The Doll

THE DOLL



The things that send grown men into fits of terror are very strange. Spiders? Mice? The list is endless and often unexpected. The sound of something as stirring as their national anthem can induce a tear in the eye of many a paragon of strength.

I am no different.

I have my own phobia that to you may sound unreasonable. But to me it is nothing short of crucifying. As true as I am writing this, I can say that the thing that I most despise is purely through fear. Horror, terror, call it what you will, unreasonable, stupid? You may have every reason to feel that way about me but please remember that I have but one reason to feel the way I do about that which you may be mocking.

Please do not mock me. It is an awful trait of the human race and unfortunately one that is practiced both widely and often. It is cruel to mock. Criticism is constructive, sarcasm is cruel but mocking shows an ignorance beyond all feeling.

Everyone is different. Some have logical minds, others do not. It takes all kinds to make a world - as the saying goes. But how many people really understand the implications of that statement? Perhaps it should state that it takes all kinds to make a life, for without people different to us, how would we ever survive ?

They say that women are the weaker sex - I don't feel that this is so. Women are not weak but different. It is all dependent upon those things that make up a separate human entity. If women were not different in their values and fears then man would be unable to shine to them and we, as in the male populous, would have the most damnable time attempting to perform the rich parade that is known as the mating game. Every animal upon this earth primps and preens before its prospective mate and we as a species are little different. Although the human male has no horns to show or feathers to puff out, he still must appear 'manly' in front of those with whom he feels a base, primeval need to protect.

Why not? Disregarding for the present the fanatical feminists of the world, which woman can honestly say that she does not enjoy the ministrations of a gentleman or the feeling that she is desired above all things. Perhaps women are vain, but if such is the case, I see no fault in that. Women bear our children, they have every right to be as vain as they wish because they go through a great deal.

Children are something that I fear. Although it has to be said only because of the need to protect that they instill within me. They are small and should be kept from the cruel rigors of the world. My only saving thought as I wake up screaming in the sinister blackness of the night is that I tried. Oh God, how I tried!

Deep down inside I know that I could not be blamed for what happened. Yet why does my mind not echo those thoughts? If only I had done this, or if only I had done that...perhaps the result would have remained the same regardless of my actions.
Could it be that this is my real fear? I blame the outside influence in that it is outside my own head. Perhaps the fear has its roots irredeemably deeper. Perhaps the object of my terror is really my helplessness in the circumstances that led up to the situation. Could it really be that my worst fear is of my own inadequacy? Suddenly I was faced with a situation that I could not deal with - a circumstance that I could not comprehend, a happening that despite all my years of life at the time I could not begin to understand nor have expected.

I still cannot and it has been many years since the event transpired. It has been a veritable age and perhaps life in its entirety has allowed me many years to bury that which I could not comprehend. I can tell you now that no matter how long life allocates to me or how many experiences befall me it would never be enough. I will never understand, it is totally, exasperatingly, beyond me.

Civilization is a curious thing. Once our Neanderthal ancestors were terrified by fire and it's affect upon people and property. Now we invite it into our homes and simulate the wrath or control it. The anger of the gods is harnessed and now utilized to light our homes and give power to our utilities. Electricity - it gives us power and creates ease for us where once or troglodyte forefathers saw it in the sky and scurried for the safety of darkness. I wonder if in the future I will find my own personal bane exorcised. Will those who come after me look back and laugh at my suspicions and phobias. Will they dissect it, analyze it and put it to good use for their own welfare? Will they look back and shake their heads at my primitiveness? I think not - for that which chases the sleep from my head - even now - will still exist somewhere in it's dark, satanic lair just outside of our comprehension.

Such is my guilt that I must even blame myself for the fact that somewhere it still abides, resides and doubtlessly wreaks it's own particular brand of havoc. Looking back now there are so many things I should perhaps have done. So many things I should have said which would have sent the thing back to its rightful home and I would still be the proud hunter in a wonderfully dependent family. So many things I have read since the time, that should have been perused earlier. Such a large percentage of my brain that is taken up by the ravings of those who, until the time my fear found flesh, I would have considered madmen. But looking back, what if those who ranted amongst the pages of ancient superstitions were lunatics, would it really have made any difference to the contents of the book? If the authors were devoid of sanity then what had made them so? If their directions were to be believed then the foul creatures they conjured would have been enough to push anyone beyond the edge.

Perhaps, on reflection, their instructions were to be believed after all.

