Why I Am Afraid of Dolls (pt. 2, scary)

“The doll was swinging on a small playground a few feet in front of the window…”

This is a dream I had last night. I have lived through this one several times. Sorry it’s so long!

The first thing I notice is that I am in a cottage. Not a foreign cottage that I have never seen, but a cottage I have visited many times in my dreams. The walls are made of bricks, with one window closed by small wooden doors. One of these doors was cracked open, letting moonlight spill through, so I walked over to it. Instead of opening the window doors right away, I listened for whatever was out there. I heard something creaking, and a bit of laughter. The laughter echoed, and a breeze chilled my arms. I opened the window.

There was a girl there. Not a regular girl, but a girl who seemed to be made of something else. Cloth? She looked very much like a rag doll. She had white skin- not just white, but as white as white can get. Her hair looked like yarn, and it was yellow with burnt tips. She had a black smudge on each cheek. Her eyes were an inky red-black. Her mouth was made of stitches, and it crooked upward like some demented half-smile. That was the most haunting part, the mouth.

The doll was swinging on a small playground a few feet in front of the window. When she saw me, she stood and floated over in front of the window so that she was right in front of me (I took a step back and closed my eyes for a while).

“What took you so long?” she crooned. “We’ve been waiting.”

I turned around and tried to run, but I didn’t get anywhere. All of a sudden, the cottage was gone; I was chained to a table; the demented doll thing stood over me. Next to her was a rack of needles. All kinds. Some had various medicines (or poisons, I don’t know), others were sewing needles. I remember seeing a few that were at least an inch thick. The doll took the first needle and slipped it into my arm. She didn’t stop until it was several inches in, which I suppose was possible since it was a dream. She did this with more and more needles. She never ran out of them. I couldn’t feel it- I was so wrapped up in the mental bit of the whole thing. Like, I literally have needles on every square inch of me.

That was when I realized I was dreaming. That was when the dream became lucid. Once the dream was lucid, I could feel it all. Every prick, every stab. I shook myself, trying to be free. It only hurt worse.

“Don’t worry, it won’t last long.” the girl told me. “Besides, you deserve every bit of it.” I remember at that moment all I could do was scream and scream and cry, but I was still chained down. The girl became angry. She opened her palm and every single needle jerked from my body, and she left. I bled and bled. Finally, I tipped the table over and woke up.

When I woke, my pillow was already soaked. I literally cried for two and a half hours after that.

Sincerely,

Kennedy

“I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.”

– Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay (Finnick)

Why I Am Afraid of Dolls (pt. 1)

There was a field of dandelions…

When I was little, maybe 11 years old, I had a few hallucinations. They were not dreams, which confused me, because they were actually happening in real life. I do not know where they came from. To be honest, I don’t want to. This is one of them. 

I walked into my bedroom, sometime in the late evening. My initial reaction was shock, because there was no bedroom there. There was a field of dandelions, with a rock in the distance. On the rock was a little girl- probably 5 years old. I thought she was really pretty because she had golden curls and a sun dress, and she sat on the rock reading a book. After a second, I stepped into the field on a dandelion.

At that moment, she looked up at me and I saw her face. It was wretched. She has those black eyes, evil smile. She stood up and started to walk toward me, her grin only getting bigger. I slammed the door and ran down the stairs and hid in the bathroom.

I did not tell anybody. In fact, I never told anybody after that, which makes we wary of posting it. I wish SO MUCH that I had told somebody, and we could have stopped any more from coming, but I didn’t. I was way too afraid. I just hid for a while and tried to forget. That was so stupid. So stupid. I remember that I had hallucinations on two different days than that one- each after taking a dose of medicine for something. (That gave me a bit of a phobia for medicine, but I’m slowly getting over it.) Every time I swallow a pill, I think of the hallucinations I had on those days, and it freaks me out.

I wish I had told someone because I know that whoever I told now wouldn’t believe me after all these years.

Until part 2 comes,

Kennedy

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
― Franklin D. Roosevelt

My First Thoughts About Nightmares

Here’s one thing only a few people know about me:

I get these dreadful nightmares. They suck. I sometimes wish people could understand why, but then again that would be sad. What makes them so bad? (Yes, there will be a point to this…)

1. They make you feel pathetic because they make you afraid of the most stupid things. I am afraid of needles. I am afraid of being upside-down. I am slightly afraid of the color white. It’s pitiful.

2. They make you lose sleep…. A LOT. A few hours of sleep a day, max. You’re either afraid to go to sleep, or you wake up because of a bad dream.

3. They target your weaknesses. When you have real nightmares, they aren’t always about murderers or zombies. Actually, I’ve found that most of mine are about my hardest insecurities or failures. They take things that would only scare you, and twist them up until you unravel….

So what’s the point? Well, normally I write about the nightmares I have. I start out writing what happened, and then a tweak it to make it a little bit less scary. I do this a couple of times until I have just a story. The reason I’m telling you this is because I’m thinking of putting a few of those little stories up here. Don’t worry, they won’t scare you. 😉

Sweet dreams,

Kenny

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone