I have always loved dolls. I had them all as a child, Baby Born (the one that was meant to poo but didn't), Tiny Tears (the one that cried...if you squeezed it's arm really hard*), Barbie (the thin one), Sindy (the fat one), Shelley (Barbie's under-age little sister) and these little tiny things called "Quince" (eight little babies with matching Victorian style outfits and shoes).
The best and worst, however, was Emily. My china doll.
I must explain:
When I was a very little girl I shared a room with my older sister. When I couldn't sleep at night, she would tell me stories about "Joggy Bear" to help me get to sleep. I loved these stories, they were like gentle lullabies aiding me to restful slumber.
Until I got a little bit older and wiser (and probably a lot more irritating). This was when my sister began mentally torturing me on a night.
There were stories about ghosts and vampires, but the worst, and most memorable, was the story of the evil china doll.
It went like this:
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Sarah. Sarah loved dollies soooo much that her mummy decided to buy her the most special doll she could, made out of delicate china. Sarah loved her china doll, and she kept her on the dressing table in her room.
One morning, when Sarah woke up, her dolly was sat at the end of her bed, instead of on the dressing table. Sarah was confused, and asked her Mummy whether she had moved the doll, to which she told her she hadn't. The same thing happened for the next three mornings. A little frightened, Sarah decided to leave her dolly downstairs. That night, she heard a voice.
"I'm coming up the stairs, I'm coming up the stairs...."
Sarah sat up and called her mummy.
"I'm walking to your door, I'm walking to your door..." the voice continued.
"I'm reaching for the handle...I'm opening the door..."
The door opened...
The next day, Sarahs mummy found her dead in her bed, and the doll had gone forever.
As you can imagine, I was terrified so I begged my mum to let me keep Emily in the conservatory with the door locked. I checked every night that my mum hadn't let her out and had nightmares about being slaughtered in my bed by a china doll with a grudge. These were made worse by my sisters whispered chantings in the night.
Eventually, my mum made me get rid of the doll, probably because I'd barely slept in weeks and was petrified of her.
I imagine this when it's dark and I can't sleep at night:
Yep, now you can't sleep either.