But it is all to late for such posthumous chastisement. It will get me nowhere but a padded cell that I feel I am scant distance away from anyway.

It is sometimes difficult to keep a grip upon reality. The world often seems so mundane and uncompromising that I feel I have been thrust proud of it by my past experience. How I would long to burst into a conversation about mortgages and office jobs with my own little dialogue that I have practiced time and time again ready for when I could prepare myself to relate my terror to others and thus hopefully free myself from my burden. Needless to say I have never done so for I still feel that it would be grossly unfair and although I believe it would make me better, it is not my right to burden others with the cross I shall have to bear for the rest of my days.

What makes me think this way? It is definitely not my childhood experiences that have sent my mind reeling and spinning into the bleakest depths of despair.

A child's life is full of innocence. The light of day brings playfulness but the dark of night must surely show oppression. Everything that is open in the day is hidden at night and takes on an appearance of forebodingness. At night, conveniently, the child sleeps and all the demons that scream for attention remain blissfully ignored.

Or at least, such is the theory. Sometimes the devils scream so loud that the child will wake and join them in their howling. Such is an integral part of growing and not something for the parent to worry unduly about.

I must admit that I was not the type to worry. Never timid, I did not feel fear nor trepidation at saying exactly what I thought nor did I give credence to that in which I did not believe. A child cries out in the night when he has opened his eyes and sees nothing that is familiar. He is frightened, unnerved and unsure of his surroundings. The matriarch stirred from her slumbers hurries to the child, comforts and gives bodily warmth and re-assures that all is well. How much does the child need the presence of the mother? It could well be that simply by turning on the light the child will begin once again to recognise the surroundings and thus feel comforted by restored normality. But to do this is to distance the parent from the offspring and if there is one thing that is left in the primeval brain it is the protection and welfare of it's young.

A child screams in the night and can be comforted by one who would face every demon in hell to liberate her charge from a mere nightmare. But what if the child does not scream? What if the child laughs? Perhaps the child will chortle with such glee that the parent, worried by the nocturnal disturbance feels guilt at disturbing the obvious fun that the child is having.

Can you imagine that? Can you grasp the concept of wishing to intervene? Feeling a need to interrupt but struggling with a guilt that screams at you not to. If a child screams in terror the salvational function of the parent is clearly defined. When laughter is heard it is a different story entirely. The screaming is easily explained - the laughter is not. The anxious cries can be stifled by the safety of a mother's arms - the infantile chortling cannot. But perhaps it can - but - shouldn't the child remain happy? If the laughter is gay and the amusement apparent who are the parents to stop the child's enjoyment and run the risk of subjecting him to the nightmares that may be waiting to take precedence? That, dear reader is the worse thing about it.

They say that ghosts are nothing more than imagination. That they are merely the subconscious transmitting thoughts and secrets that it can no longer keep hidden away in the deep recesses of a mind in turmoil. As for ghost stories, the things that go bump in the night are merely the author's way of expressing those of his emotions that are too heavy to hold onto for any length of time. Guilt, stress, desire, maybe even lust, all can be directed outwards and expressed by the unassuming spectre when the tales are penned in the wee small hours and sleep is denied an uneasy brain once more. The ghost who rattles chains and moans wretchedly is perhaps the personification of a desire for freedom, be it spiritual, emotional or physical. The alluring female phantom - the symbol of elicit desires for that which is unobtainable. The hermit will have his ghosts. When the companionship of flesh and blood is undesirable the need for company is satiated by lissome spirits. They bear none of the human traits of personality and ego but can be shaped and personified as the mortal needs and wishes dictate. Perhaps such a need shows a weakness in the character of the hermit. A desire for company but an unwillingness to compromise towards it's attainment.

Edgar Allen Poe, the writer of stories that would make a persons flesh to creep had a dark overpowering secret fear. He woke screaming in the night in terror of his own premature burial. This underlying fear was reflected in his greatest works. "The Tell-Tale heart, "The Fall of the House of Usher", "The Black Cat", "The Pit and the Pendulum", the inimitable "Raven" all tales of hopeless oppression, of confinement and a need to be rid of such trappings at any cost. The same oppression that he would surely feel were his terrors realized. The pitch darkness  and icyness of the tomb. The enclosure so tight that only the most feeble of movements were possible and finally...the helpless surety that slow and agonizing death is moving ever closer with every strained gasp of stale air.

