reply to post by Zyklon
Hello, interesting story. I also have a distinct memory of a doll experience of my younger years.When I was about 10, my friend was over, and I told
her of my brand new doll, which I was very proud of. It was a porcelin doll, a foot tall at the most. She was an Irish dancer, in a knee length green
and purple dress, with brown curly hair, standing on a brown pedestal. I showed her, and she said how horrible it looked. I was deeply offended, but
the shy girl I was I pretended to agree. She started doing all sorts of horrible things to it: spitting at it, clawing at her hair and hitting it. I
played along, amused. She wanted thedoll to fight back. No sooner then we stopped did the doll fall over by itself. Startled and frightened, we dashed
out of the room. My dog went in and came out, and we felt safe to go back in. We did, and the doll was back up on my dresser.We were so spooked, we
just sat and stared. The doll fell again. We ran and told my dad, and of course he didn't believe us. Years later, I still own that doll, on my brand
new dresser. It seems silly, but I'm almost afraid to see the results if I dare throw it away. I always can feel it watching me. I really wonder if
the doll was "fighting back" as my friend wanted. (I also have no idea of the whereabouts of my past so-called friend)
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There is something a bit creepy about dolls. Perhaps some of the creepiness that we perceive stems from subconscious associations between the
human-shaped inanimate form of the doll, and the inanimate human form of the corpse. Or maybe it goes back to some kind of instinct regarding their
use in past times as part of sympathetic magic or witchcraft.
I don't have any creepy doll stories myself. However, I was recently reading the interesting account of the South Sheilds Poltergeist by Michael
Hallowell and Darren Ritson. The Poltergeist in this case seemed to spend most of its time doing stuff in the child's bedroom and close by at the
top of the stairs. The child was a boy, three years old at the time, so there weren't any girly dolls but he did have figures like a talking 'Bob
the Builder' and 'Scooby Doo'. These two in particular would talk when they weren't switched on, and even when the batteries were taken out of
them, and would utter phrases that weren't supposed to be in their repertoire and seemed to be addressed directly to whoever was there at the time.
The polt also seemed to like setting up the child's stuffed toys in grisly tableaus - for example, one time a big toy rabbit was found seated in
chair at the top of the stairs with a box-cutter blade between its paws. Another time they found a toy rabbit positioned with a knife as if in its
paw, with the blade of the knife as if to slice through the throat of a toy duck. Now that's creepy.. 
[edit on 25-8-2008 by skjalddis]
typos typos
[edit on 25-8-2008 by skjalddis]
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I remember waking up one night when I was a kid and looking out in to the hall way to see my Sister's "Chatty Kathy" doll walking out of her room
and down the hall.
I think it is possible that some disembodied spirits may posses things like dolls that look like the human body, etc.
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I thought I was just going to lurk forever on this board and never join, but this thread has pulled me out of the woodwork.
The story I have to share doesn't really have any paranormal elements to it (as far as I know), but it is about dolls and how uneasy they can make an
entire family.
When I was about nine years old, my Mom and Dad threw me a surprise birthday party and they hired a clown performer. In keeping with this theme, one
of the gifts I was given was a clown marionette. It seemed like a fun toy at first -- even though I didn't particularly care for clowns. It was
about two feet tall, with a wooden face, hands, and feet and a cloth body.
Well, the marionette was tucked away with my stuffed animals, on a small bench in my bedroom. After about a week or so, it really started to creep me
out. It had big, googly eyes and a rather sinister smile. So, I took it off of the bench and buried it in the bottom of my closet, underneath all of
my other toys. A couple of days later, my mom was helping me tidy up my room, and she said, "Where's your clown marionette?" I told her that I
thought it was in the closet, and she dug through my toys until she found it. Then she returned it to its original place on the bench.
And so began a silent battle with my mother. I'd get freaked out and bury "Mr. Clown" (My mom's name for it; I hated it so much I didn't name
it) in the bottom of my closet. She would dig him out and put him back on the bench. This happened throughout my childhood until we moved out of the
house we were in. At the new house, I stuck Mr. Clown in the closet and happily, he remained there.
Years later, when I had been living on my own for a couple of years, my mom asked me to come over and sort through all of the stuff that I still had
stored at her house. She was about to convert my old bedroom into her computer room and wanted to clear out the closet. So, Mom and I sat down to
sort through everything. And there, down at the very bottom of my closet, a little wrinkled but no worse for wear, was Mr. Clown. Mom held him out
to me and said, "Oh look! It's Mr. Clown! Don't want to take him home with you?"
I took a deep breath and decided to confess. I said, "I hate to tell you this, Mom, but that thing has always freaked me out. That's why I'd
always bury it in the bottom of my closet. I never wanted it out where it could see me."
I thought she might be annoyed or maybe even a little sad about this confession, but instead, she burst into hysterical laughter and called my father
into the room. She asked me to repeat what I told her, so I did.
My dad heaved a huge sigh of relief when I was done talking. He said, "I have hated that thing since the moment you got it. It always scared me.
Your mother kept digging it out of the closet, and I couldn't understand why she didn't just leave it there."
"I kept digging it out of the closet because I had this strange feeling it would get angry if I left it in there!" My mother explained. "I always
felt like it could get angry very easily -- it scared me!"
The three of us had a good laugh...and then we all carried Mr. Clown outside and dumped him in the trash. My dad made a joke about maybe finding it
again one day under mysterious circumstances. I told him that if it did reappear, I didn't want to know about it.
So, like I said, not really paranormal related, but definitely an example of how uneasy some toys can make people!
[edit on 26-8-2008 by SalvationJane]
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