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Short True Stories

20.11.2012 04:44 EST
Grandpa’s Dolls

Ever since I can remember, my grandfather has always had these creepy looking dolls. They are some sort of Indian dolls that represent the different animals that the Indian tribes worshiped. They stand about a foot tall on little wooden platforms. My grandfather received them as a gift from his father many years ago.

When I was about 7, I went to stay the weekend with my aunt and my grandparents. It was about 10 pm when my aunt, my grandma, and I were heading up the stairs to go to bed. As we were walking, we heard a thump from downstairs. My grandma and aunt passed it off as the noisy neighbors who were having a party next door. As they walked to their bedrooms, I stayed behind and peeked over the railing to see what had happened.

One of my grandfather’s dolls had somehow fallen from the top of the fireplace. The head had broken off and one of the arms had snapped. I was too afriad to run downstairs alone in the dark to retrieve the doll, so I left it there and went to my aunt’s bedroom to go to sleep.

I lay in bed until about 11 tossing and turning, trying to keep the image of the broken doll out of my mind. Finally I driften off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Around 2 am I awoke abruptly and shot upright in my bed. I glanced around the room trying to find what had woken my so suddenly. I couldn’t find anything out of the norm until I looked towards the open bedroom door and into the hallway.

Standing in the middle of the hallway was one of my grandpa’s dolls. I crawled to the end of the bed to get a closer look at the doll and a mix of fear and realization hit me; it was the doll that had fallen and been broken on impact just a few hours earlier.

I was about to go back to bed and pass off the doll as an illusion of some sort, when the doll’s eyes started glowing. They were glowing red. Bright, fire-engine red.

Not sure that I was seeing clearly, I rubbed my eyes. But the doll was still there. Still not sure that what I was seeing was real, I slipped past the doll and into the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face.

When I turned to leave the bathroom, the doll was there, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with it’s red, glowing eyes. With a tinge of fear and panic I closed the door abruptly but quietly, trying not to wake anyone.

I don’t know how long I sat on the cold bathroom floor, but when I finally built up the courage to open the door, the doll had vanished. I cautiously walked back to the bedroom and laid down. The early light of dawn was streeming through the blinds. Once again, I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I awoke the next morning around 11 am. I walked down the stairs to eat breakfast with my family. As I came around the corner of the staircase, I stared intently at the top of the fireplace. There it was. The wolf doll. As I walked closer to it, I could still faintly see the cracks where the doll had broken. But as I stared more intently at the faint marks, I could find no traces of glue. Instead, the marks looked more like scars. Almost as if the doll was more human than doll.

Until this day, over 7 year later, I can still see the scars of the once broken wolf doll.


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