The first time my daughter Nancy saw the doll, it was love at first sight.
I thought the thing was a hideous monstrosity.
We were on vacation in Upstate NY, just south of the Adirondacks, and antique shops were plentiful in the small, quaint towns of the Northeast American woods. On the drive up to our cabin we’d stop by each shop, and we’d see our fair share of old contraptions, stamps, pictures, statues, but the doll was something we had never seen before.
The shopkeeper indicated it was one of a kind, an antique German papier mache Muller Strasburger doll, standing tall at 2.5 feet against a support stand. The doll appeared as a young boy with curly blond hair, but was adorned in a flowing white blouse and blue dress. The head, neck, and shoulders were made of a seamless papier mache layer (then another section for the forearms to hands), while the torso and certain joints like the hip, knees, and elbows were filled with stuffing, allowing you to manipulate the dolls into a sitting position, or put its hands on his lap.
Do yourself a favor and do not google this type of doll if you’re alone right now.
So I knew I was done for when my daughter ran to the doll and exclaimed: “Your name is Georgie! We’re going to be best friends forever!”
The thing is, I had promised Nancy she could pick out one toy on this trip, and I tried to posture that we couldn’t fit the doll in the car, that it was too expensive ($300!) but immediately the shopkeeper swept in.
“Once a girl and a doll are matched, there is no undoing that bond,” he said with a knowing smile.
“Sorry, but $300 is a bit too steep…”
“Like I said, there’s no undoing the bond. And I won’t get in the way of that. How about $100?”
I shook my head. “Still too much.”
“It was made in the 19th century, you could easily resell it for $200.”
“No thank you. OK Nancy, we gotta get going…”
“I’ll settle for $60. I’ll even load it into the car for you.”
As hideous as that thing was, I couldn’t say no to the eager expression my daughter made at that low offer.
At my daughter’s request the shopkeeper loaded Georgie the doll into the passenger’s seat next to her and clipped the seat belt.
“Just drive carefully, Georgie is fragile!” said the shopkeeper as we departed, giving a final knock on the window as Nancy waved.
What ensued in the car was two hours of my precious daughter carrying a one-sided conversation with her new best friend forever, Georgie. All the while I’d peer back at them in the rearview mirror, shuddering any time I made contact with those lifeless papier mache eyes.
At the log cabin I had rented for the weekend with a beautiful lake view, Nancy wanted nothing more than to have a tea party with Georgie, so I reluctantly took the doll out of the back seat and held it out at arms length, bringing it to the room. At 2.5 feet its gangly legs swayed with each of my steps and I plopped it on the floor in a sitting position.
I could have sworn I heard a grunt when I picked the thing up, but then again I’m 40 and I grunt getting up from a chair.
So I spent the evening having a tea party with Nancy and Georgie, and let me tell you my daughter had a blast. I tried my best not to look at Georgia as even a glimpse of this papier mache thing sent a shiver down my spine. But of course it was impolite not to look at someone when fancily cheers-ing tea cups. Pinkies out.
At night, the crickets were loud and reminded us of our isolation. Nancy insisted Georgie sleep in bed with her, but I convinced her that was a bad idea because of the fragility of the doll, and better it laid on the floor next to her bed.
“Daddy?”
“Yes dear?”
“Are there bears in these woods?”
“Oh yes, most certainly.”
“Can bears open doors?”
“Well I suppose they could.”
“Even locked doors?”
“Not locked doors. Don’t you worry, no bears are getting in here. And besides, Georgie and I will protect you.”
“But you said Georgie was so fragile I couldn’t even sleep with him. And Daddy, you’re strong but I don’t think you can beat up a bear if it’s a big one.”
“Right….”
So that night I ended up dragging the couch right up against the front door, then stacked chairs on top to keep us safe from the bears.
—
I woke up in the middle of the night to ragged breathing and I shot up in my bed immediately. I’ve heard my daughter congestion before and this was not it. It almost sounded like a sick, wheezing old man on his death bed. The problem was that it seemed to be synchronized with my daughters breathing, so I slowly got out of bed and crept up to Nancy. The wheezing was louder as I got closer.
I slowly raised my hand to my daughter’s nose and with nimble fingers pinched her nose closed.
The raspy breathing continued, but now I could tell it was coming from the side of the bed.
I flung the light on and lept over the bed and the raspy breathing stopped.
And there was Georgie, still laying right where I had left him.
I was deathly silent then, staring intently at that pale, light peach colored papier mache, and again at those damn lifeless blue eyes, and that stupid frilly blouse. I moved in closer, ready to rip this thing to shreds if I even saw a flutter of movement.
“Daddy?”
“Dear God!”
I must have jumped five feet in the air.