My belief in the supernatural was skeptical. I would be the first to admit that phantoms existed and even plagued the human race with a goryness of times long gone. These constant reminders of past misdeeds, blackened characters and miscreant acts stemmed purely from the innermost mind of the beholder and thus was anything but supernatural or beyond nature. By the very existence of the occurrence it must be on a par with, even controlled by, nature and, who knows, perhaps the most natural thing in the world. But if it was so, why did it strike such terror into all concerned? Why did it create such confusion and consternation as regards what course of action to take? If the occurrence was one of natures wonders, why did it seem so unnatural? Of course the question we asked ourselves night after night during, after and often in anticipation of the event - Why us? Why was our household cursed by such a hateful phenomena, what had we done to deserve it?

The story begins with a large cloth doll that was given to  my wife Amanda by a friend of hers who worked in the local hospital. I'm sure the lady who made the donation did so in the best of faith as a gift to Amanda's child Robert.

The history of the plaything was not volunteered and to be quite honest was not pursued. Perhaps in the back of our minds we would have preferred not to know if the doll's soulless eyes had witnessed the untimely death of the previous owner. In any case, the doll was accepted graciously and shook at the infant in such a manner as to induce play. Thus the gratitude of the whole family was extended to the donor who sat serenely sipping coffee and swapping local gossip before going on her way. Curiously, we never saw nor heard of her again!

As for the child he, through my ministration toyed with the doll for a while before casting it cruelly aside for older and more established toys.

It is truth to say that the doll was particularly ugly. Many children's toys are - but in a sort of cute manner. This doll could not be classified so in any stretch of the imagination. Made out of stuffed fabric it was designed to resemble a clown and despite being safe to play with for one so young it did not seem to appeal to either him or myself. The upper part of the body was a deep red with small circus-like designs on it. The bowing legs were bright yellow with faded light green vertical, stripes and all together it stood about fifteen inches high. The woollen hair above the blob of a face was once orange in hue but now had aged and the grime from God-knows-where poked out from the red pointed hat in such a way as to suggest unruliness. The off-white, almost rusty hue gave the doll a kind of aging unkemptness. Altogether, it resembled an elderly man dressed in such a way as to attract attention for unwholesome reasons.  From behind, with the hair and the hunched posture the doll gave off an aura of base perversion and in truth, both myself and Amanda were relieved when the thing was quickly discarded.

As for the face, it was an anemic yellow, probably to suggest the clowns greasepaint and the eyes were mere black circles of cloth that stared soullessly out into vacant space. It was difficult enough for myself to look into those limpid, empty eyes without feeling a revulsion for the doll that had barged its way into our lives. The mouth was also cloth, but this time a deep crimson and positioned in such a way to represent a broad beaming smile but only affected a thin-lipped grimace. The lack of nose and ears and the addition of off-white circles to the front of the hat only added to the overall grotesqueness of the despicable buffoon.

Perhaps I was overreacting, but I had made it my intention to lose the damnable thing at the first available opportunity. My chance never arose. The child, although not playing with it singularly utilized it indirectly during games with the other, more homely toys.

This continued for approximately a month. As I have already described, the toy was circuitously included in sessions of merriment. After watching this curious semi-ignorance of the doll I removed the thing from the vicinity of play on several occasions. This was purely to watch the reaction and was partly surprised to receive none. The child never really acknowledged the presence of the doll but on the same level, never totally ignored it. It became quite an enigma.

Eventually the doll was moved upstairs to the child's room and placed upon a chair below the window thus to remain as a particularly ugly decoration. On the few occasions that I noticed it and remarked on it's removal Amanda appeared non-committal. She preferred to leave it where it was just in case (I imagine) her son grew accustomed to its presence. For my part, I sincerely hoped that he would not.

Life continued in its usual way. Typical routines were followed and mundane normality reigned supreme until the fateful night that heralded the beginning of a nightmare that I thought may never end.

It all began on a blustery autumn night many years ago...

Having worked on my car for a few hours in the afternoon and not really improving its performance at all I took Amanda and her son to the local park. The weather was rather mild for the time of year, the winter chill not becoming too severe as to warrant full hard-weather regalia. There was a refreshing nip in the air and being an avid roamer of country by-ways I persuaded them all to accompany me on a constitutional through the open meadows. I had made a rash promise of swings and slides to clinch the decision so up we wrapped and off we went as my dog Toby pulled at his lead in anticipation.

