light said:I have a friend who can't bear the sight of my little ponies because she thinks they look like barbara streisand .
possibly, possibly....
That's awesome.
light said:I have a friend who can't bear the sight of my little ponies because she thinks they look like barbara streisand .
possibly, possibly....
Here's one for all you collectors of creepy doll-related ephemera:
light said:I have a friend who can't bear the sight of my little ponies because she thinks they look like barbara streisand .
PeniG said:My bisque dolls from the 20s move all the time. Putting felt on their feet doesn't help, and neither, long-term, does double-stick tape.
The problem is that bisque (matte finish porcelain) and china (gloss finish porcelain) and the surface of shelves combined produce very little friction to keep them still, and since dolls are cast from molds they are hollow and very light. It doesn't take much in the way of vibration to keep them dancing around. Many of them are probably mounted on stands, which are metal and also subject to movement unless they have rubber bottoms. (I don' t know why they don't.)
Computer challenged, heck - she means she can't type?
Yep get the freakin thing before it gets you.LaurenChurchill said:ok. That is supremely freaky.
One of my porcelain dolls wet missing a while back. It was sitting on the piano one day and the next, it was gone.
If it appears anywhere in my room it's gonna die.
DafadxDdu said:I loathe dolls with a firey burning passion. Absolutely loathe. Ick! When I was little, I had barbies, but I couldn't sleep unless they were locked up in my closet, and I was terrified they'd come out for me while I slept. During the day I was fine though. Now, I have a little doll that my mother bought in Germany for me. I named her Sophia and she lives in the living room. Thankfully she has never once moved :shock: I have no idea how I can tolerate her in here, but she's been in the same spot for over four years without incidence. I think if I ignore her, and she ignores me, then we get along fine together
Some other dolls related stories, though nothing fortean, unfortunately.
One of the people on my step-father's side of the family has a living room full of dolls in glass cabinets. That house is freaky and creepy and I don't like it. I was always petrified the dolls would come for me. I think it's the blank stare and how they are all situated to face the center of the room.
My step-father has a toy clown from when he was a child. If you pull the shirt off it, it's body has several traintracks of stiches where it had to be sewn back together. I've been afraid of this thing since I was six years old, and they always threatened to hang it from the bedroom doorknob so me and my sister would leave my parents alone. This particular clown reminded me quite strongly of Pennywise from "It" and it just looked evil. All of my life, I had this irrational fear that it was after me.
When we lived in Bedford, Texas, every single day that I came home from school, I would be alone for about 2 hours. As I would sit in the little dining alcove to have my afterschool snack, I would hear footsteps above me in my parent's bedroom. It was quite distinct and sounded like someone walking quickly around and around their bed. This happened the entire time we lived there. I know it wasn't neighbors (it was a block with four homes stuck together, called a "four-plex" apparently) because none of them were home. The immediate neighbor whose house was next to ours didn't get home until after my parents did, and there was no mistaking the foorsteps because I could look up and imagine them pacing back and forth. Once I finished my snack, I had to brave the stairs, creep up to the second floor, and then leap across the landing to my bedroom, slamming the door shut.
I could not remain in my bedroom with the door open, I just could not function with the door open. I always attributed this to that clown.
Several years later, we had moved to Grand Prairie. Once again, I would be home for a couple of house by myself, and once again, sitting at home, I would hear footsteps. This time, it was a single story house, so the footsteps always came from the direction of my parent's bedroom, and sounded quite distinctly like feet on plush carpet. At first, brave girl I am, I would have a look, but after repeatedly finding nothing and being extremely creeped out and scared, I stopped looking, and eventually stopped staying in the living room. I would retreat to my bedroom, door closed and locked, and refuse to open it even to go to the toilet until someone else was in the house.
I still always thought this was the clown, and I always expected to see the damn thing peeking at me around a corner, but I never did.
I think I attribute my fear of dolls to two people. My sister, and a friend of hers when I was very little. My sister always told me my toys came to life while I slept, and her friend told me a story once about an evil doll that murdered all the family members of a little girl because they were mean to her/it. It did so by growing long, razor-sharp claws from its hands and chopping them into little bits.
Even now, at 26, I hate dolls.
megadeth16 said: