kokopellinelli (kokopellinelli) wrote,

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When 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."


"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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