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TRANSCRIPT
Creepypasta and True Scary Stories Episode 70: Spooky Stories About Dolls and Little Girl Ghosts
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Scary Story Time Podcast
Scary Story Time is the world of horror written by Spooky Boo Rhodes. Here you will find scary stories of ghosts, haunted houses, vampires, werewolves, paranormal events, monsters, demons, cryptids, aliens, witches, and the unknown. The mystical entities in Sandcastle have been fighting the world of good vs. evil since time began. Today, crime hides within the realm of evil and very few can tell the difference. Visit https://www.scarystorytime.com for more info.
Creepypasta and True Scary Stories
Stories written by amateur authors and told across the internet from sources such as the Creepypasta Wiki, Reddit, and even true scary stories sent in to Spooky Boo. These stories are not written by Spooky Boo Rhodes. For more information on these stories and the original creepypasta links, visit my website at https://www.creepypastascarystories.com
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This podcast includes stories of a dark nature and may not be suitable for all listeners. If you’re comfortable listening to stories that are paranormal or twisted dark horror then this podcast is for you.
Spooky Scary Stories in this Episode
Dear in the Headlights
This little ghost likes to play and to drive you insane!
He thought he had hit a girl and tried to save her, but then she disappeared. Then he hit her again…and again…and again!
Music by Myuu
http://www.youtube.com/myuuji
The last time we saw Eric, the group of us were hanging out in our usual restaurant, pissing off the staff as usual by being too rowdy and mostly drinking coffee. We did order big appetizers now and then, and we tipped well, so when they waitresses did give us grief, it was mostly good-natured. I think the group of us weirdos were their nightly entertainment, truth be told.
We didn’t all meet there every night, of course. Some nights nobody showed up and other times it was close to the whole group. This particular night I think there was a half dozen or so. There were perhaps a dozen of us total, depending on who you considered the core group and who you considered hangers on. Eric was in that grey area between the two, until that night.
From the moment he came in the door, we knew something was horribly wrong. He could barely stand, and he was white as a sheet. His hands were shaking visibly, and you could see white all the way around his eyes. We made room for him fast, and Juju ordered coffee for him twice; black, in case he was drunk, and decaf, in case he was pissed off.
He was pissed off. Scared, and pissed off.
He didn’t say anything at first; I am not sure he could even understand our questions. I got a real bad sinking feeling in my stomach and I squirmed away from the overstuffed booth. I went to the door to the parking lot and took a look at his truck. Sure enough, there was something smeared all over the front. But in the lighting there I couldn’t be sure if it was blood. Choking down bile, I took an old napkin out of my pocket and swept it along the stain. Whatever it was hadn’t dried quiet yet. It was reddish, but mostly clear and shot through with black. Oil? I went back to the booth to hear what he had to say.
He blinked, hard, like he was trying to wake himself from a bad dream, and took off his trucker’s hat -a rare enough occurrence that we knew it was bad- to comb his greasy fingers through his unkempt, straw-colored, dirty hair. Finally he spoke, furrowing his brow. His gaze became intense, angry. “She’s fucking with me.”
I saw one or two of the others kind of relax a bit. Girl trouble, they were thinking, was that all? But I just set my jaw and stared at him. After a moment, he saw my eyes over his coffee cup and grimaced; maybe at the horrible coffee, maybe at me. “Fucking with me.” he clarified.
“Ruby?” I asked. That was the name of the last girl he had gone out with. I think.
He blinked in confusion for a second. “Ruby? Aw hell naw. I might have wanted to run her over with my truck but I never…” he trailed off. I saw some of the gang glancing at each other around the table. They were catching on.
Cap adjusted his baseball cap. He put on a big smile and an exaggerated relaxed attitude, but he kept his voice low. “Funny you should say that, Rick. Kind of thought you might have hit a deer on the way here, the way you looked.” Nate glanced over at me right after he said that, but I held my gaze neutral. I could not be sure I’d seen blood on the front of his truck, and for that matter it didn’t look all dented up like it should have if he had grazed a deer. Besides, Eric was enough of a jerk that hitting deer didn’t faze him. Like most things, it just pissed him off.
Cap can handle himself in a fight, but the rest of us kind of braced. Juju looked at Eric all sympathetic, which was genuine, coming from her.
