Porcelain Doll

When I was younger, my grandmother used to have a collection of porcelain dolls. There were hundreds of them, most of which have faded from my memory but there is one in particular that I’ll never forget. 

         Her eyes were unnaturally wide, and the smile on her face looked forced. Because she was one of the oldest dolls in my grandmother’s collection, her condition was terrible. The red paint was chipping off of her dress and mouth. Her rosy cheeks were mostly faded leaving a pale ghastly face.

         One time, while staying over at her house I had a vivid nightmare of that porcelain doll stepping down off of her display and walking slowly towards me. Paralyzed by fear I was unable to move, and she crawled up onto my face and crawled down my throat. I woke up screaming, and it took two hours for my grandmother to calm me down.

         “What you have to do is tell her that you’re not afraid of her. She’s only as dangerous as you let her be,” she told me. For the next couple of nights I did that before I went to bed and the nightmares ceased.

         Things changed when my grandmother went to the store one evening. I was sitting in the guest room playing with my toys when I heard a noise from the living room. I crept out curiously to discover that the doll had somehow gotten down to the floor without breaking. I felt a chill creep down my spine, but I remembered what my grandmother told me.

         “You don’t scare me!” I said bravely.
         
         “Why not?” she asked with a wicked cackle. I picked her up and threw her against the wall shattering her to pieces.

         I never stayed over at my grandmother’s house again.