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Pediophobia (Fear of Dolls)
It’s almost three in the morning again. They keep me up every night. I’ve tried boxing them up and sticking them in the attic. It doesn’t work. I can hear their little nails scratching the cardboard. They don’t like to be contained.
I get up and turn them to face the wall. No, that’s even scarier. Now they look as if they’re huddled together, planning my demise. I turn them back around. Great, now I can see their faces. Why do their painted smiles always seem so malicious?
I told my dad about my issue with dolls, but he just laughed and said I’d get over it. He doesn’t understand.
I can feel their beady eyes on me as I snuggle into bed. I stare back, never blinking. My vison become blurry. Soon I can see them moving. Ever so slightly...
My eyes start to sting, so I have to close them. I only shut them for a second. I hope they can’t see that I’m not looking. They notice. They always notice.
I remember the day my Aunt Marie gave me them. I liked them at first. They were beautiful antiques. That night, when I shut off the light, I noticed stark-white faces glowing in the darkness. I never played with them again.
They’re staring at me again. I wish they would stop. As I drift to sleep I can hear their chanting. Every so softly, they whisper my name.
Amelia…
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Favorite Quote:
"When one door closes, another one opens"
I love it! :}