None of us expected Eric to start laughing. It kind of burst out of him, and we started to relax, thinking maybe this was some kind of ‘gotcha’. It was the kind of thing Eric would have pulled if he was a little smarter and a little less lazy. But the laughter went on too long, and it kinda started to sound like crying at the end there.
“Yeah, I hit a deer,” he said finally, as the laughter died out of him. “Dee Ee Ay Ar.” He let that sink in, while he drank his coffee.
Juju’s hand went to her mouth. She stared, silent, as the implications set in.
Cap’s expression grew dark, which was expected and bad. When he got serious, people got hurt. He was the main man to have on your side in a problem, but you didn’t ever want to be the problem. We weren’t sure just yet whether Eric was the problem, but the odds were not in his favor. Cap thought for a moment. “Is she in the truck?”
Eric shook his head, which Cap did not like.
“Is she lying on the road, Rick?”
A dark chuckle, and another head shake.
“Is she in the ground?”
Eric spoke this time. “Hell no.” He looked Nate right in the eye. “She’s up, walking around.”
Cap matched him glower for glower. “Is she hurt?”
Eric put down his cup and sat a moment, so we could all see the sincerity in his face. “No, she ain’t hurt, Nate. She ain’t hurt at all, because she’s dead.”
Now we all knew that what Eric was saying was impossible. But we also all knew he meant it. So that meant he had gone crazy.
We were all stunned into silence for a moment, and when the chatter started up, he held up a hand to halt it. He shrugged off his own anger – more like stored it away for a bit – and gestured for Eric to continue. We were his friends, after all, and we had all seen weird things. We had to make the effort to believe him.
“I blame Foghat.” He started with that, and a few of us chuckled and nodded. No one sane would ride with Eric at the best of times, but the song Slow Ride made him crazy behind the wheel. “I was taking the old valley highway into town specifically so I wouldn’t have to deal with idiots on the road. I guess I was a little loopy. It was a bad combination. There was no way anyone should have been on that road at that time of night, but there she was. A dear in my headlights.”
He gave each of us a sour look, and then continued. “You have to understand. It was not my fault. I was driving too fast, sure, and my reflexes were slow, sure. I admit that. But the thing is, she was too close to me too fast. Even on my best day, in broad daylight, at five miles under the speed limit, I still would have hit her. You have to understand that.”
We all nodded understanding we didn’t really feel.
Whether he swallowed our act or not was irrelevant. He continued; the pump had been primed. “I stood on the brakes, or as close to it as I could get without jackknifing the truck. I will never forget the way she looked. She had this funny expression on her face. Not fear, not exactly surprise. I saw it for a brief instant, and then her body bounced…” Unable to contain herself, Juju interrupted him with a quiet sob. Cap put his hand on her shoulder. I grimaced inwardly; whatever else happened, Eric was going to get a bust in the jaw for making her cry. But not here and now. Eric had the floor.
“I got out of the cab and ran back to the end of the truck. She… she was all broken and torn. Her eyes stared… I have EMT training, you know. So I checked. I checked for a pulse, you know. I wanted her to be alive so bad. If I had made a mistake, it would have been the other way. I would have thought she was alive when she wasn’t. But I didn’t make a mistake; I know that now.”
“My phone got no bars, which was no surprise. So I went back to the truck to get on the radio. Nothing but static, which was a surprise. It was weird. Even in the valley, I usually get reception on the radio. So what was I supposed to do? If I stayed where I was, I’d cause another accident, or someone would see her body on the road and swerve…”
“So I decided to put her in the truck. It wasn’t like I was going to make her any deader, you know? So I climbed back out of the cab, and looked to the back of the truck, and she was gone.”
“Now I know what you are thinking, because I was thinking it then, too. She was just stunned or something. She had gotten up and wandered off, maybe into the woods. I had to find her, or else she would just wander until she got eaten by a bear or something. I didn’t want her to suffer. So I set flares, went out into the woods with my lamp, and I must have wandered around yelling, “Hey! Girl!” for like an hour.
“I didn’t manage to do anything but spook myself. The woods were tall and black as pitch. Every snap of a twig was a bear or a wolf. My white breath puffing into the darkness was a reminder that I was alive, and that the girl was dead or dying. And the whole time, I was worried about some joyriding kids getting out onto that road and smacking into my truck or something.”
