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thanks 
- Joined
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I have that pony in my attic somewhere.
help me
help me
A
Anonymous
Guest
this reminds me of a film i once saw when i was young; 12 i think i was and the film was an 18. it freaked me out but i was always intriguiged by dolls a bit after. i know it sounds obvious but someone might have moved them about. If theres no way that could have happened then it might be a good idea to get a priest in if it happens again.
- Joined
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I am cynical about some stories of dolls moving by themselves. A lot of articulated dolls are ball-jointed - that is, their joints are strung with elastic. Elastic is bound to expand and contract due to atmospheric conditions, so poses will change over time. (Especially if the elastic is tight.)
I'm kind of disappointed that my overpriced Korean dolls have yet to do anything Fortean, though. I mean, this one looks like she wants to destroy humanity, and she even has easy access to sharp objects, but noooooooo.
Also: token scary doll link.
I'm kind of disappointed that my overpriced Korean dolls have yet to do anything Fortean, though. I mean, this one looks like she wants to destroy humanity, and she even has easy access to sharp objects, but noooooooo.
Also: token scary doll link.
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2003
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http://www.worlddominationtoys.com/toys_li'lgasser.html
http://worlddominationtoys.com/toys_roller.html
There are more dolls on the site, too!
That shimmy/shake one gives me the galloping shudders.
http://worlddominationtoys.com/toys_roller.html
There are more dolls on the site, too!
That shimmy/shake one gives me the galloping shudders.
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2005
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- 87
I have worked out part of the problem I have with dolls. When you close your eyes....they dont!!!
Along with clowns they are very creepy and disturbing. Many people appear to be able to brave sleeping with these things in the room or even the house. I know I certainly wouldnt be able to! They are evil. :shock:
Along with clowns they are very creepy and disturbing. Many people appear to be able to brave sleeping with these things in the room or even the house. I know I certainly wouldnt be able to! They are evil. :shock:
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When I was growing up I never had a single doll, barbie, or human shaped toy unless it was given to me. Even then, I would flatly refuse to touch it or play with it. And these weren't those random gifts given at massive birthday parties, these were all heartfelt gifts from family members. One was a troll doll from my aunt and I literally loathed it, even though right next to me my cousin recieved one and instantly adored it. I really hated all human shaped toys, even when my parents would offer to buy me one. The one barbie I was given that I tolerated was an Ariel lookalike complete with sparkly fish-tail, but even she was locked into a box and I only touched her when a babysitter came and asked to see my barbies. Don't ask, she must have been a barbie addict...
Sometimes I wonder if as a kid I knew better than to leave possible posessive hosts around. Either that or the fact they have creepy eyes
But I do have over a hundered stuffed animals somewhere!
Sometimes I wonder if as a kid I knew better than to leave possible posessive hosts around. Either that or the fact they have creepy eyes
But I do have over a hundered stuffed animals somewhere!
PeniG said:
That is an amazing explanation! I am a doll-maker (although of cloth dolls, not ceramic) and this is wonderful! I can't wait to ask my fellow doll-makers if they have the same problem with their cermainc-based dolls.
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- Jun 2, 2003
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- 491
Yep get the freakin thing before it gets you.LaurenChurchill said:
My daughter inherited a bunch of china dolls which she keeps in a guest room. When I visit her I have to sleep under the gaze of dozens of the things - it's one of the few things that I don't like. As far as I know hers don't move about though!
I remember reading of an account where a woman, who lived on her won, treated her china doll like it was a real child, she put so much love and attention that weird things started to happen. She claimed that it would move about on its own, disappear from one place and appear some where different. I think the woman had put so much energy into the doll, in the form of emotions that it took on a sort of poltergeist-like life of its own.
In the same article there was the mention of a teddy bear given to a British child in Africa (I think) which started doing the same sort of thing with the added terror of heavy breathing heard coming from it. When examined the bear had been tampered with, the wrists had been cut and some voodoo type items found inside the cuts.
