In the heart of Shanghai, where the city lights flicker even past midnight and rain hums softly against the windows, lived Meilin — a quiet, gentle woman who worked at a small toy shop tucked away between two tall glass buildings. Her world was different from others. While her friends spent evenings out at cafés and movies, Meilin preferred the company of her dolls.
Her apartment was like a tiny museum — shelves filled with porcelain faces, glass eyes, and painted smiles. Some dolls were from Japan, others from France or Russia. Each one, to her, felt alive in its own way. She believed that every doll carried a soul, a tiny piece of someone’s story.
One rainy afternoon, a wooden box arrived at the toy shop where Meilin worked. It was wrapped in golden paper and had a small tag that read “Limited Edition – Labubu.” The owner of the shop smiled and told her it was an exclusive design from Hong Kong, only fifty pieces made in the world.
Curious, Meilin carefully opened the box. Inside lay a small golden-furred doll, about the size of her hand. It had long ears, sharp little teeth showing through its smile, and bright blue eyes that shimmered under the store lights. There was something odd about it — both cute and unsettling at the same time.
Still, Meilin couldn’t resist it. She reserved it for herself and took it home after work, excited like a child. Her dog, Bao, a fluffy white Spitz, ran to greet her as always. But the moment he saw the doll in her hands, his happy bark turned into a low, anxious growl.
“What’s wrong, Bao? It’s just a toy,” she said with a nervous laugh, placing the doll on her bedroom shelf. Bao refused to enter the room. He just stood at the door, barking. Meilin shook her head, thinking he was just being silly, and went to bed.
That night, she woke up to a strange sound — faint giggling coming from the corner of her room. Her heart froze. Slowly, she turned toward the noise. The doll, which she had placed on the shelf, was now sitting on her bed, its glassy blue eyes staring at her.
Her breath caught. For a moment, she thought she saw it move, just a tiny twitch. Forcing herself to stay calm, she picked it up with trembling hands and put it back on the shelf. “I must’ve knocked it off earlier,” she whispered. But sleep didn’t come easily that night. Bao refused to leave the doorway, watching over her with uneasy eyes.
The next morning, Meilin went to work feeling drained. The day went badly. A rude customer yelled at her, and to her surprise, she lost control and shouted back. She had never done that before. Her boss, shocked by her outburst, fired her on the spot.
She returned home shaken and humiliated, wondering what was wrong with her. As she washed her face in the bathroom, she saw something in the mirror — just behind her reflection. For a split second, she saw a dark red figure with sharp teeth grinning back at her. She turned instantly, but there was nothing behind her. When she looked back, her reflection still wore that grin.
That night, Meilin had a nightmare. She dreamed of running through an endless corridor while something followed her — a creature with red skin, glowing eyes, and long claws scraping the walls. It whispered her name in a childlike voice, “Mei…lin…” She woke up screaming.
When she opened her eyes, the Labubu doll was lying on her chest, staring straight at her. She screamed and threw it across the room. Bao jumped onto the bed, growling fiercely, and tore the doll apart. Its stuffing scattered all over the floor.
Shaking, Meilin hugged Bao and whispered, “It’s over. It’s just a bad dream.” But she was wrong.
The next morning, Bao was gone. His leash hung near the door, his food untouched. She searched the entire apartment, calling his name again and again. Then she noticed red rashes spreading across her arms — the same color as the creature in her nightmare.
When she went into the bathroom, the mirror fogged up suddenly, even though the water wasn’t running. Slowly, letters began to appear on the glass, as if drawn by invisible fingers: “You shouldn’t have hurt me.”
The mirror cracked, and for a moment, she saw that red creature again — smiling through her reflection. When she turned around, the Labubu doll was sitting on the counter, perfectly whole, its golden fur clean, its smile wider than before.
Trembling, she backed away and ran to the kitchen. That’s when she saw it. The doll was sitting by the sink now, its little hands and sharp teeth covered in something red. Her heart pounded as her eyes dropped lower — and she saw Bao’s body lying under the counter, motionless.
Her scream filled the apartment.
Desperate, she searched online for anything about Labubu dolls. What she found made her blood turn cold. People from different countries had shared similar stories — strange dreams, sudden deaths, missing pets, and unexplained accidents. Many said the dolls were cursed. Some believed a spirit had been trapped inside during an ancient ritual gone wrong. Others said Labubu wasn’t a toy at all, but a demon disguised as one.
Terrified but determined, Meilin grabbed the doll, took it outside, and poured alcohol over it. She set it on fire. As it burned, she could hear faint laughter coming from within the flames. The doll’s plastic face melted, its golden fur turned black, and soon it was nothing but ashes. She gathered them and threw them into the river, whispering, “It’s over now.”
That night, for the first time in weeks, she slept peacefully.
The next morning, neighbors noticed her apartment door slightly open. Inside, everything was quiet. Meilin was found lying still on her bed, eyes wide open. And beside her, resting neatly on the pillow, was the Labubu doll — perfectly new, untouched, smiling with its tiny sharp teeth.
No one could explain how it returned. Some said it was cursed. Others believed that once you bring Labubu home, it never really leaves.
Since then, stories of the golden Labubu doll have spread across countries. Some claim to see it appear in secondhand shops or online auctions before mysteriously disappearing. Collectors who manage to buy one soon report strange noises, nightmares, or worse.
They say that every Labubu doll carries a soul — not of a child, but of something far darker. And somewhere, perhaps in another quiet apartment, someone else might be unwrapping a small golden box right now… smiling at their new doll, unaware of what waits for them after midnight.
Disclaimer:
This story is a work of fiction inspired by urban legends. All characters, places, and events are purely imaginary and not based on real incidents. Any resemblance to actual persons or situations is purely coincidental. Intended for entertainment and storytelling purposes only.