“I admit; by the time I got back to the truck, I was a wreck. I didn’t know what else to do, with no radio and no phone and no girl. I picked up my flares and started home. It was about a half hour later, when my nerves had just about started to calm down and my brain started to work, when I hit her again.”
We all glanced at each other. We could feel the crushing weight of guilt in his every word, so we could imagine what tricks his mind had played on that lonely road. In our glances, we conversed, with something like telepathy: should we stop him? Should we head out to the old road right now and look for the girl? In the end, we decided to let him talk.
“Just like before.” He was staring into his coffee like he could reheat it with his gaze. “Suddenly she was in front of me, too close for me to stop. My headlights washed over her, and this time I understood the expression on her face. It was glee.”
I couldn’t help shaking my head a little to myself. Rationalization. She had wanted to be hit, therefore it wasn’t his fault. I hoped to myself that therapy could fix denial this deep.
“The time after that, and the time after that, and each time, her face held more and more joy before it was mashed into oblivion. I started driving crazy slow, and finally traffic from behind caught up to me, a sea of traffic, honking, uncaring. I saw the exit to the diner, and here I am.”
Cap stood. He started pulling on his jacket.
Eric stood. He put a hand on Cap’s arm, but he pulled it back right quick when he saw the look Cap gave him. “You can’t go out there, man! You don’t understand what’s out there and neither do I!”
Cap simply said. “Sun’s up. We can find the body now. She’s got family somewhere. They deserve to know what happened.”
Eric ducked his head guiltily, then covered it with bravado. “I ain’t going out there again.”
“I don’t want you to. Stay here. Drink coffee. I will deal with this.”
Eric blinked, gratitude spread across his features, quickly followed by stubborn pride and …concern? I saw him try to think hard (also rare) and then he started laughing again. The sound was high, strained and completely fake. “I got you. Heh, I got you all. You should have seen the looks on your stupid faces. Hee hoo. Well, I’m going to be telling this one for a while. See you all later.” He squared his shoulders when Cap stepped into his path.
Eric looked away when Cap talked. “I am going up there anyway.”
Eric looked back at Cap. His eyes looked moist. “Not if I can stop you.” The two men squared shoulders at each other, and the thought occurred to me to clear furniture out of the way. It was at that moment that a couple of thankfully oblivious cops entered. Eric seized his chance and walked right out past them, almost brushing shoulders with them, and earning a suspicious glance. Cap, who had a long and unhappy history with cops, turned away. A moment later, Eric’s truck roared out of the parking lot, and I never saw him alive again.
Sourly, Cap came back to the booth and sat. “We should go out there”, “we should find that girl, say we happened upon whatever stain in the road there is where she got hit; followed it back to wherever her body is. It’s just the responsible thing to do.”
I nodded. “But we should hold up until those cops leave,” I said. “If the timetable on our story matches up with them being here, it could look bad.” Cap furrowed his brow, frustrated with having to wait, but he nodded.
For nearly an hour, we prodded our cold food and drank the bad coffee. The cops finally left; our communities’ finest were on the job again.
We settled the bill, and I stopped myself just before accidentally wiping my mouth on the sample of …whatever that I had taken from Eric’s truck. Whatever was on it was jet black now, with the barest hints of red. It was thicker now, congealed into something like syrup. It smelled strange; pungent but not completely unpleasant. It made me think of maggots. My stomach roiling, I discarded it in the nearest wastebasket.
It was at that moment that the little girl entered the restaurant. The waitstaff stopped and stared, stunned, as did we. She looked like seven kinds of Hell, and she was grinning as if she’d just been told to get ready to go to Disneyland. The only sound was static from the radio behind the counter.
Her feet were bare and covered, no caked, in mud. She carried a scuffed and torn pair of Mary Janes in one hand. Her clothes were nothing but rags, pasted to her form with a combination of mud and some darker substance. Maybe they had been a nice blue dress once; it was impossible to tell. You could even make out a pattern something like tire treads in places.
More disturbing to us who had heard Eric’s story was the fact that the girl, despite the condition of her clothes, looked perfectly fine. Every tooth was in place in her little head. Her hair was matted and streaked with mud, tangled with leaves, but it was all there. She didn’t have a bruise or scrape anywhere you could see. It was almost enough to make one think she was indeed part of some elaborate prank, if you hadn’t seen Eric’s eyes.
