Missing Children



I always had strange and vivid dreams, as a child, and even now, though I’m into my twenties. One dream always comes to mind when I’m browsing in antique stores. Every time I spot a doll, at least one of those porcelain ones with the glass eyes, you know the type, the type of eyes that seem to gaze into your soul? Well, some of them are so detailed and realistic, they give me the creeps. But as I was saying, when I was a child, I had such a messed up dream, and that may be why I still don’t enjoy looking at those porcelain dolls, and also, why I don’t enjoy them looking back at me.

The Dream
Once, long ago, there were these deep, dark woods that many children were terrified of. There was an old woman living in a cottage out there, and many people claimed she was a witch. She seemed nice enough, but she always had this look in her eye when she saw children, as if she were eying them as prey. Now, many women would visit this old lady in hopes of learning their future and whatnot, and learning home remedies for illnesses, and gaining knowledge of some old wives’ tales. Sometimes, the woman would even sell herbal tinctures and potions and things of the like. Every now and then, a mother would send her child out to purchase one of these items from the elderly woman.

But sometimes, the child would not return.

This is where I saw things getting strange. The old woman would invite the child to sit down and have some food and a drink. The child would sit down at the table and take a bite of the cookies set before them, only for their mouth to grow dry. They had lost the ability to speak, or make any noise at all. Thirsty from that horribly dry feeling in their throat, they would take a drink, only to realize soon that it was growing harder and harder to move. They were becoming paralyzed. While the child was paralyzed and mute, the witch would cut off their arms, legs, and head, baking the torso to have her meal, which was likely the source of her living for so long.

Later, she would shrink and petrify these parts and fit them onto plush bodies, fashioning dolls out of them. Such beautiful dolls always fetched a high price at the marketplace. Sometimes, the mothers of the lost children would buy the dolls with such a likeness to their missing child as a keepsake, unknowingly keeping their child’s remains.

Conclusion
After that dream, I can never comfortably look at a porcelain doll. The eyes of the dolls give such sorrowful and accusing looks, though lifeless. Every time I see one, I think of how many children go missing every day, and though my dream was probably no more accurate than a silly fairy tale, it still unnerves me.