In the same article there was the mention of a teddy bear given to a British child in Africa (I think) which started doing the same sort of thing with the added terror of heavy breathing heard coming from it. When examined the bear had been tampered with, the wrists had been cut and some voodoo type items found inside the cuts.
My mother worked in an old hospital which still (in the 70's) had a psychiatric block with padded cells and bars on the windows. The unit had a block specifically for the elderly and there was one old lady there who had the room full of old dolls which she would talk to. All the dolls were arranged so that they faced her bed and she would be fine so long as nobody touched her "babies" as she called them or broke her view of them. My mum and her assistant had to visit this old lady and the assistant got between her and a group of her dolls, the old girl leapt out of bed and attacked the assistant leaving her with bad cuts and scratches about her neck. The creepy thing was that some of the nursing staff swore that they had heard the dolls answering the old lady when she spoke to them. When she died nobody came from the family for the dolls so the staff had the dolls burnt in the hospital incinerator.
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.
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.
- Joined
- Oct 3, 2004
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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.
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.
Now see here ... I simply must know the name of that story. Do you remember it?
No, I don't. I think it was more "urban legend to scare little kids" than anything else. She told it to me one night while my sister and her were doing make-up and stuff, so I don't know if it came from a book or not. But, boy did it give me a bad impression of dolls for the next twenty years. She told it to me as a "true story" and some part of me believed it though obviously as I got older, I realised it was just a tale.
illuminati37411
Devoted Cultist
- Joined
- Jan 28, 2006
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Dolls
when I was a child in the 1960's my mom bought a very old wooden doll with jointed knees, ankles, wrists, elbows, etc. made by Shoenhut in Germany about 1915. They also make artist's manekins I believe. My little sister and I named her Amanda Jane and played with her for many years until we grew up. She had the saddest brown eyes, turned down at the outside, with no eyelashes at all. They weren't dead but rather soft looking although they did not shine. She also had a solemn unsmiling straight mouth too with two tiny little painted teeth.
We played with her so much that we combed her hair out and chipped the paint on her wooden nose and her sad brown eyes fell out but my mom saved them along with her little handmade wardrobe which had come with her -- little white union suit with lace and a petticoat and little leather shoes and knitted socks. I have to admit affter her eyes fell out she looked spooky as hell. :lol:
After I got married my mom sent Amanda Jane off to the doll hospital to be repainted, cuz she was an "antique" , and have her eyeballs put back in and have a new dress made. She also got brand new kid leather shoes and a new wig. She stood on my mom's dresser for many years and was only played with by the grandchildren on ceremonial occasions under direct supervision.
Then I became an artist and I took Amanda Jane to my house and used her to pose for my pictures, since she had so many joints and could be dressed. Once I took her clothes off and arranged fabric so I could photograph and paint the fabric folds in a certain light and after I was done I left her standing there naked. An artist friend walked into my studio and said she was the creepeist thing he had ever seen. He specifically mentioned her eyes and said it was as if she was angry that he had seen her naked. But she really never creeped me out even though when I photographed her sometimes there would be rather anomalous glows and lights in the photos.
Then I started babysitting my granddaughter who was 3 years old. And she begged and begged me to play with Amanda Jane so finally I let her and she dressed her and undressed her and combed her hair all the livelong day just like my sister and I used to do so long ago. And when my daughter came to pick up her daughter she looked up at Amanda Jane, who was back in her accustomed place on her special stand, and immediately said, "Amada Jane is smiling." And I looked up and it did seem that she had the tiniest little smile on her sad little face. And I told her that Phoebe had been playing with her all day and that she must be happy to have played with a real little girl after so many years. And so when Phoebe moved to Alaska I sent Amanda Jane along so she could play with little girls again. The end. Not a very spooky story but true.
when I was a child in the 1960's my mom bought a very old wooden doll with jointed knees, ankles, wrists, elbows, etc. made by Shoenhut in Germany about 1915. They also make artist's manekins I believe. My little sister and I named her Amanda Jane and played with her for many years until we grew up. She had the saddest brown eyes, turned down at the outside, with no eyelashes at all. They weren't dead but rather soft looking although they did not shine. She also had a solemn unsmiling straight mouth too with two tiny little painted teeth.
