When I was around 10 years old my little sister was six. And as a six year old girl, she was obsessed with dolls as many are. Small ones, huge ones, lifelike ones. She loved them. And being her big brother I of course had to torture her. I would punch them, kick them, and throw them down the stairs. She absolutely hated me for doing it, but I thought it was hilarious.
“Don’t you dare touch my dolls, you’re hurting them.” She used to say.
“Dolls dont have feelings dummy, get a grip.” was my usual answer. Something like that. This went on for a couple of months, me throwing her dolls around and her getting mad. But it lost it’s luster fast and I needed something different to mess with her.
At the time Toy Story was HUGE and we both watched it all of the time. So when she was gone I’d move her dolls around the room, putting them in weird positions. Kind of like the asshole version of the Elf on a Shelf. She sincerely believed that her dolls were alive and talked to them all of the time following my shenanigans.
But what started to freak me out was what they were talking about. One time I walked from my room past her cracked door and I could hear low murmurs and laughs. Through the small opening in the door I could see her whispering in her dolls ears.
“He’s such a jerk, I know. He shouldn’t mess with you like that at all. Maybe you can get him to stop.” She leaned her ear down to the dolls mouth, and a confused look grew on her face. She looked towards the door where I stood, and got up and closed the door. I wasn’t making a sound and her back was turned. I chalked it up to pure coincidence but it wasn’t. At all.
As a kid I was afraid of the dark and still am as a 24 year old man. I would close my closet doors every single night. The jackets and t-shirts hung in the closets looked like people standing there, and I couldn’t stand it.
One night I walked into my room for bed, closed the closet door, then went to sleep. In the middle of the night I woke up covered in sweat and panting. Rubbing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I scanned my room and noticed that my closet door was open. I sat frozen looking at the gap in the door, trying to push down my fear and get up to close it.
After what felt like hours I got up and creeped to the door. As I reached for the handle, something fell and rolled out of the closet. I yelped and ran back to my bed, pulling the covers up to my eyes and stared. A plushy toy, with a head full of fake curly hair stared at me face up. It was one of my sisters dolls. I was immediately furious and ran into my sisters room and shook her awake.
“Stay out of my room Jessica, or else your doll gets it.” I threw the doll on the floor and stormed out of the room as she looked at me confused. She shrugged her shoulders and went back to bed.
The next night, my sister was over at my grandparents staying until the next morning. I closed my closet door, snuck into bed and went to sleep.
I awoke in the same fashion, sweating and panting. My eyes had not yet adjusted but I felt a sting on my wrist that felt like a paper cut. I reached under my blankets and noticed that my arm was sticky and hot to the touch. As my eyes adjusted to my room a shiver went straight down my spine and into my crotch. Not proud of this, but I pissed the bed. Not only was my closet door open, but the doll was sat directly on my desk facing me. I cried silently to myself to not wake up my parents.
“Please.. I’m sorry. I’ll never mess with you again. Please just leave me alone.” I walked over to the doll and noticed red on its fingers, I looked down at my wrist and noticed small scratches going up the length of my forearm. I cried even harder and set the doll down softly in my sister’s room.
I never messed with my sister’s dolls again. When my mom asked me to put Jessica’s toys away, instead of my usual throwing I set the dolls down gently. Especially the curly haired one that appeared in my room.