Her eyes were also strange. At first they looked like the perfect blue eyes you would expect on a little girl in a tv commercial, but after a moment you caught it. They did not track naturally; almost as if she were navigating by hearing alone, or some stranger sense. And she didn’t blink nearly often enough.
She pranced right up to the counter in front of us as if she was in her Sunday best; maybe she was. “Excuse me, miss,” she said cheerily. “Have you seen a truck driver come in here in the last hour or so?” The counter girl shook her head no, unsteadily. The statement was technically true. “How disappointing,” she said, flouncing a little in exaggerated frustration. “I really had been hoping to find my playmate. We were having so much fun.” I realized, as utter cold crept up my spine, that we weren’t looking at a little girl. We were looking at something that was pretending to be a little girl; something that had learned its mannerisms by rote, or which was recalling them from a distant memory.
Suddenly she cocked her head to one side, and made a beeline right for us. We parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and she proceeded to the wastebasket where I had discarded the sample. She plucked the napkin from it’s place and regarded it for a moment, not quite sniffing it, but with a similar cant to her shoulders. “He’s been here,” she said. “You can’t wipe me away that easily.”
With that she proceeded out the set of doors that Eric had used to reach the parking lot. She twirled in place a few times, and then headed off, skipping.
We all looked at each other. I think we all collectively decided, with something like telepathy, to act as if Eric had indeed pranked us with some elaborate joke. Juju tried to get him on the phone, but all of a sudden she couldn’t get any bars. We sat back down at the booth and tried over and over again. Eventually we got cell phone reception back, but calls to him went straight to voice mail.
We never did get up to the valley highway that day. I guess we figured there was nothing there for us to find.
Credit To – Kitsune9tails
Bride Doll
https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Bride_Doll
I remember when I was just a kid, about maybe 11 or so, I was staying at a friend’s house. I spent the night there, and I remember her grandma, who she lived with due to her parents being irresponsible druggies, collected porcelain dolls.
I didn’t used to have a problem with dolls. Sure, I thought they were a little creepy, but I could easily overlook that and deal with it, like I could with a lot of other things. But one doll freaked me out particularly badly.
The doll had to be four feet tall. It had long, luxurious-looking blonde curls down to the center of its back. It was clad in a lacy, expensive looking bride’s dress. The outfit was even complete with a veil and delicate-looking silky shoes and fancy jewelry.
But that’s what not scared me. Her arms were outstretched and her blue eyes were wide open, as if in fright. Her painted lips were also agape, as if they were frozen in a muted scream. I remember staring at it for a while when I went to greet her grandmother, meeting her for the first time. I don’t think she noticed, but my friend did.
“Yeah, I always thought that one was sort of spooky. C’mon, let’s go. You got the new Backstreet Boys CD, right? We should go listen to it, I haven’t heard it yet.” I just nodded in agreement, not wanting to be in the same room as that doll anymore.
We did typical pre-teen girl things. We watched Spice World and listened to some pop CDs, poorly singing along with them. All thoughts of that creepy doll left my mind. Her grandma ordered pizza and we ate and talked about what members of what boy bands we thought were cute, or if we were a Spice Girl, which one we would be. It was always silly stuff like that when I was that age. We got around to telling scary stories after we turned the lights off. I was nowhere close to unnerved, but my friend fell asleep first. She always was quick to doze off. I sat up and stared at the static that she left on the television.
She always needed some white noise to sleep, but frankly, the static bothered me. It always did, but I left the TV on. It was her house, after all. I can’t say I slept well. I wasn’t disturbed by nightmares. I just couldn’t sleep. I think part of it was the occasional creaking of the floor. It was an old house, though, so I just dismissed it as that. Then, for the last damned time, I woke up. It was three in the morning and I had to go to the bathroom. It was kind of cold, so I tossed and turned and kind of hoped I could just hold it, or at least stay warm for a little longer, but eventually I gave in and got out of the bed, placing my bare feet on the floor. At least it was carpeted.
I quietly opened the door so I wouldn’t wake my resting friend. I then stepped out onto the tile in the hallway. I tensed up for two reasons. First, the tile was freezing cold, and the other reason?
I saw that damned doll. Her wide, lifeless glassy eyes staring, her arms outstretched and her dainty fingers reaching towards me, and her lips still parted in that soundless scream. It was a wonder I didn’t wet my pants. ‘Screw this,’ I thought, turning back around to go back into my friend’s room.
