My Dear Debbie Doe Eyes

The local tavern on Fawn Drive was where it all began. Jackson Sinclair, 30, had only wanted a drink that evening. The tavern was nestled deep in the wilderness, hidden away from the bustling world. Deer roamed freely in the surrounding woods, their graceful movements adding an almost theatrical touch to the secluded setting. Inside, the tavern exuded a nostalgic charm. The smell of aged pine lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of a jazz tune playing from an old jukebox. Dim lighting cast shadows along the wood-paneled walls, and the mounted deer head above the bar seemed to watch over every patron, its glassy, muddled eyes unrelenting. Jackson hadn’t planned to stop there. In fact, he didn’t even know why he’d taken that route. But something—some pull he couldn’t explain—had brought him to this place.

 And that’s when he saw her. Debbie sat alone at the bar, her dark green dress clinging to her lean, slender figure. Her long, flowing brown hair with golden streaks framed an angelic face. But it was her eyes—those wide, bold, mesmerizing doe eyes—that truly stopped Jackson in his tracks. “Is this seat taken?” Debbie asked, her voice soft yet inviting. “Not anymore,” Jackson replied, his lips curving into a small smile. 

 From that moment, everything changed. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, and by the end of the night, Jackson knew he’d met someone extraordinary. Within months, they were married. At their wedding, Jackson whispered, “My Dear Debbie Doe Eyes, I’ll love you forever.” It became their thing, a phrase Jackson used so often it felt like a spell he couldn’t help but utter. Their first year of marriage was idyllic. Debbie’s eyes lit up Jackson’s world, and her laugh was a melody he couldn’t live without. No matter where they went—be it a quaint cabin or a bustling city—it was never about the destination. It was only about being with her.

 “You make everywhere feel like home,” Jackson once told her during a quiet walk on the beach. Debbie had laughed, her doe eyes glinting in the sunlight. “And you make me feel like I belong, but you are going to burn a hole through me if you keep staring into my eyes like that "! 

 "But you are my Dear Debbie Doe Eyes ", Jackson laughed right back. Jackson found himself captivated by her every glance, every movement. Life felt perfect, like a dream he never wanted to wake from. 

 But dreams always end. One evening, a simple disagreement spiraled into their first real argument. It was about money—a common fight, but one that carried weight. Debbie had grown frustrated with Jackson’s spending, especially after he purchased an expensive tie when his car needed repairs. “It was just a tie!” Jackson snapped, his voice rising. “Why do you always blow things out of proportion?” Debbie’s doe eyes darkened with hurt, and she took a step back. “I’m trying to keep us afloat, Jackson. But you just don’t care, do you?” In a flash of frustration, Jackson punched the wall, the sound echoing through their home. Silence fell between them. Debbie stared at the hole in the wall, her doe eyes no longer sparkling. They were filled with sadness and betrayal. Jackson’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, stepping toward her. “I didn’t mean it. Please, let’s fix this.” Debbie shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t touch me,” she said softly. “I need to go for a drive and clear my head.” She grabbed her coat and left, leaving Jackson standing in stunned silence. Jackson waited all night, calling her repeatedly. Each call went to voicemail, and by 3 a.m., her phone was dead. 

 Then came the knock at the door. Jackson opened it to find two police officers standing on his porch, their faces grim. “Mr. Sinclair,” one said, “may we come in?” Jackson’s heart pounded as fragments of their words filtered through his shock:

 Fawn Drive. Tavern. Hit by a car. Dead. 

 The world blurred around him. His Dear Debbie Doe Eyes was gone. 

 A month after the funeral, Jackson was a broken man. Grief consumed him, and he found himself spiraling. One evening, desperate for escape, he decided to drive to the liquor store. 

 As he drove, the familiar streets transformed. Houses and streetlights vanished, replaced by an endless stretch of trees. Ahead, the road sign read Fawn Drive. Jackson’s stomach twisted as he saw the tavern emerge from the shadows. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. 

 Then he saw it—a lifeless deer lying on the shoulder of the road. “Oh my God,” Jackson whispered. He stopped the car and approached the animal. As he knelt beside it, the deer opened its eyes. 

 “Please, Jackson, my love. Please,” it whispered in Debbie’s voice. 

 Jackson’s breath hitched as tears streamed down his face. 

“Debbie? I’m so sorry, my love. Please come back to me. We can fix this—together.” 

 The deer’s eyes darkened, swirling like pools of shadow, and it let out a guttural, unearthly moan. Jackson screamed as the world went black.

 Jackson woke drenched in sweat, his body trembling. He raced to the bathroom, but when he opened the door, he wasn’t in his home anymore. He was back at the tavern. A bunch of female patrons were sitting at the bar with their backs turned. 

 The deer head on the wall seemed alive, its muddled eyes fixed on him. 

 Then he saw her amongst the rest of the patrons. Debbie, in her dark green dress, walked toward him, her doe eyes glistening. 

 “Do you want to dance?” she asked. 

 “Yes,” Jackson whispered, his voice breaking. 

He pulled her close as the jukebox came alive with jazz. But as they swayed, everything dissolved into darkness. 

 Jackson woke again, this time in his bed. Debbie lay beside him. 

 “It was just a dream,” he muttered. "Oh my God honey, I had the most insane nightmare!" 

 But as Debbie sat up, she didn’t look at him. She got out of bed, wearing the green dress from his nightmare. Jackson followed her, his fear mounting as he noticed hoofprints on the carpet. In the bathroom mirror, a diabolical deer stared back at him. The door slammed shut, and when Jackson turned, he was back at the tavern. The women he’d seen earlier turned toward him. They were all Debbie. The deer head roared as the Debbies morphed into deer, their bodies elongating, hooves ripping through their dresses. They surrounded Jackson, their glowing eyes locking onto him.

 Jackson woke up screaming. There were deer guarding his bedside. One deer approached Jackson and whispered in Debbie's voice.

 “You will always belong to us, Jackson"..

***Fictional Story Written By Zainab Ali***