When The Boss started showing an interest in crafting, I encouraged her. She didn't really have a hobby that was constructive before, and I wanted to be supportive of her new interests and allow her the space and freedom to pursue whatever direction she decided to go. Of course, by supporting her I was ultimately giving her permission to bring into our home whatever supplies she needs to make things with. Over the past two years her collection of crafting supplies has expanded at an almost constant rate, and I never had any problem with it. Not even when bags of Poly-Fil stuffing took over my easy chair. I've never complained a single time, even when I jabbed my toes on pins she accidentally dropped on the floor. I even laughed it off when I got a piece of thread wrapped around my balls because somehow it wound up in my laundry basket.
After a period of time and relocating her craft table to a bigger room, I realized that I would eventually have to draw the line somewhere. I never really knew when that line would be drawn, but I found myself drawing it this past weekend. Why, you ask?
I came home from helping my Grandmother move on Sunday and found this sitting on the coffee table:
Don't let that cherubic smile fool you. This is no ordinary plastic baby head. It's smile and pudgy cheeks are just a ruse to lure you in, as this hairless baby head is a minion of evil. Once, when I walked across the room, not only did the eyes follow me, but I swear to God it actually fucking turned to be able to continue watching me as I left it's field of vision.
I protested almost immediately to this unwelcome addition to our apartment.
The Boss thought it was funny that I found it to be creepy. I don't think I'm the only one that finds dolls to be creepy, but maybe I've read too much Stephen King to just accept things for what they are. Even though it is void of arms and legs to move around with, all I can picture is this doll head skittering up to me while I sleep and staring at me, waiting for me to feel it watching me and wake up so it can kill me.
"Well, what do you want me to do with it?" she asked.
"I don't know, but I don't want it out in the open. Put it away. It's creepy as hell."
"Where should I put it, then?"
"Inside a lead bag and in the closet."
She laughed, but eventually relented and put it inside a plastic bag and tucked it away in the closet. I went into the closet later that evening and put the bag in a box, and then stacked heavier boxes on top of it. With the demon possessed, you can never be too safe. I mean, just look at those eyes:
Now that I think of it, I'm not sure even the barricade is enough to keep us safe. I'm worried that if I tried to throw it away that it'd ever truly be gone. Like a bad Ouija board, I'd throw it in the dumpster outside and it'd be waiting for me on the kitchen counter once I got back upstairs to my apartment. I think it's time that I invested in a crucifix and made some holy water*.
Dolls, even if they are just little plastic heads, are like clowns. They can't be trusted.
*How do you make holy water, you ask? Just take some regular tap water and boil the hell out of it.