“Stephanie!” I shook her, and she stared at me with a blank look of annoyance. It kind of helped to wake her up. She was always bigger and stronger than me and I never had trouble admitting that.
“Mm… What?” She sat up.
“The doll…” I murmured.
“What? Did you have a bad dream?”
“No, it’s in the hallway.”
“What? That’s not funny. Did you move it?”
“No! I wouldn’t want to touch the friggin’ thing!”
She chuckled at my reaction.
“But really, I’m serious. Come check if you don’t believe me. Your grandma’s room is on another floor, so can we just put it somewhere else?” She nodded at me.
When I opened the door, Stephanie stared at me like I was crazy. She could tell from the look on my face, even in the dim light of the television static, that I was being completely serious when I said I didn’t touch it. Was it closer than it was a few minutes ago or was it just my imagination?
“Well, here’s the guest room my dad stays in when he visits.” It was just a few feet away from the doll. I nodded and opened the door. It was a rather barren room. All that was in it was a bed, a lamp, and a nightstand.
“I guess we can put it in here until later.” We moved the doll together. I hated touching it. It was cold to the touch, how I’d imagine a dead body to feel. We were careful not to damage it. It had to cost a ton of money, and I didn’t want to be to blame for something so expensive breaking, especially since that would mean I’d never get to visit my friend again.
We both stared at the doll once we put it in the room. I’m pretty sure we were both officially freaked out. We looked at each other for a moment and slammed the door and hurried back to her room. We didn’t go back to sleep that night. We stayed up flipping through channels on the TV. She had cable. I didn’t when I was that age.
When her grandma finally woke up, she came to Stephanie’s room. “Have you girls seen my doll?” She looked really confused, meaning she WASN’T the one who moved it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly. I tried to be respectful whenever talking to adults.
“Where is it?”
“We put it in the guest room,” Stephanie answered.
“Why is it in there?”
Then I responded, “Well, it was in the hallway.” Stephanie nodded in agreement.
She stared at us both like we were nuts. “Okay, girls, whatever you say.” She chuckled as if to say, ‘Crazy kids and their stories’.
That morning, we had breakfast and Stephanie’s grandpa came down to carry the doll back upstairs. I’m hoping he’s the one who moved it to the hallway in the first place, because if not, there’s no way I can explain what happened.
Written by Shinigami.Eyes
Betsy the Doll
https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Betsy_the_Doll
Like most people, I had a sad childhood. Who doesn’t, these days? My father left before I was born and my mother was on drugs from the day she brought me home. She slipped right back into her party lifestyle and turned our apartment into an opium den. I walked around in a drug-fueled haze for the first 5 years of my life. The smoky air flooded down the hallway and under my door and seemed to linger for days.
My mother wasn’t a bad person, just a victim of her addictions. When she did have spare money, she would put food in the house and even sometimes buy me clothes from Goodwill. The only pieces of furniture I had in my bedroom were a box spring and mattress set and a little blue and white toy chest. Not that I had a lot of toys to put in it, just the 3 I had gotten for birthdays: one was an art kit, one was a red wagon, and the last, my pride and joy, was a doll named Betsy.
Betsy was my best friend. We would have imaginary tea parties together, sleep together, take baths together and, sometimes, I remember her speaking to me.
Thinking about Betsy in adulthood has led me to believe that I was a severely traumatized child who was often high on opium and therefore, my memories were extremely unreliable. Still, I remember the sound of her voice, a high-pitched, tinkled lilt. And I remember the things she wanted me to do. Steal food for her. Bring her forks, bring her knives. Hit the bad man who slept on our couch. Always bad things that would get me in trouble. I would blame it on Betsy but my mother would never believe me. Adults never do.
Around my 6th birthday, I asked my mother for a birthday party. I wanted to invite the not-nice girls from school, serve them cake, make them like me. I still remember standing in the kitchen with such high hopes, a glass bottle of soda shaking in my hand as I held my breath and awaited my mother’s answer. She turned to me and laughed.
“A birthday party? Laura, that’s ridiculous. I can’t afford to feed 15 other children that aren’t even mine – I can barely afford to feed you! You eat like an elephant, or should I say little Betsy does. I barely get anything to eat around here!”