We played with her so much that we combed her hair out and chipped the paint on her wooden nose and her sad brown eyes fell out but my mom saved them along with her little handmade wardrobe which had come with her -- little white union suit with lace and a petticoat and little leather shoes and knitted socks. I have to admit affter her eyes fell out she looked spooky as hell. :lol:
After I got married my mom sent Amanda Jane off to the doll hospital to be repainted, cuz she was an "antique" , and have her eyeballs put back in and have a new dress made. She also got brand new kid leather shoes and a new wig. She stood on my mom's dresser for many years and was only played with by the grandchildren on ceremonial occasions under direct supervision.
Then I became an artist and I took Amanda Jane to my house and used her to pose for my pictures, since she had so many joints and could be dressed. Once I took her clothes off and arranged fabric so I could photograph and paint the fabric folds in a certain light and after I was done I left her standing there naked. An artist friend walked into my studio and said she was the creepeist thing he had ever seen. He specifically mentioned her eyes and said it was as if she was angry that he had seen her naked. But she really never creeped me out even though when I photographed her sometimes there would be rather anomalous glows and lights in the photos.
Then I started babysitting my granddaughter who was 3 years old. And she begged and begged me to play with Amanda Jane so finally I let her and she dressed her and undressed her and combed her hair all the livelong day just like my sister and I used to do so long ago. And when my daughter came to pick up her daughter she looked up at Amanda Jane, who was back in her accustomed place on her special stand, and immediately said, "Amada Jane is smiling." And I looked up and it did seem that she had the tiniest little smile on her sad little face. And I told her that Phoebe had been playing with her all day and that she must be happy to have played with a real little girl after so many years. And so when Phoebe moved to Alaska I sent Amanda Jane along so she could play with little girls again. The end.
Not a very spooky story but true.I was in Chester the other day and happened to walk past an old shop in Lower Bridge Street that had antique dolls in the window. One of them had a bisque head with the most evil expression I have seen on a toy. It was in very good condition and I suppose that that is due to nobody wanting to play with it. It had a horrible knowing smirk and, what I really did not like, two teeth visable under the upper lip (don't know why but those teeth gave me the shivers) :eek!!!!: :eek!!!!:
PeniG
Justified & Ancient
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Oh, that Amanda Jane story is so sweet, Rumer Godden could've written it. Schoenhut dolls are highly collectible, but good for you, putting the child's happiness above the monetary value of stuff.
I can't get anywhere with the "dolls in general are creepy" notion. Ventriloquist's dummies, on the other hand - well, let's not go there. There's nothing inherently benevolent or malevolent about dolls. They're inanimate, and therefore the qualities we perceive in them say more about us than they do about the doll. Dolls were always characters to me, to people adventure stories, and also a responsibility, little people to take care of and keep from harm. Like animals, dolls can rouse pity in me, but not fear. Now, the horror that partakes of pity - that's different. A mutiliated doll is like a corpse that can't die; how can you not feel compassion for that? The only horrible doll I remember was a baby doll with a little duck beak; the poor thing was stuck in the middle of transforming and I couldn't do anything about it! The evil doll in A Candle in her Room terrified me more than it would someone who didn't like dolls, I think, because of the insidiousness of it.
Dafadxu, there was a brief fashion, during the horror boom of the 80s, for "evil doll" stories in the King/Koontz mode. I never read any, myself, but they were trendy enough to generate a parody that I remember from one of the magazines I used to track before I gave up short stories as too much work for too little return. Possibly your sister's tale was based on one of those.
