creep fest.
The soil is uneven. I keep stumbling. I feel stumbling. And then I noticed I was carrying a doll.
This was not like any other doll I've seen. It looks more like a puppet.
It's brown.
It has an odd oblong shaped head. Looks more like a drummer boy.
But much older.
And much shaggier. His clothes seem to blend in with the muddy color of his wooden skin.
And then he talked. And I knew him.

"You got to save them.

Please..." He said.

I was running until the crates came into being. It was sort of a makeshift shack.
But they weren't crates. They were cribs.

The little wooden man on my hand, with a shaking voice said,

"Be careful now,

you wouldn't want to wake them."

I thought he was referring to the babies in the crib.

And I wish he was.

I am still running. I never seemed to be still.
But the cribs, one by one, never ran out, and came into being.

As I passed them, I could see the nightmare. They were wooden dolls, like the little wooden man I'm holding, different shapes and sizes, and they seem to be attached on apparatuses. They have wires everywhere. While some wail, like a baby, some are just asleep, or drugged.

"Let's just run pass them and go!", I said.

"No!", said the little wooden man. "I need to save them."

And then I saw someone cooing one of the cribs.

For a long time I was running, this was the first time I stopped. Even breathing, I think.
I can  feel my sweat running down my forehead.

We both held our breaths and stood still.

The person has ragged dirty clothes, and was sporting a sort of wired head gear on the head.

He/she was cooing the dolls on the cribs, going from one crib to another.

And then came the others. I think there were more or less five of them. All different but bearing the same look. One or two were hunchbacks and wore skirts so torn it could pass as rags.

The little wooden man wriggled out of my hand and went to one of the cribs.

I ran after him.

The family, bobbed their heads towards us.

And smiled.

It was dark now.