One day, I was working in my crafting shop, which also served as my basement. I was stitching together a new doll when I noticed something sitting on my cutting table. It was a doll, but one that I had never seen before. I was sure that I had never owned this particular doll a day in my life, but there it sat, staring in my direction. I knew that it wasn't one of mine because of how much smaller it was than the others. Upon closer examination, I noticed other differences. Its arms and legs were cotton filled fabric. It wore a blue and white dress, that of a southern belle; very Scarlett O'Hara. The most abnormal feature about it was its head. Its head appeared to be made out of unscathed, bleached porcelain. The pristine condition of its pale face was unnerving and unlike anything I had ever seen before on a doll. Its hair was straw-like to the touch, but was as yellow as the clear morning sun. Its face was cold and distant. Its eyelids seemed to open and close at will, exposing and hiding two marble eyes. Its cheeks were rose tinted and as smooth as ice. It had two tiny, pink lips curved up in a naive smirk. I had never seen a head so exemplary on a doll before.
I noticed it had a small string coming out of its back with a little plastic hoop attached. I grabbed the string and pulled. I felt a slight rattling going on inside the doll and released. It let out a noise that was unlike anything I have ever heard out of a doll before. It sounded grainy and distorted beyond recognition. It seemed to let out a soft, low growl; something much different than what you would think a doll of that condition would make. It seemed to speak something, but no matter how many times I pulled that string, I could never make out what it said. Every time, it just sounded like a mechanical moan.
That face still lingered with me though. It was the only part of the doll I truly appreciated. I hated the thought of dismembering such a near perfect doll, but I knew that I needed that head for future projects. I laid it down on the cutting table. Its eyes stared back up at me as I reached for my nearest blade. As I glided the blade against its soft neck, how it responded would continue to terrify me for years to come. It didn't do anything. It remained still through the whole incision. It didn't react at all. It just laid there, staring back up at me and smiling its little grin. It didn't scream. It didn't fight back. It didn't even bleed. It wasn't at all like any of the dolls I've ever worked on. I immediately threw it away in the nearest dumpster, hoping to never see anything like that in my workshop again. I don't know what it was, where it came from, or even how it got there, but whatever it was that found its way into my workshop that day, it had no place in my doll collection.