Your worst Nightmare

The doll Giver

Once, when I was little, my cousin Dennis told me this crazy, scary story called The Devil Ragdoll.

This was about six years ago, and we were having a sleepover in his living room. I stayed over after Easter dinner because my mom had the next day off, and she said she needed some time by herself to run errands and go to the beauty shop with her best friend Sandra and whatnot. I didn't care because I liked hanging out with Dennis and his older sister Danielle, even though Danielle was only my half-cousin. My aunt Michelle married Danielle's dad a few years after his wife-Danielle's mom-died of cancer and then later they had Dennis and moved back to Pittsburgh. I remember my mom being real excited about the fact that her sister and her family would be in the same city as us.

Anyway, we had just finished watching a movie. My aunt and uncle went to their bedroom, and me 'n Dennis got into our little sleeping bags. Danielle had already fallen asleep on the couch; I think she had a bad cold or something. So when all the lights were out, except for the little blue nightlight in the hallway, Dennis turned and whispered to me, "Hey, you wanna hear a ghost story?"

Now, Dennis is only a few years older than me, but back then he was always acting like he was grown, and talking like he knew stuff I didn't. What I did know was that Dennis had older friends, even some from the middle school, because he played in the twelve-and-under pick-up games down at the Y. And I knew sometimes he was hearing things that he probably shouldn't have heard-like swears. One summer he ran around saying shit in place of crap, until his parents busted him and he got soap in his mouth in place of dinner.

I had never heard a ghost story before, because I was only like seven and I didn't have older siblings and my mother didn't allow me to watch scary movies or nothing like that. I remember hoping that no adults would find out about me listening to my very first scary story. I remember feeling nervous and excited at the same time. As usual, Dennis had my full attention.

I listened with wide eyes as he whispered the story to me, pausing sometimes for dramatic effect. Then, at the end, he told me the title; I guess he didn't want to give away any of the surprise. Looking back, I don't remember exactly how he told the tale, and at ten years old Dennis probably wasn't the smoothest of storytellers. But I still know most of the details and I can fill in the blanks good enough. The story went something like this...

Once, there was a little girl who lived in a big old house with her grandmother. The little girl was as kind and sweet as pie, but she had no friends, because her grandmother was weird and super-protective and wouldn't let her socialize or do anything with other kids outside of school. For her birthday, her grandmother asked her what she wanted. All I want is a friend, the little girl told her grandmother. The little girl blew out the candles on her cake but didn't have much hope for her wish. She went to sleep feeling sad and lonely. When the little girl awoke, there was a package on the bed beside her, wrapped in sparkling pink paper. The little girl opened the package excitedly only to find a small handmade ragdoll. The doll was soft and lovely, with a patchwork body, a red and black checkered dress, big mismatched button eyes, and long hair made with bright green yarn. It had a broad, threaded smile. The little girl's grandmother came in and gave her a big hug and said: You wanted a friend, so I went to the village to buy you one from my favorite antique shop. The little girl was happy to get the gift, and she hoped that having the ragdoll by her side would be almost as good as having a real friend. For days the little girl took the ragdoll with her everywhere she went, played with her whenever she could and even told it secrets, as if it was her best friend in the whole world. One night, when the sky was black and the moon was full, instead of tucking the ragdoll under the covers with her, the little girl left the ragdoll by her window, where it seemed to glow beneath the starlight. In the middle of the night, the little girl woke to hear strange sounds all around the house, like the thump-thump thump-thump of tiny footsteps and the whoosh whoosh swish of someone walking quickly. And, every now and then, the skreeeetch scraaaatch, as if the walker was dragging something along the floor. The little girl was scared but figured her grandmother must be wandering in her sleep or something. She slowly got out of bed and noticed her ragdoll was no longer near the window. She looked around her room, but the ragdoll was nowhere to be seen. The house was very dark and very quiet. The little girl crept down the hallway, on her tiptoes, careful to not make any sounds. She didn't see anyone and she didn't hear any more noises. She started to feel for-real frightened, like she just knew something was seriously wrong. The little girl finally arrived at her grandmother's bedroom door. Everything felt cold and silent. She took a deep breath, slowly turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open. She couldn't even hear her grandmother's heavy breathing. Grandma? She whispered. You there? ... No answer. The little girl poked her head into the doorway and stepped into the room. She felt for the lamp on her grandmother's dresser and clicked on the light. There... on the bed...was her grandmother's lifeless body. Her throat was cut and blood covered the small bed. On the floor was a bloody knife. Next to the knife lay the ragdoll, a smile stitched across her face.