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When I was six, Aunt Martha came to our house after spending two years in New Orleans. She has done some well-known researches on voodoo and evil paranormal influences in her life.
She even won an award or two for her efforts. She was on a two-month long vacation after finishing her thesis. Even before she came, mother and father used to discuss her strange beliefs and about what she had chosen to research and I got rather afraid of things they used to say about her.
My father said that she was strange, even as a child, and used to scream through the night and throw her books and playthings around for no apparent reason. Next day, my grandmother used to make her pick up her things and she always insisted that she was not the one to throw things and always blamed it all on her doll.
When she was around 10, she suddenly declared that she wanted to go and study in a boarding school. Just before she was leaving for the school, she said to my grandmother, “Mom, I know you never believed me or will ever believe me. But I never did anything wrong. It was my doll. I have thrown it in the river now but I am still afraid that she will seek vengeance on me fortrying to get rid of her. So, I am leaving.
If something happens to me, please believe me for once.” Then, she went off for school and since then, she has always found excuses to avoid coming back to visit. We still lived in the grandmother’s house and nothing had ever happened to us.
When she came, I was reluctant to talk to Aunt Martha but I soon found out that she was very sweet and nice. She brought many presents for me and she looked quite sane. Then, one night I brought up the topic of the scary doll and she suddenly grew pale. She told me that she still maintained that it was not she who threw the things but her evil doll. She had tried to lock it in the cabinet, throw it in the dustbin, cut it to pieces and even burn it, but it always managed to somehow come back on her dresser with an evil grin on her face, challenging her to get rid of it. It was the doll who used to throw things and even scream in her voice while she used to hide herself in the blanket and sob silently until someone came in to lash at her. I listened to her with a skeptic’s heart. Aunt Martha’s room was now being used as the family room and at the place, where her dresser was kept, was now the fireplace.
Aunt Martha was still thinking about her previous days and I was trying to decide whether to believe her or not when suddenly, I heard a loud piercing scream. I naturally looked at Aunt Martha, who was pale white, her lips pursed tightly together and two tears were about to roll from the corner of her eyes. She was staring at something. I looked where she was looking, when my eyes fell on an old rag doll with an evil grin on it's face....sitting on the fireplace, staring directly at Aunt Martha. She was definitely not there a moment before.
The very next day, Aunt Martha left, though she had promised to stay 20 more days. I never saw the doll again and I never want to. And Aunt Martha has never returned !
You never know if a child imagination has taken over or could it be true?
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