The Unspeakable Fear

A friend asked me the other day what my worst fear is. When I told them, they burst out laughing and then said, “No, seriously! What are you most afraid of in the whole wide world?” This happens a lot when I tell people what I am most afraid of. To be honest, I really DO NOT think I need to explain why. If you look at the horror films out there, my numero uno fear is constantly used to provoke a spike in blood pressure. In fact, the whole emphases of certain horror films are based around my fear.

Yes, we are talking about dolls folks. The creepiest creation on the planet. Scarier than spiders, natural disasters, dinosaurs, ghosts, vampires, zombies, and ebola. It boggles my mind when people are NOT afraid of these devilish creatures. Here is my personal rating of creepiness based on type.

Cloth Dolls/Cabbage Patch Dolls: Mildly Creepy

Barbies: Semi Creepy

Raggedy Ann: Moderately Creepy

American Girl Dolls/Baby Dolls: Quite Creepy

Porcelain Dolls: Unspeakably Creepy

Porcelain Clown Dolls: Pee-Your-Pants-and-Question-Your-Sanity Creepy

( I cannot look at this picture too long without wanting to scream. Easily one of the creepiest dolls ever EVER!!!)

I do not feel the need to justify my fear as legitimate. Dolls are disturbing beyond words. However, I do acknowledge my fear has been influenced from past experience. I see this only as an advantage as it heightens my wariness and, therefore, potential to survive being gruesomely murdered by a doll(s). When I was eight, I had the American girl Molly. She came with a mini WWII nurse doll. My doll had a doll. I bet you can already see the direction this is going. On one fateful night in October, I had a nightmare/a real mare, where as I brushed this mini doll’s hair, her face became animated and she told me I was pretty. I screamed and threw her on the ground. She started to claw her way up my leg leaving trickles of blood as she did. Horrified, I ripped her off my leg, ran out of my bedroom to the staircase, and threw her off the balcony of our living room. As she fell, her pale porcelain flesh melted off her face to reveal her skull. Her hideous eyes glowed angrily in her face and right before she hit the floor below she hissed, “I will kill you, but you will NEVER be able to kill me”. Then she laughed the most frightening laugh that has ever been uttered. I must have lost consciousness, because the next thing my seven-year-old self knew, it was morning. I shakily peered over the end of my bed AND THERE SHE WAS. Sitting unscathed on the end of Molly’s bed with her head turned at me! I grabbed her, ran barefoot to our backyard, and I buried her venomous self in the dirt. I still have reoccurring nightmares of this doll crawling bald and bug eaten out of the ground and taking her revenge on me. People always question how a doll could possibly kill me. That. Is. The. Point. You don’t know. Your murder will be unexplainable. More painful and unimaginably horrifying. Just know it will happen. While everyone else prepares for the inevitable Zombie Apocalypse, I will simultaneously be burning all the dolls in the universe to save as many lives as possible.

In case I haven’t made this clear, I am drop dead (hopefully not literally) serious about dolls. They are evil. Do not be fooled by their painted, smiling faces. Save yourself and your children while you still can.