The Doll

It's all in the eyes. Those plastic soulless eyes that never seem to move and yet I am sure that they see everything that I do. More than that though, I'm sure the thing can see everything I think as well. It's in my mind. I know it is. I can see it as it stares at me.

It knows that I am thinking "Why did I let Little Hoss talk me into letting her creepy little Victorian Doll eat with us?" I thought it would be cute, a little girl holding her doll. But Little Hossisn't holding her doll. Instead she went and got the extra chair and put her doll in it. Now the doll's little head just barely looms over the edge of the table. Enough to pass judgement on me or to perhaps rip my throat out. I'm not sure which at this point but I am pretty sure this thing is evil.

I don't even have a clue where this thing came from. Little Hoss just went down into the basement one day and then came up with this little porcelain like doll. It's wearing some sort of white dress that seems inappropriate for a child's plaything but seems to fit something that came straight from the bowels of hell. It's also a little musty looking and has almost an antique look about it. The eyes seem painted on and the black hairs appears to be styled by Lucifer.

I've known this all along. Nothing good comes from basements. If my daughter starts talking to it I'm going to freak out.

As for now, it's eating dinner with us. She has her own plate, her own glass and her own agenda. We sit in silence, staring at each other. Waiting for one of us to make a move.

"Daddy, can I have another taco?" Someone asks. I'm not sure if it's my daughter or the evil creepy little doll. I am also not sure if 'taco' is hell slang for my immortal soul. I don't move. I don't answer.

"Daddy?" I hear again.

"Not now baby, Daddy is battling damnation."

I see the little demon doll's fingers flex, like it's going for it's piece. I pick up the closet thing to me, a tub of sour cream and prepare to fling it with holy accuracy. But before it leaves my hand Hossmom grabs the tub and thanks me for passing it. Sure baby, I was passing it straight to redemption.

The doll is still again. But the eyes are still active, even if they don't move.

There seems to be talking around the table, at least I think there is. I see my wife moving her mouth and my daughter screaming. I see my son laughing as he is about to launch a flour tortilla at the dog. And yet, I hear nothing. I am surrounded by silence. The doll. Me. Salvation or Damnation.

"Daddy, I'm all done" my daughter says, snapping me back into the hear and now.

"Ok baby" I say as my gaze never leaves the doll. My hands do not move, there is no food going to my mouth. My concentration and dedication do not waiver. I cannot be distracted. Because the minute you are distracted is the minute a little porcelain fist goes straight for your eyeball.

Little Hoss gets off her chair and goes to her doll. She picks the doll up and asks her if she had a good dinner to. Then she laughs for no reason. She puts the doll over he shoulder as she walks away from the dinner table.

I still have not moved.

I see the dolls head tilt slightly up, so subtle that one not paying attention would have missed it. But I saw it. I know what it means.

It means that Taco Dinner night was a draw, neither good nor evil gaining the upper hand. But tomorrow is Spaghetti Night and I'm going to need the carb loading if I'm to banish this thing back to the basement.

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