The Eyes Have It

When I was about 5 years old, I started collecting Madame Alexander's Dolls of the World. Once I had acquired several of those dolls, I started wanting larger dolls to add to my collection. So when I was in second grade, my mom gave me a 15 inch vinyl doll dressed in a Victorian style brown velvet dress with a matching hat. She came wrapped in a box with a clear window showcasing the doll in all her beauty. While I was excited to get a new doll for my collection, there was something unsettling about this particular doll. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want to take her out of the box. I simply told Mom I just didn't want her clothes to get dusty, and there, wrapped in her box, the doll stayed for several days.

I finally decided to take the doll out of her cardboard sarcophagus and get a closer look at her. While I had the doll in my hands, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling building up inside of me, my brother, Tad, just happened to come into my room. I'm sure he must have sensed my uneasiness about the doll because he proceeded to tell me the scariest story about a doll scratching out some little girl's eyes (oh yeah... I also have a thing about eyes). Well, I just laughed it off, but as soon as Tad left the room, I packed that vinyl beast back into her box where she stayed for the next 4 years. Not wanting to hurt Mom's feelings, I stuck with the whole premise of wanting to keep the doll pristine. During the day, the box was on display in my room, but at night, I put that box in the far corner of my closet and shut the door.

So 4 years after I got that creepy doll, our house caught on fire while we were on vacation. Let me just stop you here, I do not think the doll started the fire. Although, having that thought for the first time just now, really gave me the chills. No, I repeat, the doll did not start the fire. We pretty much lost everything in the fire and I have to say, as devastating as losing your home can be, I found some solace in the knowledge that the doll was gone and I decided then and there that my doll collecting days were behind me. It was just too risky of a hobby.

Several months later, my grandmother and my great aunt decided to surprise me with a gift. I couldn't wait to see what was in the gift bag. As soon as I put my hand in the bag, I realized I probably should have told them that I was no longer interested in dolls so they wouldn't have wasted their money buying me a new one. As I pulled the doll out of the bag, my heart stopped when I saw the brown velvet dress and matching hat. Trying to catch my breath I asked, "Where did you find another doll like this?" To which my great aunt replied, "We found your old one in the rubble and took her to my friend who restores dolls." (AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!) Quick on my feet, I asked my grandmother if I could keep the doll (who mind you no longer had her box prison thanks to the fire) at her house so I would have something special of mine there.

That was the beginning of my pediophobia, or fear of dolls. I have what I like to call a rational case of pediophobia. I am not scared of all dolls, just the evil ones. It's all in the eyes. If you look into enough dolls' eyes, and if you're honest with yourself, you'll know what I mean.

Some 17 years later, shortly after my grandfather had passed away (and no, I don't think the doll killed him), Mom and I were helping my grandmother pack up her house so she could move in with my folks. My grandmother reached inside one of the closets and pulled out that same doll and asked me, "Would you like to take her home with you?" Mom, aware of my fear at this point and now a bit of a pediophobe herself, said, "Well she's not coming to my house!" Somehow, that doll ended up in the donation pile but every now and again, I can't help but think our paths will cross again.