My face fell as she shook her head, mumbled something and stumbled off. I heard the music go up in the living room as more people walked in the door. Some left, some stayed. I knew none of them. My mother threw parties all the time. What about me? I was a child, all my friends had birthday parties and now the mean girls would know I was too poor to have one and they would tease me even more.
I felt tears start to swell and I ran into my room and slammed the door. Betsy was lying on the bed and smiling. She was always smiling, how could I forget. Just staring at me, smiling. She was going to tell me to do something bad. Like steal more food or worse. This was her fault. Betsy didn’t have to go to school. Betsy never got in trouble like I did. And in my 5 year old little brain I truly believed it was the doll, not my mother, who was the source of all my woes.
I screamed in anger and threw the bottle as hard as I could at the bed. It hit Betsy and she fell on the floor. I laughed. I dragged her into the bathroom and threw her into our bathtub, which always had water in it as the drains were all clogged. Of course, she didn’t fight back while she was underwater, but it made me feel better. A few minutes later, after I had finished taking out my anger and humiliation on my favorite toy, I threw her in the toy chest and slammed it shut. I kicked the chest against the wall; I never wanted to see Betsy again.
I never owned another doll after that. About a week later the police came and two nice ladies took me to live in a new home in a new state, with food and toys and no drugs. The trunk went into storage and the wagon disappeared. I never saw my mother again. As I got older, my foster parents admitted she was in jail, doing 25 years. I felt nothing for her anyway. I was still having nightmares because of the life she had given me. I focused on doing well in school and ignored her letters from prison. She reached out to me several times in my teens, but I always declined her calls.
That is, until this morning. I am 30 now, with my own children and a husband who loves me deeply. I have a beautiful house, two dogs and a career as a social worker trying to make a difference for kids who had it bad like me. So when I got a voicemail from my mother letting me know she had been paroled and wished to speak, I felt stable enough to let her say her piece.
Since the kids were home from school I went out into our shed in the backyard to return my mother’s call. The shed was the children’s domain and they used it to play in the summer. I sat on my old toy chest, which was currently being used as tea party table, and dialed the number she had left me.
Three rings.
“Hello? Laura?”
“Hello, mother. How are you?”
“Oh Laura, thank you for speaking to me. I know you have your own life now and a family. I would love to meet them someday! I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.”
“You are not meeting my kids – ever. I am going to say my piece here, too. The drugs destroyed you and you took me down alongside you. Honestly, I am surprised it took you so long to get caught.”
“I’m not sure what you mean about being caught, Laura I honestly know nothing! Look, it hardly matters. I do understand why you would feel that way. Why you would hate me and not want me to meet your little ones. I learned a lot about Jesus and forgiveness while I was away and just… oh Laura, I am so sorry about Betsy.”
“Betsy?” I paused, confused. “Why would you care about her?”
‘I know, I know Laura, believe me I do. It was all my fault, the drugs. And Betsy, oh God, if I had only been able to see through the haze, if I had only known. She’s gone forever now and it’s all my fault.”
As my mother began to cry, I tapped my fingers on the toy box impatiently. The drugs had clearly fried my mother’s brain.
“Mother, why are you talking about Betsy? Why do you even care? And I know where Betsy is.” Right underneath me.
“You do? What are you talking about, Laura? Oh God, where is she?!”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Betsy’s in the trunk.”
I honestly thought she had hung up, I heard nothing on the other end, not even breathing.
“…..What do you mean your sister’s in the trunk?”
“Sister? What the hell are you talking about? Back on drugs so soon, mother? Betsy is a goddamn doll. I locked her in the toy box a few days before you got arrested for opium possession.”
“Laura.. oh God no…no… Laura, I wasn’t arrested because of the drugs, I was arrested because of Betsy’s disappearance! You always called her your little doll, but we all thought you knew… Oh God, what did you do, Laura? What did you do to my baby?!”
With no emotion, I set the phone next to me and stood up. I could hear the distant sound of my mother’s anguished cries and feel the dark clutch of agony in my own chest. Memories were stirring in the back of my mind, threatening to come flooding forward into my consciousness. Pushing against a door in my head, a door that had been locked so tightly for so long, I had forgotten it was there.
Could the trauma and the drugs have really led me to believe that a small child was actually doll? Asking for food, asking for utensils to eat with, asking me to protect her from the bad man…
No…
I slowly turned around and brought my eyes down to the chest. Surely it was too small. You couldn’t fit a person in there. You couldn’t. But what about a very small, starving, emaciated child? What about her? If I were an investigator looking for a child I would never consider looking in this chest. It was just too small.
