Short Sad/Scary Stories

Scary: Why I Hate Human-Like Dolls

I admit, when I was young, I loved dolls, especially with those ones with glass eyes that look like they're real. But I guess I got sick and scared of them while growing up, so I stashed them somewhere in boxes or in my closet. My mom says to just get rid of them.

I tried to, but failed. Why and how? I'll tell you.

"Hurry! We're going to be late for your little sister's ballet recital!" yelled my mom from downstairs. 

I grumbled. She's the one that wanted me to put these dolls in garbage bags and now she's rushing me. Help me at least! 

Dad opened my door. "Ready, pumpkin?"

I wiped sweat from my forehead. "There's too much. I can't finish before mom explodes." 

"Just finish it when we get back. It's not like they're gonna run somewhere." Dad burst out laughing at his own joke. 

I was laughing too, because I thought it was impossible. At least, I thought it was. 

So, we left for my little sister's ballet performance of Swan Lake. She played a part as a swan, and I have to admit, for a five-year-old, she's good. 

By the time we got home, it was 9 p.m. We got home later than usual because we went out for dinner to congratulate my little sis for her first successful performance. 

"Hey, I'm going to finish up on my... cleaning," I said, heading up the stairs.

"Need help, hon?" asked my dad. 

"No. I got it," I replied.

Let me tell you: I regreted rejecting his kindness.

As I headed up the stairs to my room, I heard giggling. It was suspicious, but I shrugged it off, thinking it might just be my sister playing a prank on me because my first ballet recital was a failure: I tripped and caused a domino effect on the setting.

I was outside my bedroom door by now when the giggling suddenly got louder. I'm pretty sure my little sister didn't head up the stairs before me. I was starting to get goosebumps all over. 

My hand froze on the doorknob. I felt a slight breeze on my feet and looked down, my eyes widening.

Foot shadows were casting from the other side of my door. 

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. 

I swallowed. 

Then, my hand moved on its own. I felt the cold feeling of the door knob wrap against my palm. My wrist turned, slowly. 

Suddenly, the door burst open and the scene of my room made me stagger back. I held my hand over my mouth.

All my dolls, and the ones that were in the trash bag, have somehow escaped and scattered everywhere in my room: My bed, my shelves, everywhere! 

Their heads were were going all over the place, like sped-up bobble heads. Their combined giggles was defeaning and eerie. I covered my ears and screamed.

I blacked out after that.

But I guess my parents found me and carried me to my bed, the feeling of familiar fabric grazing my skin. 

You and I might think it was a dream, but no, I'm sure it was real. 

Why?

Because there's a doll at the foot of my bed. 

Staring at me.

Smiling.

Giggling.

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What do you think...? Creepy... am I right?