I am afraid of porcelain baby dolls. I always have been. I’m not sure if it’s their cold, glassy stares or their always not-quite-grinning-not-quite-sad face. My mother used to buy them for me for every occasion imaginable since I was 1-year-old. Birthday? Porcelain doll. Christmas? Porcelain doll. Easter? Porcelain doll with rabbit ears (which, by the way, are by far the creepiest of them all ever. Those and the ones dressed up as clowns. WHY DO THOSE EXIST?)
Once I was old enough to effectively communicate my fear I asked my mom to stop getting them. “OH BUT THEY’RE SO PRETTY!” She would affirm. “No mommy I do not like them they scare me”
And she would buy more.
She put them on the top of a dresser that overlooked my bed. There they sat watching me, day in and day out with their unflinching gaze. The dresser was far too high for me to reach the top of. Try as I might by standing on top of chairs and my toy box and whatever else I could find, there was no way I could reach the dolls.
One day I overheard my mom on the phone with my grandmother.
Mom: No, she loves getting the porcelain dolls. Oh no, you should see her face light up. She especially likes the Victorian ones. That would be wonderful! I’m sure she is going to love it. Alright, I love you too, bye.
It was some sick joke to her. It must have been. No matter how many times I expressed my extreme disinterest towards the dolls she just kept ignoring me and buying me more. She was even telling other people to buy me more. Every Christmas I would cringe upon opening another , thinking grimly of the doll army that is slowly being built up in my room that will one day set out to mercilessly kill me. I was very grim for a child. And very paranoid.
Eventually they really started to freak me out. After the sleepover previously mentioned here I gained an all new terror of them. Immediately after coming home from that party I proceeded not to sleep for 3 days, sure that they were going to kill me the moment I looked away because now I knew their secret.
I would stare at them unceasingly, then freak out when I thought they blinked at me. Finally my mom noticed something was wrong when my teachers sent home a note explaining that I had fallen asleep in class for the fifth time that week.
Mom: Why are you sleeping in class?
Me: I’m not doing it on purpose
Mom: Does your bed time need to be set back?
Me: No I can not sleep really because the babies keep looking at me and they never stop and when I am asleep they are still looking at me even though I am not looking at them anymore and it scares me and when I was at Kristina’s birthday party one walked around and what if mine walk around when I am not watching them?
Mom: Skylar you’re being ridiculous
Me: NO MOMMY THEY REALLY DO
Mom: Are you really this adamant about me removing them from your room?
Me: Yes please take them out please
Mom: Fine, but I’m going to keep them on display in the living room
Then they were removed. I never felt more relieved in my tiny life span. Sometimes when I was on my bed almost asleep my door would creak open and I would hear tiny steps around my house. I would stop whatever I was doing at that moment; breathing, twitching, thinking, and just listen. The steps would continue and I would grow more and more scared. Finally they would stop for a long time, and my cat (who caused me to wet the bed more than once by doing this) would jump up on my legs.
Needless to say I began shutting my door all the way.