I guess you could say I’m brave. Ever since I was a child, I took a fancy to all things scary or in other ways creepy. So I didn’t think twice when I saw that doll… that doll!

My mom always used to take me to garage sales and yard sales when I was a kid. That’s where I found her; this petite china doll. I found her carefully placed in a box full of old, stuffed toys, rank with smells of mildew and dust.

She sat like a pretty flower atop a field of dead grass. Her dress, clean, except for a few pale stains; her hair, neat, except for a few tangled strands. It was the doll’s pale face, however, that pulled me in. Lips so red. The color of fresh crimson. And eyes so wide in her skull. They stared. Stared straight back at me, her face unchanging. I mean, why would it change, she is just a doll.

Dolls always used to creep me out. Maybe it was their near-realism, yet knowing they aren’t alive, that caused my skin to crawl. That was enough for me to pluck her from the box. If it scared me, I had to have it!

I brought the old thing to my mom, careful to hold her ceramic head, cupped in one of my hands for safety.
“You really want that?” my mom quizzed me, brow raised at her daughter with confusion. I nodded, my ponytail bobbing with my head. She sighed and complied, although the tender of the sale said I could have it for free. I happily grabbed her and began running my fingers through her matted, hardened hair. I should’ve saw the signs. Pale, red stains upon her dress. Blood red lips painted in a smile on her face.

I hugged the doll, though mom warned me I should wash her first. I felt drawn to her. She loved me. I loved her, so I couldn’t stay away.
That night, she sat beside me in my bed. I tucked her in beside me as we closed our eyes for bed. Wide eyes rolled back when I laid her on her back, so they remained glued on me.
“Even though you’re scary, I love you,” I whispered before I slipped into slumber.
“I love you too,” she replied with a wide smile.