Kinda stereotypical doll story. Horrifying otherwise
On my eighth birthday, I got a present that would change my life forever. It was a beautiful doll that looked a lot like me. That is why my grandmother bought it for me. I named her Polly. However, days after I got the doll, things began to get weird, but I didn’t notice.
I slowly became unsocial, never having friends over. All I needed was Polly to make me happy. She was my best and only friend. All I would do was go to school, and come home to play with Polly. I never bothered to make friends, or talk to teachers. I even stopped trying in school. I had been a perfect student until I got the present. Nobody really noticed, though, so I didn’t mind.
After about a week of having Polly, I stopped eating real food. I just didn’t feel right eating normal food, so I would always go out to the backyard (we lived in a forest area), after telling my mom I wasn’t really hungry that night, and find some woodland creature to hunt and kill for dinner. My mom didn’t notice me not eating much, until week three. She even took me to the doctor a few times, asking about what was wrong with me. The doctor always had the same answer. I was at a healthy weight and was not sick. After our third visit to Dr. Cortez, my mom decided I was fine and just going through a “stage” as she called it.
After a month of having Polly, my mom noticed me sleeping in my closet instead of my usual place: my bed. And when she would come to check on me, not only would I be in the closet, but Polly would be in my bed. I would also sleep with my eyes wide open. My mom just ignored it, also saying it was a “stage”.
Three months later, I got a haircut. I wanted a bob, and that is what I got. The creepy thing was, after I got my haircut, Polly’s hair started to fall out. It only stopped when her hair was exactly like mine. My mom then knew things were not right with the doll, but I would not part with it because Polly was my friend. She was the only one who understood me.
My mom also told me that when she was about to fall asleep, she would find Polly right next to her bed. Polly would stare at her intently. My mom would put her back in my room, but always find Polly in the same spot when she went back to bed. Eventually, my mom ignored it. I now know that Polly was checking to see if my mom was still awake.
After almost a year, things got stranger. My skin, hair, and eyes started to turn a glowing green. This resulted in another doctor visit, but he said there was nothing he could do. This, my mom finally decided wasn’t a “phase”. She watched me as much as possible. She even quit her job, a crazy move for a single mother, so she could home school me and make sure nothing happened to me.
Then the worst night of both of our lives happened. My mom woke up in the middle of the night, after hearing the backdoor open and slam shut. She ran outside, after noticing that I wasn’t in my bed, and neither was Polly. Once outside, she spotted us immediately. We were walking towards the lake, hand in hand. She ran after us, and was almost too late. Polly was leading me into the water, clearly trying to drown me. Polly turned her head, all the way around, towards my mom. She smiled a sick, malevolence grin that sent shivers down her spine. My mom knew she had to act now, before it was too late.
She ran to me and grabbed my hand, but I pushed her away. She fought until she had me, struggling, in her arms. She placed me in my bed, and locked me in. She sat there, trying to comfort me. I was hysterical. Then, we heard the tapping. We looked at the window, and found Polly standing there staring at us, with her evil green eyes. My mom opened the window, and grabbed her. My mom ran out of my room and threw Polly in the fireplace.
It was on my tenth birthday when I got the courage to ask my mom what Polly was doing, and what had happened to me. She said that my grandmother got Polly for free, from a woman that seemed crazy. Her daughter died days before she got rid of the doll. My mom showed me the research she did, and it turned out that the previous eight owners of the doll were all killed in various ways. The first killed was one year old, the second was two years old, the third was three years, the fourth was four years, the fifth was five years, the sixth was six years, the seventh was seven years, and then there was me. I was the only one to survive.
I am fine now, after much counseling and bed rest, unlike the unlucky seven girls who came across Polly the staring dolly*, which is what my family has called her to this day.