The Doll

Dolls have always been a favorite children's toy. Dolls have been an effective way to make a child believe they are taking care of another child, giving and 'receiving' love.

Dolls are very common. You will likely find one in every household that has a child in it. Their unblinking eyes have always given me nightmares. I've had dreams of them chasing me, eyeing me, staring.

My dad has always told me dolls move on their own. Every day, a particular doll in my house would seem to 'move' on its own. It would be found on one couch, then the next, I would see it in the kitchen.

I always thought that it was my dad moving the doll. I was right. Dolls don't move by themselves, do they?


A few years after that, my sister, Annabelle got a doll. It was her fifth birthday, and I was sixteen. The doll was a rather large doll, wearing a red dress, had porcelain skin, and brown, unblinking eyes. My sister called it Annie.

My sister played with the doll every day. She dressed it, tried to feed it, and brought it to some places. They seemed inseparable.

One day, a few weeks after she had gotten her doll, we found out that a kid in her school had gotten injured. The boy had been found crying and bruised. When the boy was asked who had done it, he would only point at the doll.

The adults dismissed this idea. It was absurd! A doll harming a child, it didn't happen. What we did notice was that the doll had scratch marks where the other boy had been bruised. I thought this was an odd coincidence.


The next thing I found odd was that one day, as I was in bed, I had the urge to use the bathroom. As I went downstairs to use the restroom, I looked at the kitchen, and caught a glimpse of red dress. I turned on the light, and saw the doll on sitting on the table.

The doll seemed to be looking right at me. A few inches away from the doll was a knife.

I frowned, thinking my dad, who was notorious for pranks, was hoping to scare someone with this prank. I shook my head, and put the doll on the couch, and put the knife away.

The morning after that, I asked my dad why he had put the doll on the kitchen table with a knife inches away from it. He looked genuinely confused. My dad was never a good liar, so I was about to ask my mom, but she never pranked.

I looked at my brother, who shrugged. My sister wasn't devious enough to play a prank. I knew something strange was going on, but I thought it was most likely a prank my brother was playing.

The next few days, I saw bruises on my sister's arm. I asked her who had hurt her. She whimpered something, "I don't want Annie anymore." At this point, I figured we could throw the doll away.

I proposed the idea to my parents, who reluctantly agreed. I went to my sister's room to take the doll. The doll had scratches and a red mark on its arm, and its eyes were closed, which was strange. Usually, when it sat in an upright position, the doll's eyes were open.

I looked at my sister, almost expecting her to wave goodbye to the doll. She simply hugged my mom tighter, burying her face in my mom's side. I walked outside, with the doll in my hand, heading towards the trash can.

I simply threw the doll into the garbage can. For good measure, I spied the garbage truck heading my way. I walked back to my house, to comfort my sister.


That night, I was woken up by a nightmare. The nightmare isn't important. It's what I saw when I woke up. I saw my sister, holding the doll in her hands, facing her bedroom which was across from mine.

"Annabelle?" I asked, calling to her. She didn't face me. I got out of my bed, and walked towards her. I tapped her on the shoulder. "Annabelle, what are you doing?" I asked. "I- I don't know," She started, "I couldn't stop. Annie kept calling my name."

I frowned, "Annabelle, I threw that doll out this morning; I even saw a garbage truck heading towards our house." She shook her head. "You can't throw her out. She'll always be back."

"Come on, let's get you to bed," I said, taking her hand, and leading her to her room. I tried to take the doll out of her arms, "We should clean that thing if you're going to sleep with it," I said. She threw the doll to the corner of her room.

I went to bed, still wondering about how that doll had come back. Maybe Annabelle had snuck past me and gotten the doll back? I didn't know, so I closed my eyes, ready to sleep.


The next day was a rather eventful day. My brother got accepted into the Soccer team. My mom got a new job. My little sister was fond bruised along with five other kids. Most disturbing of all was that on her back, written in blood were the words: 'ANNIE BLOOD.'

Perhaps even more disturbing than that was the fact that on the back of Annabelle's doll, the same words were inscribed, in what seemed to be pen. My sister was rushed to the hospital, and the police were called to investigate the bizarre crime.

But what did 'Annie Blood' mean? I knew Annie was the name of the doll. But what about the Blood? Did it mean to say that the doll wanted blood? Was it a name? I didn't know.

What I did know was that my dad threw the doll away. This time, he made sure the doll got into the garbage truck. I thought I'd never be hearing from the doll again.

