Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25266798-20141027175601

The following is based on situation that I found myself in a couple weeks ago. Some of it is not true, but the ending to all of it really did happen, and because of it I still cannot sleep in that house. I don't where it is.

The Pasta

“Scary Lady” - A Story About a Doll.

1991 Was the year my parents moved in to our house. It was quite small at first, but they built an entire new section, including a crawlspace. The family that lived here before us, had four sons. Tommy, Danny, Gary and Steve. They had these shelves for all of them in the basement. All labeled with permanent marker. There was a doll in Tommy's shelf.

2007

I was 8, my sister and I found the doll in the basement. It was a little porcelain doll. Pale, very pale. It had blue eyes, but the pupils were white. It didn't have a dress, or feet for that matter. It's feet were broken off, it really didn't look right. It's hair was blonde, and it felt... very really, actually.  

We had a neighbor, he was my friend. My sister's friend as well. We all would chase each other with the doll, it was just an innocent little game we would play sometimes. We called the doll “Scary Lady”- My mother would always bring it back down to the basement, because she didn't want some dusty old porcelain doll sitting around.

Now in this basement, there were two sections. The crawl space, which was right under the living room, and the actual basement that has been there for 50 years. And I mean basement. Not your typical finished basement that has a couch and all of that, this is the real deal – With all the brick walls surrounding loads of crap in the middle, with a stone cold floor of cement.

2014

February

I was brushing my teeth, and I went over to the hallway (upstairs) and saw on top of a tall bureau, the doll. I laughed quietly to myself, as it brought back lots of memories from my early childhood years. I picked it up and put it on my bed. I was on my computer for a while – until I got curious, and a little afraid. There is something off with the fact that it was up here. Upstairs, not in the basement. I remembered that my mother would always put the doll back in the basement because she didn't want some dusty old porcelain doll laying around the house. Why was it up here? I asked my mom, and she replied saying that she doesn't exactly know what doll I'm talking about. “You mean, you don't remember?” I said. “I mean, there was that one doll that you guys would always leave on the floor in the hallway” she replied. “Okay, so did you bring it back up?” I asked. “No, I haven't seen the doll in years, Rex.” she said.

About one week later...

I was pouring myself a glass of water, but the sink wasn't really working great. When I tried to twist the handle, it started spitting water out slowly then fast, - in that pattern. I figured it had to do with our filter, since it's old as this house. So, I went down to the basement and the filter was the issue. I just had to twist something a little a bit because it was loose, therefore causing that weird spitting pattern. I thought, while I'm down here I could just kind of look around for minute, mainly because I haven't been down here in a while. I looked into the crawl space. “It looks like something out of a horror movie” My mother would sometimes say.

And for just a second... Just one second... I imagined the doll, all the way in the middle of the crawl space. I gasped at the thought. Seriously, I could see it in my mind, it would look... just... perfect, like it lived there. The thought of it staring down at me from that spot is just... terrifying. I really wanted to see this, I've always loved scary things – and this would be a great picture to have. So I went upstairs, grabbed the doll and came down to the basement. I was going to go in the crawlspace right there, but something stopped me. Something telling me this was bad idea. Like my mother would sometimes say about it, “Something out of a horror movie...”, that was very true, it did in fact look like it was in a horror film. A good horror film. A really good horror film. So, I stood up on a stool, and crawled into the crawlspace. I started going faster as I really did not want to be in here. I put the doll in it's place, and went back to the old section of the basement. I  took a second to catch my breath, and looked back... “Aw Jesus!..” I said... This was probably the most frightening thing I've ever seen. The face of the doll staring down all the way to the old section was just... ah... god.

I took my phone out of my pocket, and snapped a picture of it. I never went back in the crawlspace... No... I don't want to see it... And I don't want it to see me.

A couple days later

There is a difference between scary and creepy. In some cases, this was a creepy situation. But, I find that this is more scary than creepy. There are too many dolls that have the ability to move such as; Robert the doll, who is also dangerous. Mainly because they have something to do with spirits. This doll, that I have living in my basement, right now, in that very spot of the crawlspace, could be like those dolls. But it also couldn't. I actually don't know... Well, what I do know, is that this has been causing me a lack of sleep. All I can think of is the doll just sitting there... Staring down the crawlspace. It fucking belongs there. Sometimes when my sister and I are watching a movie on the TV in our living room, I realize that the doll is right under us. Sometimes when I comeback from school, and I want to play the piano in the living room, I remember the doll is right under me. Sometimes, when I go out the door in the living room, I remember the doll is right under me. It's very hard to get out of my head.

It might be in the basement and not in the house, and it might not be haunted, but it's still the only thing I think about night and day. And at some point, I'm gonna' go down there and throw the doll in the trash. It serves no purpose being here anymore, it's not even nostalgic to look at it, because the only memory it'll make me think of, is the one I'm living in.

I want to show this to someone...

My stepbrother, he'll be here in an hour. I can tell him all about this.

When he arrived

“Hey, come here” I said. “Oh, hey, what's up?” He replied. “I need to show you something, come with me”. We walked down the stairs to the basement, I twisted the light bulb, and walked over to the opening of the crawlspace. I was walking backwards though, looking at him, telling him all about how I had found the doll on that bureau, and how the sink wasn't working, so I went down to the basement... (I turned around) – “Where is it?” I said. “Where's what?” He replied. “The doll!” I yelled back at him. He was confused why I was mad... I wasn't. I was afraid. I know I hadn't told anyone but my mother about this doll. Especially where I had put it. Which was all the way down in a 30 foot long crawlspace, which no one taller than 5 feet could crawl into. I started breathing a little faster... A then a little more faster... Of course the question was not forgotten. I still ask myself this...

Did... Did it move? 