Dolls

I had recently taken an interest in ceramics, especially ball-jointed dolls, which, to me, are beautifully horrifying.

I should say right now, I've always had an irrational fear of dolls. I mean, how could you not be afraid of them? They look so life-like, too life-like. It's not like I had some kind of superstition about them or anything, I just found them unsettling to look at, that's all. With all that being said, after I moved in with a new room-mate, my fear increased ten or twenty-fold, and I wish I could take back every single decision I made after I moved in with him. Hell, I wish I decided to move in with someone else, even living on the street would've been better than those few moments I spent in that room.

My story begins in the midwinter of the year twenty-eleven, I had just turned twenty and was looking for a place to live, preferably with a room-mate as I had a job and some income, but not enough to live comfortably alone. (Un)Luckily for me, my search had ended quickly for me when I found an ad online for a house with a vacant room, it was close to where I worked, and the rent was cheap. I called the owner, he seemed nice enough, then I packed my stuff up and moved in within the week. The two of us were instant friends, and the only rule he had was that I stay out of his room when he's away, which wasn't a problem, I had no reason to even go into his room unless I needed something from him.

Of course, there were a few things I didn't like, of course, everyone has at least one thing you hate. First was that he smoked, and it was always in the living room. I don't have any problems with smokers, but I'm not one myself, so you can see how it'd be irritating, right? The next was that the remote for the television was missing, so you had to get up and go to the TV to change the channel and volume, which, while not anything major, was still a pain in the a*s. The third problem, and worst of them all, were the dolls.

As I have mentioned before, I'm afraid of dolls. I have also mentioned that I had no real reason to go into his room unless to talk to him. Well, it would turn out I ended up talking to him in his room quite often, usually to ask if he needed anything from the store or something else. Much to my chagrin, his room was filled with very large, very realistic looking dolls made of porcelain, or something similar, all of which had what appeared to be painted eyes and that was it. Upon questioning, he said that doll-making was a hobby of his. I honestly couldn't object to that answer, everyone has different hobbies and interests, even if I was creeped out by the dolls he made.

Even though I had only to spend about five minutes in his room at the most, that was more than enough time to make me feel uncomfortable and nauseous. The eyes were always facing the center of the room, making me feel as if they were looking directly at us, and there was always another feeling like these things were alive at some point, which could have probably been attributed to the fact that they each had their own bizarrely detailed face. One of the most disturbing factors was the fact that, even though he seemed to go through the trouble of painting extremely realistic eyes onto them, he never painted the skin, gave any of them wigs, or even gave them outfits. He said that painting the bodies and making wigs and clothing were annoying, and he didn't want to spend money on buying hair and clothing for them, which was a good enough answer for me, and I didn't look any further into it. 

Aside from all of that, the first few months were pretty good. We mostly just sat around playing video games, until one day...

...One day, he went out to go buy more clay. He said he was working on a new doll. It was his first attempt at making a male, and it was taking more clay than he expected it would. About five minutes after he left, I had this strange sensation, something was telling me to go into his room, or more specifically, the closet in his room. I couldn't resist the nagging feeling at the back of my head, and, against both his rule and my own judgement, I walked into his room, past each and every sickly-gray woman, and into the closet.

As it turned out, it wasn't a closet, but rather the entrance to a basement. I kept walking and walking down the stairs, until I reached another door. I felt a dark presence from beyond that door, one both calling to me and pushing me away. However, after minutes of both forces battling, when I finally rested my trembling hand on the doorknob, the hellish siren-song had beaten the warning. With one breath I had forced the door open and walked into my worst nightmare

In the darkly lit basement room, there were even more dolls, all strewn about. These were even more disturbing than the ones in his bedroom, with more detailed anatomy, wigs, and bright red lips. At the farthest end, sitting on a shelf with a red silk cloth were two dolls, joined together at the arms. One was a little girl, about nine or ten years old, resting her head on the other one's shoulder. These, unlike all the others, had hair. Not just wigs made from silicone or something similar like the others, but actual human hair. Standing at the center of this horror show, I tried to suppress the thoughts I was having. "People donate their hair to make wigs," I told myself out loud, "that's all it is. He just felt so proud of these two that he spent the extra money on real hair." Then, as my horror was building to a boil, I heard the door close

Standing right there, as you may have guessed, was the only other living occupant of the residence, looking not angry with me, but disappointed. "I wanted it to be a surprise," he said in a saddened tone, walking over to a table with large mounds covered in paper towels. He picked up one of the mounds and walked over to me, "this was supposed to be a secret until the day I made you immortal,' he said pulling off the clinging paper towels.

I could only stand silent in horror. In his hand was a clay face that looked exactly like me, but without eyes. I began to slowly step back as he continued walking towards me, until my arm was knocked into a doll that was standing a little while behind me, and there was a loud crash. I looked down to see that what was formerly a five and a half foot tall woman was now light gray shards spread out all over the ground, and something else. Along with the clay were a heart, a brain, and eyes, or at least, what was left of the organs after what must have been months or even years of sitting inside that thing.

"Dolls are hollow. Do you know why that is?  It's so people can live on inside of immortal bodies. I decided that I would let  everybody I love live forever, but how sad, you had to go and kill Julie," he said, completely calm. He continued to walk, but rather than towards me, he turned and walked to the little girl and woman who were joined together. "I'm just glad that you didn't get mother, or Anna, I would be devastated if I lost them. You're my closest friend, you know that? That's why, not only do I want you to be the only man I give everlasting life to, but I want you to be the one who puts me into my new body after I die. Mother and Anna agree, they said that the girls up-stairs talk about you fondly, and they want you to live down here with them. Once I'm finished with your new body, you can live down here with mother, and Anna, and me. How does that sound?" He asked, still in a completely calm tone, and all I could do was silently nod.

As he turned to go to the table and work on my new "body," I crouched down and picked up particularly sharp piece of clay. I walked towards him and, before he could notice, stabbed him in the back of the neck. He fell, and died seconds later. After realizing what I had actually done (though, I also realized that I couldn't really do anything else), I tried to leave the hellish workshop, but either from exhaustion or some other reason, I fainted before I could even step onto the stairway. I don't quite know when I awoke or how long I had even been asleep, but I noticed it had gone from early afternoon to night by the time I had left the dark abyss. I had called the police, who arrived minutes later, and moved back into my parents house until I found a new place to live. To this day, I still have nightmares about that room, the life-like dolls with organs encased inside of them, and that man who's name I forced myself to forget.

Author's Note

This is the first story I've actually been able to complete in years, as such, I'm a little out of practice.
Please, if you do criticize it, don't just say it's bad, but actually give me some tips on improvement.
I will also be submitting to creepypasta