Nightmare Fuel is a project created by Bliss Morgan on Google+. Every October, we spend 30 days writing creepypasta based on image prompts posted to us. It now has a community on G+, which you can find here. 

Today’s image is from fat_tony on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/fat_tony/ and is shared under an attribution Sharealike creative commons license.

Granny Dee had a thing for dolls. And I hated them. Dolls were something that I avoided like holy hell, cause everyone has that one strange thing they fear, ya know? They’re creepy as all get out, with their blinky-blink eyes. The ones with the voice boxes were the worst. One set of dying batteries was all you needed to cause a heart attack. Demonic, evil things. And it seemed like the more realistic you made the doll, the more Granny Dee wanted it.

I don’t know how we managed to keep her away from those damn reborn dolls. Maybe it was because the dementia had taken over the remnants of her brain, and we’d put her in a nursing home by then.

She crowed like a madwoman when we took her in, carrying on about who was gonna take care of the babies, and who was gonna make sure they were clean and fed. In the end, she was more attached to those damn dolls than she was to any of her family. I suppose if we’d visited more often, she might not have slipped so far. Or maybe we’d have seen it coming.

Either way, Granny Dee moved to the home, and we had to sell off most of the damn dolls to pay for her living expenses. Explaining that to her got her so upset, we were asked not to visit her for at least a week.

We took them to an auction house and were told there were only a few they would be able to sell. We tried to take them to a thrift store, but there was some kind of government thing about old paints and we had no damn clue what paint was used on half of them. So we had an estate sale, and let people come in and buy them off us.

There’s only a few left, now, and most of it’s just pieces, really. Couple heads, a few torsos. The creepy clown looking one with a lightbulb coming out of its head. I can’t blame people for not wanting to buy it, but I’d really hoped we’d get that one freakshow who’d want it specifically because it’s creepy.

At first, we kept them in a cardboard box. And don’t ask me how, but between my older sister and younger brother, I was stuck with the box for storage. Me, the one who hated the damn dolls. The one who was afraid of them. Jared said it had everything to do with the fact that I had a basement. Bekah was still between places, what with her divorce, and Jared was just starting out in a studio apartment.

So here I am. In my basement. With these dolls.

Because they couldn’t just stay in the box. And nobody believes me, of course. But they got out of the box. They were moving around. Like in that movie about the action figures, except how the hell does a doll head wind up on the basement steps? Or into the upstairs bathroom, for that matter. How did they wind up out of the box?

Bekah said I was lying. Making it up because I had some stupid fear of an inanimate object.

But every time I went into the basement, they were watching me. That one head doesn’t have eyes anymore. I caught it watching me bringing laundry down, and I freaked. Yeah, I probably overreacted, but the awl was the only thing I had. And stabbing the eyes out felt really damn good.

Except it got worse from there. Things started falling off the shelves randomly.

So I locked them up. Like a bunch of prisoners, I locked the dolls and the doll parts up in a small animal trap I’d bought back when I had a family of groundhogs living under my shed. I guess the damn dolls weren’t happy about that particular situation.

Because now I’m sitting in my basement. Trying not to shake with fear, but honestly? I’m so scared right now, I’m likely to piss myself. But they’re locked up in that trap. Nice and secure. There’s a couple naked baby dolls and two disembodied doll heads – one missing its eyeballs – pressed up against the wires of the cage, crying for their mama.

Well, shitheads, your mama died last week.

Wait. Dolls. Heads.

Where’s the one with the lightbulb coming out of its head?

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