We wandered for a while before I waived to the pressure and spearheaded the way towards the playpark. Robert toddled on ahead, this was, after all, his reward for being prized out of the warmth and into the elements. The day was becoming cloudy and I remember remarking how a storm appeared to be brewing. Robert chortled his way gleefully down the slide for the umpteenth time before making a bee-line for the roundabouts and swings. Amanda followed quickly and watchfully as larger boys on bicycles approached but remained at a safe distance. Toby, having ran himself into the ground returned to our little family group and we all gamboled merrily around on the amusements until the hands of my wristwatch informed me that it would soon be time for the little fellows tea.

Reluctantly we retreated from the frivolity, left the park and home once more as the failing daylight was hastened by the ever thickening black clouds that loomed overhead. The dog was dried (always a source of amusement for the child), Robert was stripped of his cumbersome jacket and boots and Amanda began his tea while I played with him in front of the fire.

All a scene of normality - don't you agree ? A happy little family group whose blissfulness and laughter would soon be interrupted by a terror that never before would  have been thought possible. Even now I sometimes look back to those days in reflective moods and wonder if it ever really happened. Could it all have been just a dream - or a nightmare?

Bob and Toby had been fed and one curled up in it's basket that Amanda had moved into the living room due to the cold, the other played riotously before the fire. Myself and Amanda having decided to eat later in the evening began to watch television before Robert's game was 'heartlessly' interrupted and he was packed sobbing and unceremoniously up to bed.

I remember him as a sensitive child. He was born out of wedlock with an absent father, if that makes any difference. Although I was the nearest thing for him it was a learning curve for us both. I attempted as best I could expecting one day to grow more ready for the role that I had been adopted into. Although never could I have been ready for the events that began that night and continued for many nights afterwards.

The child, having been put to bed, I decided once more to brave the weather. As yet the storm had not broken and as was my occasional habit I decided that I would take the dog for a walk to the local pub, call in at the off-license on the way back and order a home delivery meal before a lazy night in front of the television. The evening went like any other. My faithful companion was walked, acquaintances were renewed and on the last leg of our return the pending storm chose to give vent to all it's fury. I eventually reached home with clothes that were sodden and heavy but my spirits invigorated by the nature that also soon would subject me further to its wrath.

I dried, we ate and settled down for the night in a darkened room. The only light coming from the barely audible television and the flickering of the fire. The fluttering flames warmed our hearts and our bodies. The wine relaxed us even more and soon the prying screen was removed and we made love on the rug before the fire to a background of soft music. The wind howled it's annoyance at all things wholesome and the rain spattered onto the window pane as we lay, our bodies temporarily satiated, in each others arms. The elements outside only added to our indoor comforts. We spoke of love and a future, of oncoming Christmas and plans for the festive season. We talked of possible Christmases to come and still we held each other, the glow from the fire highlighting Amanda's elfin features as we laughed and sipped at the last bottle of wine.

Then it began !

It started off as the merest of sounds from the upper story of the house and Amanda was the one to notice it. She paused in her conversation and lifted her head slightly as a look of concern crossed her sweet features. I watched her, ready to reassure that Robert was having another of his noisy dreams and prepared to brave the chill of the hallway to climb the stairs and thus ensure that all was well. She relaxed.
"Just Bobby I suppose...", she reasoned, "...he was murmuring in his sleep again !" I nodded my agreement and kissed her closed eyes in tenderness. She snuggled into the crook of my arm and ran her fingers across my chest. Eventually we took ourselves to bed and lay in silence listening to the rain as it pounded the bedroom window.

The murmuring in the next room began again. Once more Amanda stiffened in motherly anxiousness. Again she relaxed when the sound was not repeated after a few seconds. We spoke softly of the child and his nocturnal babblings and then it occurred once more. This time louder and Amanda shook her head in loving exasperation as my body shook with a silent laugh. Robert was dreaming again and talking to the figures behind his soft eyelids. Then he was talking louder, mostly infantile gibberish but intermixed with the occasional word from his limited vocabulary. We heard the word he had picked up from me when I dropped a hammer on my foot and Amanda tutted. Most words he struggled over, THAT one he picked up first time and repeated it as clear as an obscene bell. In fact for quite a time it became his party-piece, saved and practiced only for social functions.

But his rambling continued. Gently increasing in volume until he was almost bellowing. He was definitely holding a conversation with some fancy of his who was standing right at the furthest reaches of his dream world. Negotiations began as to which of us would leave the cosy confines of the duvet to settle him down before he woke himself up. They were still ongoing when Robert decided that he had enraptured his fantasy audience for  long enough and lapsed into soft murmurs again before ceasing imagined communication altogether. Amused, but somewhat relieved Amanda and myself lapsed into a warm, snug sleep.

