“I don’t like the way it’s looking at me,” I told Tom.
“It’s a doll. It’s not watching you,” he answered.
I walked to the corner of the room. “It’s still watching me.” I went to the other corner of the room. “Still watching me. I’m traumatized.” I hid my face.
Tom rolled his eyes and lifted it from the box. “It’s a doll, Amber.”
I backed away as if it were possessed. What if it was possessed? It looked like it would be exactly the kind of doll that would be possessed.
“My grandma always gives a doll to the girl grandchildren,” Tom continued. “She collected these.”
I shuddered. I know people collect dolls. I remember watching a show awhile back about women who buy dolls that look like newborns and they treat them like children. Personally, those types of people belong in a VC Andrews novel but that’s just my opinion.
“Why are you climbing on the couch?” Tom asked. “And making a cross symbol with your fingers?”
“I swear it just winked at me.”
“The eyes don’t even shut!”
“Exactly.” I swallowed. “We should keep it in the closet. In the box. So….it doesn’t get broken.”
My real reason was so we wouldn’t get murdered in our sleep. I’m hoping it can’t jump. Tom would say that no, it can’t jump because it’s made of wax. But it’s been around awhile so it could be inhabited by a spirit. That can happen. I’ve seen shows on the SyFy channel where things like chairs and guns piss ghosts off and then they’re like, “I’m going to terrorize this family. Mwa-ha-ha!”
And plus, her hair looks red.
Red was the color of Chucky’s hair.
Remember Chucky? The satanic doll killer?
I’m sure it’s just a regular (freaky) doll.
Still, to be on the safe side, I covered the box with a blanket.
Just to, you know, suffocate it.
Just in case.