“Daddy, are you OK? There’s no bear, right?”
I was not OK.
“Yes, I’m ok. It’s nothing. Let’s go back to sleep.”
I turned off the lights and lay awake as long as I could, but the raspy breathing never returned.
—
The rest of the trip went well. Of course we had to take Georgie everywhere we went and for the next few nights I had to perform the ritual of barricading the door to protect us all from the bears.
At long last it was time to go, and we were all packed up.
As I pulled away from our cabin, I heard Nancy say “Say bye bye to our cabin, Georgie.”
And when I looked in the rearview mirror I saw the doll was looking out the window.
“Nancy, did you move the doll’s head?”
“Silly Daddy. Georgie can look outside by himself.”
“Oh yes, of course. And how’s that exactly?”
“Well, because Georgie is alive.”
Goosebumps overwhelmed me and I looked back at my rearview mirror again. The doll was still motionless, looking out the window.
“Alive. Yes of course.”
“Silly Daddy.”
As I turned onto the freeway that would get us home, I thought I caught a glimpse of the antique shop owner in a car a few dozen feet behind me, but the vehicle drove on along the local roads and I didn’t quite get a good look.
—
By the time we got home, Nancy was asleep, so I unbuckled her and carried her to bed. I looked out the window to the driveway and I saw Georgie’s curly blonde hair, face still staring blankly out the window.
I briefly considered bringing him in, but without Nancy advocating for him, I simply locked the car doors with my key fob.
Nighty night, Georgie.
—
I awoke to a car alarm and I knew immediately it was mine. I darted out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, and threw open the flood lights to my driveway.
I heard a door shut as I got to my front door and I barreled through into the cold night.
There sat Georgie, strapped in his seat belt, staring at me with those fucking blank blue eyes, with the car alarm blaring in suburbia at 2am in the morning.
I pressed the lock button on my key fob and the alarm stopped. After a few circles of my car and nothing but the chilly wind accompanying me, I muttered a curse and went back inside.
Was probably just a raccoon or cat that jumped on my car.
Probably.
—
The following morning, while I’m making blueberry pancakes, the first thing I get from Nancy when she comes down:
“Where’s Georgie?”
“Oh, he told me he wanted to sleep in the car.”
Nancy giggled.
“Silly Daddy. Georgie only talks to me, not you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yah Dada.”
“And what does he say?”
But she was hooked to the cartoons she had just put on.
“Does he say he likes blueberry pancakes?”
When breakfast was ready and at Nancy’s request, I lugged Georgie back into the house and sat it at the table.
Nancy gave Georgie a big hug. Apparently he did like pancakes, according to her, so I put a napkin on him as a bib.
After breakfast I went back to whatever adult bullshit I had slated for the day while Nancy played school teacher with Georgie as the student.
—
That night Nancy wanted me to prop Georgie up in his stand so he could stand around with her as she did her exercises (dancing to kidz bop on YouTube).
Goddamn did this doll look even creepier in a standing position. I made a mental note to look up why boy dolls would be wearing a blouse and a dress, maybe it was a 19th century German thing, and I googled the price for one of these things (because I was gonna sell that shit to a museum the first second Nancy was off it) and sure enough $250-$300 was the price range. So the antique dealer didn’t rip me off.
For bed time, Nancy asked me to put Georgie in his stand by her bed so he could watch over her as she slept, to which I obliged.
As I lay falling asleep in my bed, I heard Nancy talking to Georgie, talking to it about her day, how much fun she had, all the things they would do tomorrow. And just as I was about to fall asleep I heard her call out.
“Daddy, can you lay down Georgie, he’s tired.”
I trudged over to her room, dead exhausted.
“Sure thing sweetheart, but please go to sleep, we had a long vacation and I need to rest before school tomorrow and I have work.”
I picked Georgie up from his stand, laid him down next to Nancy’s bed, and tucked the stand into the corner of the room before heading back to bed and conking out.
—
I shot up in my bed, still only half awake but my eyes were searching frantically in the dark.
What was it that had woken me up? Pre-kids I had been such a deep sleeper, but now my brain had trained me to wake up to anything out of the ordinary.
I thought I had heard a rustle, and come to think of it, had I closed my door that far towards the frame? I almost always left it open enough to be able to peer down the hall to see my daughter’s door. Then again I had been very tired.
I checked my phone. 2:30am.
I crept to my door and slowly swung it open. Of course like an idiot I bang my knee with a thud. So much for stealth.
I opened my door all the way and there was Georgie standing there in the hall, motionless and facing me with that damn blank stare.
“Oh Nancy,” I muttered.
I walked to Georgie, lifted it up with my right arm, then went to grab the stand with my left. But the stand wasn’t there.