The following day passed very much like the last. My work involves being away from home quite regularly and the days between duty tend to follow a distinct similarity. The weather had improved in that it was not stormy but the elemental tantrum of the previous night had heralded the way for the harsher weather. Soon ice began to form in the early mornings and as night fell.

While walking Toby on our nocturnal jaunt to the public house and back the grass crackled underfoot and glistened in the moon's auric light. The park as always was deserted and in the absence of lights from civilization I could see a multitude of stars as they twinkled in the crisp night. The mist from my breath hanging heavily in the air above my head, I whistled to Toby who re-appeared out of the darkness and we began our trek home to warmth and to Amanda. Idly I wondered about the happening of the previous night and who Robert was addressing with such gusto in his slumbers. I pondered what small thought zipped through his head to create such vivid dreams and hoped that they were nice ones. I lit a cigarette while Toby crashed into the surrounding bushes making the most of his last opportunity for natural functions. Duty done, he walked defiantly to heel for the rest of the way home.

I reached the house and let myself in the door. I found Amanda had already claimed her place before the fire and was sipping from a full glass of wine. She replaced it on the hearth alongside another.
"Mine ?", I questioned, feigning naivet
"Why not...", she responded humorously, "...my other lover hasn't turned up !".
Standing, she undid the sash of her bathrobe. Toby would have to dry himself this evening.

Life continued in its tender simplicity for the next couple of days before I had to return to work. My job, although sometimes a bind, afforded me a good salary and free time.

I was due to depart the following morning and so my preparations had to be performed the previous night. It was never a tearful time but a broodingly quiet one. I knew exactly when I would be returning but still neither of us relished the time we would be spending alone. Our feelings ran deeper than we cared to give voice to. The following morning I rose, kissed her on the forehead and promised to phone as soon as I was able. I loaded up my car and drove off towards the dawn,  leaving behind me a family with whom, to the best of my awareness, all was well.

The four days of my absence passed slowly at first and then quicker as time went on. Soon it was the last day and I could make my way back to home and to the waiting arms of Amanda. I was due to leave at eight in the evening, and an hour before my shift ended I called to inform her that I would be home by eleven. It was my intention to break up my journey with a visit to one of the pubs on the way home. This also usually served as an opportunity to avail myself of food and so the idea was often greeted warmly by one whose time in the kitchen was rarely enjoyed. Due to this fact she would occasionally suggest it herself. On this occasion though, she seemed strangely reluctant for me to be away from the house for any longer than was necessary. In fact, so strange were her actions that I questioned her on her motives. She simply replied that she missed me and wanted us to be together as soon as possible. Her voice was strange but I decided not to probe any further. Doubtlessly I would be informed of the problems that were weighing her down when she was ready. I considered that perhaps the boisterous Robert had been giving her a hard time, something that he was apt to do in my absence.

The temptation proved too much,  I stopped off at the pub and took a bar snack. As a kind of compromise, I was home by ten o'clock. As I parked the car outside the house the front door was opened by Amanda wearing a nervous smile. She had obviously been looking out of the window for my return. As usual, Toby bolted from the house to greet me and we made the customary fuss of each other before I locked the car and approached the house.

It was then, in the light from the hallway that I noticed Amanda's expression and the tiredness of her eyes. I voiced my concern but it remained unsatisfied as she stepped aside to let me in. She reached up to kiss me on the cheek. Usually this ritual is considerably more intense. Her usual reaction is similar to Toby's but considerably more private.
I attempted some small conversation, carefully following my usual inquiries as to the health of everyone. The child was fine, she stated, during the day, but during the night she just didn't know what to do anymore. Apparently his dreams had increased in intensity and now the usual murmurings heralded the onslaught of the playful bellowing. But it seemed that the bellowing now lapsed into soft chuckles and quiet laughter. I scoffed rather insensitively at her suggestion that the child needed treatment. I decreed that if the dreams were bad then Robert would not be laughing. It was my opinion that he was just reliving recent memories of playful summer evenings when the weather was more lenient and we played as a family in the garden immediately prior to his bed-time. He always used to sleep better in those sunny days and now they had gone for what seemed - to him, for an eternity, his mind was obviously redressing the deficit. I re-assured her that it gave no cause for concern and this elevated her fears slightly, but she was young in years herself and motherhood had been dropped irreparably upon her. I kissed her nose and she bestowed upon me a wan smile. I poured her a drink and we sat together on the sofa. She retained her cautious silence.

