The Doll with the Glass Eyes
by Mahaley Tucker, age 11, The Donoho School
Oct 30, 2012 | 850 views |  0 comments | 6 6 recommendations | email to a friend | print
It wouldn’t have happened had it not been for my family history of mental illness. In my case, I was considered “crazy.” My great-grandmother was the worst, with her cats and too many creepy toys to count, but she had been dead for many years now.

The “incident” happened when I had just turned 12 . . .

I came home from school, only to find a large package on the porch stairs. “Hey Mom, did you see the box on the porch?” A look of curiosity crossed my mother’s face. “What box?” I pointed to the porch. She walked past me with some scissors and started to cut open the box. “Oh, Mahaley, it’s your great grandmother’s doll!!!” A look of panic flashed on my face. “That’s cool mom. It really is.” She hugged me and went to my room. Once I caught up to her, I realized she had put it on my shelf. My mom smiled and walked back to the kitchen. There was something odd about that doll, although I wasn’t too sure what . . .

It had been about two weeks since the doll came. The porcelain doll with the glass amber eyes and perfectly curly blonde hair. One day, mom was out getting groceries and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. I sat on my bed and listened to the music on my phone. The doll stared at me, and I stared back. It felt as if those lifeless, glass eyes were staring straight through me . . . As if it was looking for something . . . I finally got sick of it and pulled the headphones out of my ears. The bed creaked as I got off. Something made a loud thud behind me. Thunk, thunk, thunk . . . like rocks on the floor. Concerned, I turned around – only to find the doll with its dark, menacing, red eyes to be face to face with me.

I swatted at the doll. It hopped down and followed me as I ran out the door of my room down the hallway to the closet under the stairs. In the closet was a baseball bat. I grabbed it. Not a very good weapon, but it would do.

I thought I was hallucinating. A doll? Alive? I knocked off the mirror on the wall behind me as the doll finally stood in front of me. Frantically, I swung the bat. It was a direct hit. It flew across the room; the doll’s motionless body lay still on the floor. “It’s over,” I sighed.

“Not yet,” said a voice.

I looked at the doll, standing by my side. “What do you want?!?!?” I screamed at its face, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Her thin lips curved into a smile. It put its cold hand on me. “Welcome home, Mahaley.” She pointed to me. I looked down. My legs were hard and straight, my hands long and shiny. I looked at the mirror I had knocked off the wall.

My gray-blue glass eyes stared back at me. I was a doll.
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The Doll with the Glass Eyes by Mahaley Tucker, age 11, The Donoho School

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