You can imagine how confused I was when I once again, saw the doll in Annabelle's room. Annabelle had been treated for her injuries, but seemed traumatized. She wouldn't talk at all. The doctors had said that she would be back to normal, that it was only temporary.

I wanted to get rid of the doll forever. That night, I decided to take the doll to the fireplace, to burn in.

I picked up the doll from a sleeping Annabelle's room. The doll was silent as ever, but its eyes seemed to gleam. I walked over to the fireplace, and started the fire. I didn't hesitate, as I threw the doll into the fire.

At first the doll wasn't burning. It was just lying there. When I took a closer look, I saw that its face was facing me, staring at me. Eventually, the doll's face started to melt from the heat. The fire and heat were distorting its face, but all the while, it simply looked at me.

The doll's clothes were also catching fire. The red dress was getting blackened. Its hair was becoming ashes. The doll's once fine features were now unrecognizable. The air was starting to smell like melting plastic.

In satisfaction, I turned the fire off. The doll was now a plastic mess. But what struck me was that its eyes were still staring, and its smile never left its face. I got a shovel to scoop up what was left of it, and went outside, dumping it on the ground.

I then stomped on the doll's head. I was pretty sure I looked insane, stomping on a doll like that. But it felt satisfying. When I was done, the doll's head was a mess. I dumped it into the trash can, walking off to bed to go to sleep.


The next day, I woke up to see Annabelle in my room, glaring. "You threw my doll in the fire" She shouted. "I thought you hated it!" I said. Annabelle simply ran out of the room, crying. Someone must have noticed evidence that the fireplace had been used yesterday, and noticed the doll was missing.

While we were eating breakfast, I noticed no one was talking to me. They were alienating me. "Why are you ignoring me!?" I yelled at my family. "Son, Annabelle is very hurt that you destroyed her doll," My dad said to me.

"How did you-?" I began, and then I saw the doll I had mutilated yesterday. "We found it in Annie's room," My dad said. I was shocked. "I threw that doll out," I replied.

I was grounded for a month. I didn't mind too much. I was just struck by the thought that the doll had come back three times, and wouldn't leave my family alone.

I decided that enough was enough. I could no longer sleep; for fear that the doll would hurt my family. That night, I went downstairs to get a drink. I saw the doll on the kitchen table. This time there was a knife in its hand.

The doll's face was twisted in a demented grin. It started cocking its head towards me. I ran towards the doll, and punched it. It didn't resist. It simple fell to the floor, unmoving. I heard a demonic whisper behind me.

I turned around, and saw another doll. The doll was what Annie used to be. It wore a red dress, had porcelain skin, and was grinning dementedly. It walked towards me. I ran towards it, it tried to move to the side, but I grabbed it, and put my hands around its neck.

The doll struggled, but I had my hands around its neck, and kept squeezing. Eventually, its head snapped off. I saw two more dolls, from up the stairs. They were pointing at me, whispering.

I grabbed a knife, and ran at them. They giggled, running away. I caught up to the first one, and stabbed it in the neck. I ran to the second one, and while it giggles and talked in a demonic voice, I stabbed it through the mouth.

I went to my parent's room, but they weren't there. I then went to Annabelle's room. She was on the phone, saying something. "Annabelle? What's going on?" I asked, dropping the knife.

I couldn't hear her voice, as she looked at me in fear. She was saying something, and I could finally hear. "-Kill them?" She cried. "Killed who?" I asked. I walked outside, and to my horror, saw the bodies of my mom and dad.


"What did I do!?" I cried, now holding the knife. I saw the body of my brother. I took a final look at the doll. It was in perfect condition.

I heard the door being knocked down. I went downstairs, and caught a glimpse of police officers before they fired on me, and I closed my eyes, forever…

Dolls have always been a favorite children's toy. Dolls have been an effective way to make a child believe they are taking care of another child, giving and 'receiving' love.

Dolls are very common. You will likely find one in every household that has a child in it. Their unblinking eyes have been known to give people nightmares. Some may dream of them, dreams of horror, and dreams of being chased by dolls.

A/N: Okay, so fourth story so far! I hope you guys like my horror shorts, I'm still a beginner at this, so please don't criticize too harshly, unless it's constructive criticism. Also, check out my other stories! I'm hoping to submit them to Creepy Pasta! This story is meant to illustrate my fear of dolls. I just don't like them, as you can probably tell. Don't worry though; the story isn't from my perspective ;).

These last few words are to make this exactly 2,000 words.