Later that night the child once more began it's nocturnal conversations. First the murmurs then the shouts and then the laughter. Strange intense laughter as if something was amusing him to the point of fanaticism. I felt Amanda's figure stiffen next to me as we lay in the bed and heard her sharp intake of breath. The laughter echoed around the silent house and from the bottom of the stairs I heard a slight movement. The child had woken Toby too from his canine slumbers and the dog, naturally protective, had moved to the closed door and was sniffing the air in the hallway from beneath it. I felt a contagious fear leap from Amanda to myself as the laughter intensified. Wide-eyed, she whispered for me to go and take a look in the child's room. At this point I realized she was no stranger to this.


Attempting not to show my feelings I stepped from the bed and pulled on my jeans while Amanda, after a moments thought, rose to accompany me. As I fumbled for the light switch I felt her hand grasp mine.
"No lights - just look !", she whispered fearfully. I could see her tear-stained eyes in the sparse light and regarded her for a second. How many times had she performed this ritual during my absence?

Placing my hand upon the doorknob of the child's room I opened the door softly and soundlessly peered inside. The sight that met my eyes drew a shiver from Amanda and a clammy feeling from myself. The child was standing up in his cot bellowing and chortling gaily. He faced the window where the high-riding moon flooded in. From it's light I could see quite plainly that the child's eyes were open and the luminous, milky glow of the celestial orb bathed the figure of the clown. It sat looking even more sinister than before in the pale light upon the chair where it had been previously placed. I could almost imagine the hateful thing had heard the soft swish of the door over the carpet and in a wish to remain undetected had stopped whatever it was doing that caused such amusement. In my mind it wished to appear innocent - which, of course it was, being only a revolting stuffed toy!          

Amanda, being able to bear the sight no longer rushed to the cot and gathered the child in her arms. Robert, although taken by surprise, made no protest and cooed merrily. I reached for the switch and flooded the room with comforting light. Both Amanda and myself were pale of face after the scene before us. She rushed past me with the child in her arms towards our bedroom.

Mother and child settled into the large double bed and I listened momentarily at the nonsensical conversation from Robert as he, in his own burbling, infant language informed his mother all about the happenings of the previous few minutes. I heard her ssob bitterly before settling down in the bed. Merely through curiosity, I made my way over to the toy that had caused such amusement and possibly trauma. It was still grotesque but its eeriness had abated as the electric light dispersed the glow of the moon that illuminated it so terribly.

I lifted the doll from it's position and deep in thought turned it over in my hands for an examination. I was not sure of what I was looking for, but yet found nothing untoward. It was, after all, just a particularly ugly doll. I repositioned it and pondered for a second before extinguishing the light. I closed the door softly and made my way back to Amanda and her son. I was relieved to find that they were both asleep and breathing regularly before I climbed back into the bed.

The following day after a refreshing though fitful sleep the events of the night seemed to pale towards oblivion. I could tell that the mystery still bothered Amanda but nothing was mentioned about it until later in the evening. The day passed unremarkably and when the hands of the clock approached the child's bedtime a gloom fell over Amanda and she became morose. Robert, on the other hand, thought nothing of it and continued to be his usual contented self until he was made ready for bed.

Seeing Amanda's nervousness of the whole affair I offered to take the child up to bed. The offer was gratefully accepted and Amanda stayed behind petting Toby.

Goodnights were said and the child with my help negotiated the stairs. Once we reached the top he shook his hand free of mine and rushed towards the bedroom. He entered the room and without the slightest glance at the doll waited patiently beside the cot until I lifted him in and tucked the blankets around him for the night. His blue eyes gazed upwards. Tired but showing not the slightest hint of fear for what may, or may not happen during the night. But then again, why should he? Out of the three of us it was he who seemed to be enjoying himself. It was he who disturbed the peace in the house with his laughter. It was also he who caused his mother and myself such cruel palpitations.

I waited around for a few minutes and talked to help the little chap off to sleep. When his weary eyes closed, on a sudden thought, I approached the doll and again picked it up. It was still a doll. It did not wriggle as I held it, it had not suddenly sprouted horns or fangs - it was just as it had always been - a desperately ugly, although harmless doll.

