The Creeps! || Book of Spooky Stories (COMPLETED ✔️)

70 ~ Babydoll

Itty bitty towns have a reputation for hiding the biggest secrets. I'd never believed that to be true of our little town; it was quiet and sleepy, and the worst skeletons hiding in anyone's closets were whether or not Miss Bamfrey's hair was that color naturally or if she went to the city and dyed it. There was nothing dark, nothing horrendous about it. At least, there wasn't anything dark or horrendous until we found those tapes.

My father happened to be the sheriff of our town, and so I spent most of my summer days lounging around the police station, getting peeks at evidence that any other kid would be beat within an inch of their life for looking at, but which the other officers entrusted with me, partly because my father was kind of intimidating and felt I could do no wrong. So of course, I happened to be there when the deputy, Petey, walked in with an old cardboard box nearly overflowing with videotapes.

"What's all this for, Petey?" my father asked, lumbering out of his office. I walked up behind him and got a better look at Petey. I jumped a little. He was visibly shaken, skin much too pale, lip quivering slightly, and his handlebar moustache dripping sweat.

"I... I think you ought to have a look at it yourself, Sheriff," he said.

My father and I exchanged a glance before following Petey into the back room. There was an old TV in there with an even older VHS player. Petey took one of the tapes from the box and held it up. He glanced at me.

"I ain't sure she ought to see this, Sheriff," he said in warning. "It was enough to give me night terrors for the rest of my life. Maybe she should just wait outside..."

"My Sarah can handle anything this town or the next can throw at her," my father said proudly, hand on my shoulder. I smiled encouragingly at Petey. He sighed.

"Fine," he said. He slipped the tape into the player and paused it for a moment. "Just so you know," he said to us. "I don't think I can stomach watching this again. I'll wait outside."

"Go right ahead," said my father. I could hear the curiosity edging his words and felt my own interest grow. Petey nodded, hit play, and hurried out of the room, shutting the door tight behind him. My father and I exchanged glances before settling down in a couple of rusty old folding chairs and turning our attention to the TV.

First, the screen was filled with static, harsh and loud, grating on the eardrums. This lasted about five seconds before it abruptly glitched to a very stylized title screen proclaiming: Welcome to Playtime with Babydoll! There was a girly little dollhouse in the corner, painted pink and purple and white, but old, cobwebs decorating the corners and the tiny windows cracked and dark. Some music box tune played in the background. This screen, too, lasted about five seconds before turning abruptly to black. Slowly, slowly, achingly slowly, forms began to fade onto the screen. I gasped as the image became clearer. It was a child, no older than thirteen, a girl strapped down to an old rocking chair. She was blindfolded and gagged. She appeared to be in a dimly lit room. I could see something on the wall behind her, but it was too dark to see exactly what it was.

The girl was limp, her chin resting on her chest, her black hair fluttering over her blindfold with each ragged breath through her nose. There was more music in the background; someone humming the same tune that had played on the title screen. When I looked for it, I could clearly see a shadow on the wall, just to the left of the girl, a woman's silhouette. She was swaying back and forth, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, like someone who'd had too much sugar in her coffee that morning.

The girl in the chair lay prone for several long seconds while the humming continued. Suddenly, she twitched. Her head lifted slightly, and a low groan escaped her throat. The humming stopped.