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Nov. 26th, 2004 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kokopellinelliWhen I was 7 or 8, a friend of mine had a doll, a wonderful 3-foot-tall doll that could blink, talk, and even tell if it was light or dark. I wanted that doll. It's true, I coveted her, which was particularily bad because this friend came from a family of very religious people. 'Course, at the time, I didn't know what 'covet' was, so I didn't feel guilty.
Anyway, I told my parents about this talking doll, and that I wanted one just like it. So it came to be that on Christmas morning, I came out of my room and there, propped under the tree with her eyes closed, was a doll.
It wasn't like my friend's doll. She wasn't as big, and not as dressy. But it was my own baby doll. So I ran forward in my nightgown and snatched up the sleeping toy, crying "A doll!" As I lifted her, her sky-blue eyes flew open and she yelled, "MAMA! FEED ME!" and I screamed and threw her on the floor and ran into the kitchen.
My parents laughed at me. After a few minutes, I overcame my start. I loved that baby doll for a few months. But one night, on a sleepover at a friend's house (not the same friend who had the original doll) we were telling ghost stories. Her story was about a Chinese doll who was left on a store shelf so long she grew to resent humans for not loving her, and when someone finally bought her (on sale, *gasp*) she killed them with a butcher knife. Then she went back to the store and waited for someone else to buy her.
After that night, I didn't like talking dolls much.
I stopped playing with my doll. She became a permanent part of the corner of my room, where I shoved things to get them out of the way. Eventually, she wound up at the bottom of the pile. That was fine with me. Until the night she woke up.
I was getting ready for bed. Fluffing my pillow, settling my stuffed dog into the covers, that sort of thing. And from the corner of the room I heard, in a faint, sick-sounding warble, "Maa-maa. Feeeed meeee."
O___o
"Maa-maa. Plaay wiiith meeeee. Feeed meee." *voice lowered to a growl* "Iii loooooove yoooouuu."
Me: AAAAAAAAAAUUGH! *grabbed doll and literally threw her out the window*
Turns out she'd been lying on my heater grate and had malfunctioned. Who'da thunk?
I think my mom must have found her and gotten rid of her or something, because a few months later when I finally got up the courage to go look under my window for the doll, she wasn't there. I try not to contemplate the thought that she might have simply walked away. I still to this day jump into my bed to avoid getting stabbed in the feet from crazed dolls hiding underneath.
My children will be getting stuffed animals.
Anyway, I told my parents about this talking doll, and that I wanted one just like it. So it came to be that on Christmas morning, I came out of my room and there, propped under the tree with her eyes closed, was a doll.
It wasn't like my friend's doll. She wasn't as big, and not as dressy. But it was my own baby doll. So I ran forward in my nightgown and snatched up the sleeping toy, crying "A doll!" As I lifted her, her sky-blue eyes flew open and she yelled, "MAMA! FEED ME!" and I screamed and threw her on the floor and ran into the kitchen.
My parents laughed at me. After a few minutes, I overcame my start. I loved that baby doll for a few months. But one night, on a sleepover at a friend's house (not the same friend who had the original doll) we were telling ghost stories. Her story was about a Chinese doll who was left on a store shelf so long she grew to resent humans for not loving her, and when someone finally bought her (on sale, *gasp*) she killed them with a butcher knife. Then she went back to the store and waited for someone else to buy her.
After that night, I didn't like talking dolls much.
I stopped playing with my doll. She became a permanent part of the corner of my room, where I shoved things to get them out of the way. Eventually, she wound up at the bottom of the pile. That was fine with me. Until the night she woke up.
I was getting ready for bed. Fluffing my pillow, settling my stuffed dog into the covers, that sort of thing. And from the corner of the room I heard, in a faint, sick-sounding warble, "Maa-maa. Feeeed meeee."
O___o
"Maa-maa. Plaay wiiith meeeee. Feeed meee." *voice lowered to a growl* "Iii loooooove yoooouuu."
Me: AAAAAAAAAAUUGH! *grabbed doll and literally threw her out the window*
Turns out she'd been lying on my heater grate and had malfunctioned. Who'da thunk?
I think my mom must have found her and gotten rid of her or something, because a few months later when I finally got up the courage to go look under my window for the doll, she wasn't there. I try not to contemplate the thought that she might have simply walked away. I still to this day jump into my bed to avoid getting stabbed in the feet from crazed dolls hiding underneath.
My children will be getting stuffed animals.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-26 11:06 pm (UTC)Glad to make you laugh. That doll scared the crap out of me.
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Date: 2004-11-26 11:50 pm (UTC)When I was four I was sure that a little alligator stuffed animal I had was going to eat me, that it was possessed by a ghost. (It was a gift from my babysitter from when she went to florida.)
Apparently, when I was four, I was hallucinatory, because I swore I saw it start opening and closing it's jaws and move forward on my shelf..
So I know where you're coming from!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-27 12:22 am (UTC)Glad I could make you laugh, too! My friend (the one who told the evil doll story) swore that her Teddy Rupskin started talking to her when he didn't even have a tape in. That scared me, too!