I turned it over in my hands and looked into it's face. This was something that I did not enjoy doing. I held it up so that its head was level with mine and shook my head with a feeling of stupidity. How could a doll warrant the scrutiny that I was giving it? What was I expecting to find as I held it up for examination my fingers pressing into it's middle as if to inflict pain? I replaced it on the chair and after a sudden fancy checked to see if the child was asleep. Confirming to myself the affirmative I again picked up the doll and set it down on the other side of the room away from the window. It just was not logical to assume that a figure like the doll could cause such a reaction in a child that ignored its very existence at all other times. It was my fancy that Robert woke in the night and was merely looking towards the moonlight as it flooded in the window. After all - it was the only light in the room and bound to attract the attention of one so young. I resolved to discuss this with Amanda and note down the times that his murmurings occurred. I felt sure that they would be traced to light, moonlit nights.

Taking a last, contemptuous glance at the doll, still positioned as I had left it (Why shouldn't it be?). I checked the sleeping infant, turned off the light and prior to closing the door took a final look around the room. The night was cloudy and if it stayed that way the moon would not be apparent through the window and our sleep would not be interrupted. My spirits lightened and proud of my deduction I left the room and hurried downstairs to explain my theory to Amanda.

When I reached the living room I noticed that she had broken her own standards and allowed Toby to lay across the sofa. As I entered his head was rested on her lap and she gazed up at me with barely suppressed fear. Approaching her, I patted the dog, kissed her on the forehead, bestowed her with my most winning smile and expounded my theory to her. I spoke confidently, attempting to disguise the relief in my own voice. She listened intently and although not entirely convinced my confidence infected her and she smiled nervously. I realized that it was the first smile I had seen since my return that displayed any of her old warmth.

The rest of the night was spent before the television, cuddling in the darkness. Her body, although appearing to relax, still gave the impression of a spring, coiled for action against any that threatened her loved ones. I decided that such a feeling was only natural and once my theory had been proved she would relax properly.

Later on that evening we lay in the bed. My attempts at seduction had gained only partial submission and were eventually abandoned altogether. She snuggled close and I felt the warmth of her breath upon my cheek.
"The doll IS evil !", she sighed,
"It only LOOKS evil...", I compromised "...how can a stuffed doll be a beast in disguise", I scolded her semi-playfully. She laughed softly.
"I suppose you are right !", she reasoned cuddling closer.
"Of course I'm right...", I clarified, "...just wait and see !"
"I hope so !", she said softly, almost inaudibly.
"I hope so too !", I thought silently letting my confidence slip slightly.

The night passed without incident as I explained it would and Amanda's spirits lifted considerably. Her uninterrupted sleep had done her a power of good and again her playful laughter echoed around the house. It was a welcome sound to my ears.      The day passed quietly. I think both of us were relieved and wished to catch up on some relaxation. Robert, unaware of all the tension he had caused created his usual brand of havoc as the hours ticked past.

When he was placed in his cot for the night it was performed as a family group. Even Toby padded up the stairs to join us. He sniffed protectively around the room until he reached the clown placed on the floor. He sniffed it once while I watched and moved on to other, more interesting scents indifferent to the empty eyes that regarded him dully. Once the child was set for the night we returned en-masse downstairs.

The following morning, after another uninterrupted night, Amanda seemed much better. It was almost as if the trepidation she had felt earlier in the week had disappeared. She even managed to joke about the clown, kicking it in pretend defiance as she rescued Robert from his nocturnal prison in the morning. I was scheduled to work that evening. I was back on the accursed night-shift and as my time of departure approached, Amanda lapsed once again back into her nervous mood. I reassured her that all would be well and that my theory had been proved. She smiled bravely and agreed that she had been a fool to think that a doll could create such hysteria. I left that evening brimming with confidence that all would be well and thus it would remain until my return a few days later.

The drive to work was frustrating to say the very least. The traffic was heavy and the overcast sky spilling out torrents of rain reduced the stream of vehicles to little more than a crawl. As you can imagine I arrived at my place of work in a mood that could not be described as one of my better ones. Needless to say, it was not improved by the fact that I had a long night ahead of me. Obviously I did not realize the trauma that was awaiting.