I can't get anywhere with the "dolls in general are creepy" notion. Ventriloquist's dummies, on the other hand - well, let's not go there. There's nothing inherently benevolent or malevolent about dolls. They're inanimate, and therefore the qualities we perceive in them say more about us than they do about the doll. Dolls were always characters to me, to people adventure stories, and also a responsibility, little people to take care of and keep from harm. Like animals, dolls can rouse pity in me, but not fear. Now, the horror that partakes of pity - that's different. A mutiliated doll is like a corpse that can't die; how can you not feel compassion for that? The only horrible doll I remember was a baby doll with a little duck beak; the poor thing was stuck in the middle of transforming and I couldn't do anything about it! The evil doll in A Candle in her Room terrified me more than it would someone who didn't like dolls, I think, because of the insidiousness of it.
Dafadxu, there was a brief fashion, during the horror boom of the 80s, for "evil doll" stories in the King/Koontz mode. I never read any, myself, but they were trendy enough to generate a parody that I remember from one of the magazines I used to track before I gave up short stories as too much work for too little return. Possibly your sister's tale was based on one of those.
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- 5,521
As non-human entities are traditionally held able to move into human hosts, as into an empty house, and into plaster and clay idols, which seems to be why idols were invented in the first place, why wouldn't those possible abodes also include dolls?
And voodoo dolls, which seem to have been French in origin rather than African, are certainly evil in my book.
By the way, what's so different about ventriloquist dummies? I have a story there involving Edgar Bergan's daughter.
And voodoo dolls, which seem to have been French in origin rather than African, are certainly evil in my book.
By the way, what's so different about ventriloquist dummies? I have a story there involving Edgar Bergan's daughter.
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The single most obviously-fictitious "true" Paranormal story I've so far read online involved a "murderous doll."
A girl testified that she returned home from school to find her entire family seated around the supper table, dead and beheaded.
Her "creepiest" doll stood in the corner of the room, soaked with blood, holding a big knife and laughing.
A girl testified that she returned home from school to find her entire family seated around the supper table, dead and beheaded.
Her "creepiest" doll stood in the corner of the room, soaked with blood, holding a big knife and laughing.
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2005
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- 24
*shivers*
That's the oldest urban myth in the book. Still very unnerving though!
http://www.bummit.co.uk/profiles/?id=599
That's the oldest urban myth in the book. Still very unnerving though!
http://www.bummit.co.uk/profiles/?id=599
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- 5,521
megadeth16 said:
To my mind most of these designed-to-look-evil dolls try way too hard to get the effect and thus miss the mark.
PeniG
Justified & Ancient
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- 2,434
Ventriloquist's dummies are different for me because we didn't own any and my first impressions of them were all via media, in which they were sinister! They're male (always more threatening than females - which means that when a woman is a villain she scares me more and is more likely to get away with it, but that's a different set of concepts), limp but not cuddly, and their faces are disproportionate, with those big hinged jaws and huge staring-but-mobile round eyes, like a predator. Ventriloquist routines I saw usually involve sarcastic, mean-spirited dummies besting the more mobile humans around them with verbal one-up-manship; although powerless in the real world, they are malicious and have powerful personalities. The scariest movie trailer I ever saw was the one for Magic, which consists entirely of an extreme close-up of a ventriloquist's dummy reciting a bit of threatening doggerel.
Even relatively innocent, humorous dummies, like Dave on Soap, are indicative of something wrong. Chuck was pathological, though in a nonthreatening way - a split personality with the dominant personality residing in Dave the Dummy and browbeating the dependent secondary personality of Chuck, residing in the human. This effect was so strong that the other characters inevitably started interacting with Dave as an individual in preference to Chuck, the real person.
Note that I do not have this reaction to puppets, even those (like Lamb Chop and Madam) who are really ventriloquist dummies openly operated by their "partner." The rigidity makes a difference. I also don't have this reaction to marionnettes even though, physically, they also have the wooden stiffness, hinged mouths, and predator eyes. This is probably because the first marionnettes I ever saw were the ones in the Sound of Music and the second ones I saw were a dance troup live on stage in an auditorium, where their details did not impress me as much as their footwook. I also don't fear jacks-in-the-box, because we had two, with which I remember playing endlessly.