I knelt down to the ground and unclipped the clasps. It would be better to not look. After all that I had overcome, this new life that I had earned. It could all be undone by opening this toy box. I shouldn’t open it. I should throw it in a landfill and forget it ever existed. I should not look inside…
I opened the chest.
I never had a doll. My mother never could afford to buy me one. I never had a wagon either. But I did have a toy box. A pretty, blue and white toy box. And when I was five, I drowned my two year old sister and put her in it. And now my life is ruined.
Credited to The_Dalek_Emperor
My Doll Annabella
https://creepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/My_Doll_Annabella
Lucy had been given a small doll as a gift from her parents. The doll was to them by an ancient great aunt who had now passed away. Lucy was secretly unnerved by the doll which had nasty black eyes that seemed to follow her around the room and a cross expression on its face.
Nethertheless, Lucy had to accept the doll, as she was well brought up and didn’t want to upset her parents by informing them that she disliked it. The note which came with the doll said its name was Annabella, which seemed to suit her. Now Lucy was now even more afraid now that the doll had a name. It seemed to make the doll just a little bit more human, and if it was even a little bit human then what was it capable of?
Lucy knew that it was just a doll and it couldn’t do anything to her. It was only a doll after all and it was only up to her knee. To put her mind at rest she put Annabella in the cupboard under the stairs, where she wouldn’t have to see it. That night when she was about to drift off she heard a brief dragging noise, and finally a scattering sound of footsteps.
By now Lucy was pinned to the bed in fear, when she heard a voice say “Lucy, I’m on the first step,” but that was all she heard because Lucy started to scream in terror. Lucy was so scared that she didn’t sleep a wink that night, but stayed awake in her bed till the break of dawn when her mother came to wake her. Lucy tried to explain what she heard last night but she was just so tired. Her mother simply passed it off as “Nothing more than a dream” and Lucy began to think she was right.
Lucy begged her parents that she might get rid of the doll, but they insisted that it had been the great aunt’s wish that it would be left to Lucy. She reluctantly went to sleep that night, telling herself that it had just been a dream. She checked the cupboard under the stairs, but found Annabella right where she left her.
That night Lucy fought sleep but eventually succumbed to it. At 3:02 AM she woke up sweating, and heard the voice again. “Lucy, I’m on the fifth step,” it said, then the scampering noise came to a stop and all was silent for the rest of the night. The Next day, Lucy told her three friends, Molly, Leia and Luna about the doll but they just laughed in her face.
Lucy worked out that Annabella was climbing four steps at a time which meant that there was only one more night ’till she reached the top. That night Lucy decided to shut her bedroom door. Her mother noticed because Lucy normally kept her door slightly open to let the light from the hallway in.
Lucy had always been afraid of the dark. Lucy asked if she could keep her bedroom light on but her mother said that the light would be far too bright and would keep her up at night, while Lucy knew that she would stay up all night anyway. Because Lucy was more afraid of the doll than the dark, she closed the door and didn’t turn on the light.
Just as she began to doze off, Lucy heard a noise come from outside her bedroom door. “Lucy. I’m on the top step Lucy,” it said. Lucy was terrified now. Her heart pounding inside her chest; she knew if she stayed in her bedroom she would not be safe, so she got up and planned to make a run towards her parents’ room. After all, even if the doll got her, it was just a doll. Right? She got out of bed and with a tiny trembling hand pulled the door open with a yank and started to run.
When morning rose her parents found her at the bottom of the stairs was a tiny body alongside Annabella. Her parents guessed that she had needed to use the bathroom in the night, but didn’t turn on the light, lost her footing, snapping her neck, killing her stone dead. Annabella was cuddled under Lucy’s arm. In her parents grief they thought Lucy loved the doll very much, since she had it with her when she perished. They decided to bury her with Annabella. Everybody said what a tragedy it was, especially how her great aunt died in the same way.
Written by Harvey The Hunter
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About Spooky Boo
Spooky Boo Rhodes is both an author and a podcaster. She has three podcasts available: Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time where she writes her own stories and tells them on the podcast, Creepypasta and Scary Stories where she tells the creepy stories of the internet written by other authors, and Creepy True Scary Stories where people send in their own true scary stories for Spooky Boo to read.
