RACHAEL ELIZABETH shares a vivid and unsettling childhood memory of a
porcelain doll that she believes smiled at her, which, combined with a ghost story, has left her with a lasting fear of
dolls
For as long as I can remember, the supernatural has always intrigued me, even from a young age, perhaps too young… ghosts have always been on my mind.
Naturally, my morbid interest caused many problems for my young mind: It wasn’t hard to scare me, I suffered (and still do) from horrendous nightmares involving malevolent spirits, and I do not think it is because I am ‘haunted’, but maybe it has something to do with my morbid obsession with watching and writing about the paranormal (and true crime).
However, I did have an experience when I was younger that I still recall vividly, a memory that still frightens me to this day, and it all started with a porcelain doll.
My fear of porcelain dolls
In the old days, by which I mean the 90s (insert horrified face here), there were a few trends that from today’s perspective, appear to be ludicrous. Yes, the clothes and make-up techniques have some explaining to do, but also the strange obsession everyone seemed to have with porcelain dolls.
The 90s may have seen some questionable fashion trends, but I harbour warm memories of when sleepovers and ghost stories went hand in hand, and as a young girl who loved the paranormal, the occasion warmed my spooky little heart.
There are many ghost stories that I recall from my youth, but one in particular always stuck in my mind, and to this day, I still believe it is partly to blame for my disdain (and fear) of dolls.
The premise of the ghost story was based on a young girl, Marie, who received a porcelain doll for her birthday, a doll she saw as ugly, so ugly in fact, that she begged her mother to throw it away. But her mother refused claiming it was a present that someone had bought for her. In protest, the young girl throws the doll in the cupboard under the stairs.
Over the next few nights, Marie is awakened when she hears the sound of something running around downstairs, and a high-pitched giggle as cupboard doors repeatedly slam shut; Marie complains to her parents, but they tell her she is simply having nightmares.
One night as Marie lies awake in bed, waiting, listening, she hears a door creak, the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Then, cutting through the darkness, she hears a small voice declare, “Marie, I’m on the first step” a few moments later, “Marie, I’m on the second step” … “Marie, I’m on the third step”.
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