Creepypasta (Rewritten)

The Doll Maker (REWRITE)

A/N: I like the Doll Maker's design, but the stories he's featured in are not very good. No offense to the author, but they're not a good writer, even though they're an excellent artist. I wanted to make the Doll Maker an intimidating character. In order to do that, I had to watch certain scenes from Silence Of The Lambs and No Country For Old Men, where the antagonists are so intimidating that even a simple conversation with them can make you feel like you're in danger. Plus, I think the story will help me establish a few connections with the universe I'm trying to develop. It will be hard for you to find it, but in my eyes, it does make sense. I hope you enjoy the story.

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Three weeks ago, I heard of a lone doll maker living on the outskirts of town. They said that he was a man who could make beautiful dolls of all shapes and sizes, even life-sized ones. Unfortunately for some people, most of those dolls were absurdly expensive, but the price depended on both the quality and size of the dolls. No one knows anything personal about him except that people called him "Vine". (A part of me doubts that this is his real name.)

I was very interested because I'd been planning on writing a story at the time and I needed some inspiration. The problem was that I knew I couldn't just write about something without having some idea of what it's like. I guess I wanted to get some significant insight into the world of craftsmanship. I know there are plenty of books that touch on that subject, but I thought that some firsthand experience would help me a whole lot more than just reading about it.

A few people told me that looking for the doll maker would be a bad idea, but they never told me exactly why. After asking around for a while, I managed to get the address and drive to find the doll maker's workshop/store. It was an old wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere that had an overlook of the city. I walked up to the porch and noticed a handmade sign on the door that said "open".

I entered the store, but what I saw made me feel uneasy. I looked around and saw the dolls on display. Sure enough, some of them were as big as me, and they were shiny. Some of them were made of wood, others were made of plastic, porcelain, clay, etc. They were all so meticulously painted that some of them were eerily realistic. At first glance, you'd almost mistake them for real people.

I walked over to the counter, but strangely, no one was there. I looked beyond the counter and saw a small curtain obscuring a doorway that possibly led in the back. I looked down and noticed a small call bell. I pressed the button and waited. After three seconds, I heard a loud thud coming from beyond, followed by heavy footsteps.

I was not prepared for what happened next.

I remember the feeling I had when I saw the doll maker for the first time. His appearance alone and the way he looked at me made a colossal pit in my stomach. He was a lanky man in his 30s with long, unkempt black hair that went past his shoulders. He was wearing a wrinkled blue shirt which gave me the impression that he hadn't changed in days. Whenever he put his hands on the counter, I could see that his nails were long, dirty, uncut, and chipped in a few places. He'd occasionally tap his fingers on the wooden surface loudly, which got under my skin after a short while.

What caught me off-guard the most was his face framed by his scraggly hair. He had a few scars on his face. His left eye was blue and normal, but the other was large, pink, and looked like it was made of glass. There were a few times I could've sworn it'd pop out of the socket at any moment.

The way he looked at me was especially unusual. He had a permanent scowl on his face as if I'd wronged him somehow. I wanted to take my eyes off him or at least break the silence, but I stood there, frozen. After what seemed like minutes, the doll maker finally broke the silence, asking me in a low and gravelly voice,