Confused, I held Georgie out and placed it back onto his feet, steadied him, then let go.
As before, the unbalanced doll slowly started to fall back and I steadied it again, trying to find the balance point Nancy had apparently found. I tried several times but to no avail.
I considered that this doll might have some underlying wire under it’s stuffing in the legs to help it stand on its own, and I pinched several sections of the thighs and calves and felt some rods, but when I tried to bend them, they wouldn’t budge except at the knees, but even then it felt rigid and difficult to manipulate.
I made my way up the thigh, maybe the hip joint was the best way to reposition the rods. There was some movement but it still felt stiff.
I was just about to give up and just throw the thing to the side, but then I brushed up against something with my elbow that had no right being there. I paused, then brought my right hand down and confirmed.
I felt genitals.
The doll came alive.
“Get the fuck off me, you shit!” it howled with it’s raspy, sick voice, its stale, rotten breath invading my nostrils.
Georgie viciously kicked, screamed, grabbed handfuls of my hair and ripped, all I could do was try to throw it off but the fucker was strong, and I hurled us to the ground, rolling along the floor to the staircase.
“Fuck you fuck you!” it kept shouting as we fell down the stairs together.
I landed on the doll at the base of the stairs and I put my arm around it’s papier mache throat and crushed though it, my hands breaking the fragile material and feeling a warm pulsing neck. Georgie grabbed in turn, his thumbs digging into my eyes with inhuman strength.
I screamed and kept squeezing and stood, stumbling to the kitchen, and thrust my left hand to the counter until a found the handle to my chefs knife, and I plunged the blade into Georgie’s torso over and over.
Stuffing flew up into the air with each stab, and I didn’t stop.
By my fifteenth or so stab, I saw the dolls clothing turn a deep red, the thing now motionless, letting out small gurgles. I let go of the knife and sat back, heaving heavy breathes into my lungs.
I looked up and saw my daughter’s face frozen in horror. She had seen the whole thing.
Blood slowly pooled around the doll’s body.
After a brief moment of silence, Nancy screamed.
—
It was 6am and quiet in the police station. I sat before two detectives and a police officer from upstate New York, and had just finished my story for the fifth time. Each time they pressed me for as much detail as possible.
Normally no way in hell you could believe that story, but I called 911 and kept my eyes on that fucking dead, bloody doll while shielding and consoling Nancy until the cops arrived. None of this disappearing monster bullshit.
“Do you recognize this man?”
The upstate NY policeman pushed forward a picture of a middle aged, balding man.
“Yeah. He’s the antique shop guy.”
“The one that sold you the doll?”
“The very same. Sold it for $60 instead of the original $300.”
The policeman and detectives looked at each other. Did they actually believe my story?
“Sorry, I need to know what’s going on,” I said. “Was this some voodoo shit or a demon doll or…”
“How about this picture?” This time one of the detectives pushed it forward.
It was the antique shop owner again, and I almost dismissed it and looked away with a nod, but then I saw something perched on his shoulder.
“They’ve been running the scam for years,” he said. “The same story has been popping up for years, but with no hard evidence until now. Antique shop owner pushes the doll on vacationers that look like they have some money, and the following day all their valuables are gone, plus the antique doll of course.”
I scowled and shook my head.
“You see, this man’s name is Igor Balczyk,” he said, pointing at the shopkeepers shoulder.
I looked closer. The small figure was emaciated, eyes sunken in, an odd smile on his narrow face, sitting comfortably on the antique shop owner’s shoulder, his stick legs dangling over onto the shopkeeper’s chest.
“Igor is what is known as a primordial dwarf. Extremely rare. He was only about 25 inches tall.”
I stared in disbelief.
“Just enough to fit in the doll suit.”
My hands covered my mouth.
“And if you hadn’t barricaded your cabin door to protect against bears, you would have been cleaned out overnight. And then on your first night back, you locked him in your car. So really this past night was his only opportunity to escape.”
The other detective spoke.
“And we confirmed, a phone call to the antique shop was registered coming out of your house around midnight. He was going to clean you out right there and then and get picked up.”
I turned and looked across the hall into the other office, the one where Nancy and the child psychologist were talking. She seemed fine, at least from the back of her head.
I just didn’t know if I could ever get a wink of sleep again.
“Your daughter will be OK. It will take time for you both to recover. We’re really sorry that this happened to you. Rest easy, we have a bad man behind bars, and another bad man that you rightfully killed in self defense.”
The officer and detectives stood up.
“My suggestion, personally, how about you stay away from buying any new dolls for the next couple of years.”
I stood up, never keeping my eyes off Nancy.
“I’m never buying another fucking doll again.”