At approximately two o'clock in the morning I received a phone call from a very distraught Amanda. Apparently Robert was laughing again. She was phoning from the extension in the bedroom and in the background  I could hear it all. The child was laughing loudly, very loudly and I began to fear for his vocal chords. I listened as Amanda fell silently sobbing. The sound of infantile merriment seemed to have a demonic ring to it - but I passed it off as imagination. Imploring Amanda to be calm, I explained my theory to her once more. I did it slowly and deliberately as if to convince myself and cover every loophole in it that may arise. Sobbing, she screamed at me that the sky was still overcast and there was no moon. I halted, shocked and suddenly terrified as she explained that she had looked in the child's room only to find the boy's face twisted in evil shadow. He was laughing throatilly and facing the clown once more. My scalp crept as she explained that she could not even bring herself to pluck the child from the cot even though the tears were streaming from his wide staring eyes.

Carefully I detailed the course of action to take. she was to enter the room and rescue the child, they were then to retreat to the sanctuary of the living room and play music or switch on the television for company. For my part I resolved to leave my work immediately and be by her side in less than two hours.
"Hurry...", she screamed as the line crackled and went dead. I did not need prompting.

The journey home was eventful. Thankfully, due to the hour the motorway was all but clear and I worked the car to its maximum. I rushed as if all the demons from hell were on my tail. Ruefully I wondered if I was driving towards them!

Reaching the house I found it all in blackness. I placed my key in the lock and opened the door. Toby assailed me, but it was not in greeting. He shot past my nervous form and sat quivering behind me. I was not encouraged. I coaxed him in as I entered the house closing the door absent-mindedly to the outside world. All was still, silent darkness. I felt the gooseflesh rise on my arm as I approached the stairs. Taking them one at a time, nervously - nothing stirred. The only sound that broke the oppressive silence was Toby as he retreated into the living room. It made me draw in my breath pensively.

Up into the infernal darkness I continued, not daring to consider what I may find when I reached the top. Nor was I looking forward to the dark foreboding landing. As I placed a foot on the final stair I heard a sharp whisper...
"David !". It had an urgent sound and came from mine and Amanda's bedroom. Slowly I walked through the open door and saw the figure in bed beneath the sheets.
"...no light, give me your hand !". It was a familiar voice, soft and quavering slightly. I lowered my hand from the light switch and extended it towards the bed. It was grasped by a cool palm.
"Amanda?", I inquired perplexed.
"Who else?...", she whispered guiding my hand slowly towards her. "...it's over David. I tried to phone you at work but you had already left...but as you are home...". She left the statement unfinished as I felt my hand placed upon the warm, soft flesh of her breast. she sat up in the bed and I leaned over to kiss her. Her mouth crushed against mine with a passion that I had not felt since the whole thing started. I responded with equal desire as she removed my jacket. she broke away the kiss gasping...
"...Check on Bobby first!..." ,she breathed huskily, "...I'll be waiting. Reluctantly I tore myself away from her and unbuttoning my shirt left the room. I opened the child's door and ignited my lighter in the darkness.

There was no moon to bathe the room in light and the small one was sleeping peacefully. I was amazed to find his small arms tightly holding the figure of the clown. As my light fell upon his face he stirred slightly. The clown's face seemed somehow evious in the shadow. I laughed silently, hardly able to contain my relief, clicked off the lighter and left the room.

On re-entering our room I found that Amanda, always a fan of candlelight, had indulged herself and was now laying upon the bed. I felt my passions rising as the soft glow of the flickering candle flame reflected on her pale skin. I removed the remainder of my clothes and lay down with her. As my hands began to explore her body I whispered my love for her and said,
"Who'd have thought it was just a child's hysteria ?...", she retaliated with her body and questioned me irritably on the statement. I lay back "...All that fuss because he wanted that damned doll in the cot with him!". I closed my eyes feeling pleasure wash over me from her touch. Her body stiffened and she sat up urgently. Even in the sparse light, I could see her eyes blazing fear.
"What do you mean ?", she hissed, her voice quavering.
"You've put the doll in the cot!" I answered, the terror in her eyes making me uneasy.
"I BURNT THE DOLL !", she cried.

From just outside the room I heard the sound of a door closing softly and the sound of something heavy being pushed behind it.
"MY BABY !", she screamed as the sound of maniacal, infantile laughter echoed around the stillness of the house. From downstairs Toby began to howl dismally. I looked at Amanda in fear. Her eyes had taken on a wide, dead appearance and her skin bore the slightest tinge of yellow, rather like a clown's greasepaint. In the candlelight her hair appeared straggly, and unkempt as if to suggest unruliness. I screamed in helplessness as beside me on the bed the lifeless, floppy figure gave a low demonic chuckle.
                             
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