Childhood impressions count for most of these reactions. It doesn't have to be logical. Other people find dolls, or even teddy bears, sinister for similar illogical reasons, and I understand that at the same time that I am angry and resentful at people who insist that dolls, or teddies, (or spiders, or snakes, which I also like) ARE SCARY AND CREEPY AND AWFUL IN THEIR ESSENCE AND MY FEAR IS RIGHT AND NATURAL AND YOUR LACK OF FEAR IS UNNATURAL - which, face it, happens all the time. I have my illogical reactions and you have yours. I know why I cherish my positive illogical ones. I don't know why other people cherish their negative illogical ones.
There's an episode of Buffy involving a ventriloquist's dummy who is at first assumed to be demonically possessed, but is later revealed to be a good guy, if a little acerbic - a magician transformed in the course of helping out a previous slayer, and understandably resentful of his helpless status without succumbing to the temptation to behave maliciously. A lot of Buffy fans dislike this episode for a number of reasonably sound reasons, but it's a favorite in our house because of the expectation reversal. I love that the thing that creeps me out turns out to be all right at the same time that it's creepy, while the evil resides in someone who at first looks like a victim.
It's not comforting, but it's realistic. You can't stick a label on a category and say: "These things are all bad" or "These things are all good." You have to look closely at individuals and evaluate them based on what they really do. God and the Devil (in neither of which I believe, though I'm willing to accept the possibility of both or either) are in the details.
Even relatively innocent, humorous dummies, like Dave on Soap, are indicative of something wrong. Chuck was pathological, though in a nonthreatening way - a split personality with the dominant personality residing in Dave the Dummy and browbeating the dependent secondary personality of Chuck, residing in the human. This effect was so strong that the other characters inevitably started interacting with Dave as an individual in preference to Chuck, the real person.
Note that I do not have this reaction to puppets, even those (like Lamb Chop and Madam) who are really ventriloquist dummies openly operated by their "partner." The rigidity makes a difference. I also don't have this reaction to marionnettes even though, physically, they also have the wooden stiffness, hinged mouths, and predator eyes. This is probably because the first marionnettes I ever saw were the ones in the Sound of Music and the second ones I saw were a dance troup live on stage in an auditorium, where their details did not impress me as much as their footwook. I also don't fear jacks-in-the-box, because we had two, with which I remember playing endlessly.
Childhood impressions count for most of these reactions. It doesn't have to be logical. Other people find dolls, or even teddy bears, sinister for similar illogical reasons, and I understand that at the same time that I am angry and resentful at people who insist that dolls, or teddies, (or spiders, or snakes, which I also like) ARE SCARY AND CREEPY AND AWFUL IN THEIR ESSENCE AND MY FEAR IS RIGHT AND NATURAL AND YOUR LACK OF FEAR IS UNNATURAL - which, face it, happens all the time. I have my illogical reactions and you have yours. I know why I cherish my positive illogical ones. I don't know why other people cherish their negative illogical ones.
There's an episode of Buffy involving a ventriloquist's dummy who is at first assumed to be demonically possessed, but is later revealed to be a good guy, if a little acerbic - a magician transformed in the course of helping out a previous slayer, and understandably resentful of his helpless status without succumbing to the temptation to behave maliciously. A lot of Buffy fans dislike this episode for a number of reasonably sound reasons, but it's a favorite in our house because of the expectation reversal. I love that the thing that creeps me out turns out to be all right at the same time that it's creepy, while the evil resides in someone who at first looks like a victim.
It's not comforting, but it's realistic. You can't stick a label on a category and say: "These things are all bad" or "These things are all good." You have to look closely at individuals and evaluate them based on what they really do. God and the Devil (in neither of which I believe, though I'm willing to accept the possibility of both or either) are in the details.
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- Oct 3, 2004
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There's a tv ad I love that starts with a guy innocently buying jeans off a store mannequin. As he goes home wearing them, we see the mannequin apparently follow. It appears a little behind him in a crowd, behind a tree as he enters his apartment. Finally as he lies asleep on his couch, the door opens and we see the mannequin's shadow fall across him...Hehehe, leave the jeans next time. Spooky.