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Our home in Florida was huge, it had 10 bedrooms and 8 study rooms, as well as 5 bathrooms. But compared to our neighbor's massive mansion, it is just another small house down the street. Our neighbor had a house the size of a palace, or a church. As far as we're concerned, a small old lady no taller than 5 foot lives there. She happens to be widow and in her 70s. Her children might've moved out already; our parents got to talk to her a bit once we moved in. Her name was Deborah. 

She was fairly kind and patient as it all seem, with a bizzare interest in making miniature dolls and other miniature things. The dolls were no bigger than 4cm, but they were so detailed and realistic, it was almost like a shrunken version of a custom doll. She made a few things for us, Henry wasn't interested in any of it but Pandora and I were. The first present she sent to our doorstep, was a mini piano no bigger than 8cm. The keys made sounds when you pressed onto it. 

"This is a total artist over there,"I said smiling at the piano. I've seen miniature replicas of pianos, but none like this before. 

"Yeah, probably the world's smallest fully functional piano," Pandora said pressing the keys. 

The next morning, went over to Deborah's house and thanked her for it. We even asked her how she was able to make such a thing, and she told us she spent an entire life on making them. Over the next few weeks, we kept on receiving packages from her, small furnitures and even a small playstation 4. They were so elaborate and unique, we thought it would be bad if we didn't pay her. Deborah kept on insisting that those were just gifts fromher heart. 

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One evening, it was around 9am when we heard the doorbell ring. Henry was coming home from his university research, when he saw yet another small package. He was shocked, as to the time it delivered.  We came to a conclusion that it must've taken her all day to make them. I felt a sense of guilt, as to her being around at this time of the hour, still working. 

We unwrapped it together and saw dolls, they were no longer than 4cms. It took us five minutes to realize that it the five dolls were none other than us. They all had black hair and brown eyes. The senior man on the right was our father and the woman was our mother. The guy with the long hair was our brother and the other two must be Pandora and I. My siblings showed this elaborate and delicate creation to our parents, but something didn't feel right for me. 

The night I went to sleep, I took the doll that was made like me with me. The minimized brown eyes and even the eyelashes, were glued exactly where I grew them. The clothes were the ones I usually wore, my yellow oodie and black pants, even the shoes were right. I laid on my bed and held the minimized replication in my hand. I scrutinized every part of the doll. I suddenly felt a intense chill down my spine, as I found a tiny black spot at the back of the doll's neck. It was concealed under my hair, which I usually let down. 

No one knows the story behind it, it was not an usual birthmark. It was a scar from an accident I got into as a toddler, one where it left a perminant colored dot at the back of my neck. I felt extremely disturbed, wondering how Deborah knew I had a scar at the back of my neck. Since I always put my hair down, never once did I ever tie it into a ponytail. A sinister eerieness suddenly crept into me.