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I get a lot of letters concerning dreams and nightmares people have. I usually feel
rather conflicted about them. On the one hand, they are ultimately believable. How
many people actually have their family brutally murdered by an animated doll? I’m
guessing far fewer than those that dream about it.
On the other hand, dreams are but that – dreams. As scary as the worst nightmare is,
you merely awake to find the comfort of your own bed, instantly dispelling the terrors
that once seemed so real. Dreams can’t hurt you. Or at least, that was what I
thought. I now know differently.
Like so many before me, I swear what I am describing to you is true. I need not
hyperbolize to add strokes of the macabre to this chilling portrait, because I assure
you, it was the most frightening nightmare of my 28 years.
I was in a massive house. Not simply a big home, but a sprawling, derelict mansion
with multiple floors and long, winding corridors. Clearly abandoned, it was filled with
rubbish like broken lamps, stacks of news paper and other discarded odds and ends.
There were place where the uneven earth itself broke through the floorboards, and
the walls that were covered thick patches of mold. As is the case with most dreams, I
don’t know how I got there.
I was carrying a yellowed map of some sort. I had to plan my trek through the building,
because only so many lights could be turned on in the building at a time. Turning on
too many would cause the lights to permanently go out in another section of the
manse, rendering it permanently dark, which could be a hassle given the uneven
floors. To compound this issue, I was not alone.
There were children in the building as well. They were making their way from floor to
floor, picking through the ambient refuse, looking for something. They posed no
menace, other than arguing over which section of the house should be lit next. I tried
to push past them, and flipped on the lights for a new section, inadvertently shutting
off the lights in a section where many of the children had been scrounging. They all
screamed in unison.
At this point, I was feeling uncomfortable. Not scared, exactly, but definitely on edge. I
didn’t think there was a reason for these children to be so terrified of the dark. They
might stub their toes, but it’s not like the place was truly dangerous, right? That’s
when I saw them.
A glossy blanket of red began to emerge from the nearby darkness. It undulated over
the broken floors and flowed towards my feet. Crimson specs began crawling over the
discarded objects that littered the floor. Gusts of stale air carried with it the almost
imperceptible din of a billion chitenous legs clawing and scratching their way towards
me.
Ants. A sea of red ants was making their way towards me.
I backed up against the wall. The encroaching insects had me cornered. The only
way out of there was a nearby staircase that the ants were blocking. Using the map, I
tried scraping the ants out of the way. This works to an extent, but when they began
marching up the paper and towards my hand, I panicked, dropping it into the
gathering ruby swarm. Seeing my path rapidly becoming blocked once more, I took a
running leap and landed on the stairs. The aged wooden steps buckled under my
weight, but there was no time for caution. Tendrils of stinging ants were beginning to
snake their way up the stairs. I scampered up the well as quickly as possible.
Once on the next floor, I calmed down. I had lost the map, but I had left the ants
behind. The lights were no longer much of an issue, as dim lighting already seems to
fill the space. Oddly, even more debris and refuse was scattered upon the ground. I
poked around for a moment, and discovered pair of white foam figures. They looked
like someone was trying to make a puppet and has given up. They had large, round
eyes painted on, with big triangular noses. I quickly realized what I was holding.
Tails Dolls.
Earlier prototypes, at least. They were far from finished, and had no coloring, but the
resemblance was unmistakable. This sparked an obvious emotional reaction in me –
excitement.
I’ve always wanted a replica of the Tails Doll. Obviously, they don’t sell them, so I’ve
been searching for an artist who could make one for me. Upon fining these
prototypes, hope welled up in me that I might find someone who could construct a
complete one. Perhaps if I searched around, there may even be a finished model one
lying around the room.
Looking about, something caught my eye. One of the doors that lined the wall was
ajar, betraying a flickering light inside. Filed with the type of ill-advised curiosity
indicative of dreams, I made my way to the pulsing portal and looked inside. What I
found was bizarre to say the least.
A fully-formed plush Tails Doll was hanging from the ceiling by a cord of some sort.
The room, which appeared to an average teen’s bedroom, had red strobe lights place
around it, flashing crimson bursts of light at a near-epileptic pace. While the effigy
hanging from the ceiling appeared to be exactly what I was looking for, something told
me not to take it.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t that I thought the doll was creepy that stayed my hand. More
than anything, it just looked like it belonged to someone. The strobe lights were
clearly brand new, so I assumed they belonged to someone other than the house’s
original owner. It looked to me like someone was shooting a music video, or setting up
an amateur haunted house. Thinking that I shouldn’t interfere, I turned to leave and
nearly tripped.
There was a boy watching me.
A small child of about seven or eight, with dirty blond hair was standing behind me,
watching intently. He held in his hands an ivory cube, devoid of markings. The child
giggled and began rubbing the box’s smooth side with his left hand. A faint grinding
sound permeated the air. A shiver ran up my spine as I identified the deathly cube in
his hands. It was a jack in the box.
This is the point in the dream where I realized things were truly going south. Enigmatic
little kids with jack in the boxes can never mean anything good. My body tensed up as
I prepared myself for what sure to be an unpleasant surprise leaping forth from the
box.
Pop.
The lid of the box flipped open and something diminutive poked out. It was oddly
subdued, and far from the hideous projectile I feared. The box slipped from the child’s
hands and clattered to the floor before I could make out the tiny lump. Curious, I
crouched down and picked it up.
Orange felt peeked out from inside the white container. The figure was crudely
constructed, with slightly disproportionate features. It was a Tails Doll finger puppet.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed that it was not the original object inside the box, but
rather a hastily constructed overlay for the real spring-loaded contents. The little
blond child stepped closer and caressed the diamond-shaped felt jewel upon its
head. Suddenly he clamped down hard and yanked.
Golden thread trailed behind his tiny fist. Before I could understand what was going
on, he looped it around my throat and began choking me. My hands clawed at the
gilded wire embedded in my gullet, but it was too late. My trembling fingers could find
no hold. Looking up at my assailant I saw him grinning with a toothy rictus. They boy’
s eyes were bulging, with a glossy ebon sheen. I tried to shout but my throat was
cinched tight. The boy spoke, croaking words in a language I could not recognize. It
was a command, however, and deep down, somewhere past the terror clouding my
judgment, I understood the meaning behind those cryptic words. He wanted me to
give in. Feel the anger. Unleash my anger. It was the only way I could survive, but I
knew that if I let the hate take over, there was no going back. It would consume me,
transform me, and leave a barely human wreckage in its wake.
I was growing dizzy now from lack of air. The fear got the best of me, and I gave into
the anger welling up inside of me. My vision started turning red and I lashed out,
digging my fingers into the child’s face. It only seemed to smile wider. I wanted to hurt
it. I had to hurt it. I lunged forward, and mauled its face. My hate-fueled jaws
clamped shut on its soft flesh.
And then I was awake, biting down on my wife’s cheek.
I quickly released and apologized as best I could. To my relief, I did not break the
skin. This reverie has left me shaken, though. It was by far the most tangible, vividly-
recalled dream I have ever had -- especially, the fear and anger at the end. I can’t
possibly hazard a guess as to what all of it means, if anything, but I do know that I was
ready to hurt someone by the end. My wife is ok, and actually thinks it’s funny that I
bit her. I don’t. I know that something in my dream was trying to corrupt me, and I fear
what might have come to pass, had I not awoken in time.
I will never doubt those who have dreamt of the doll again.
rather conflicted about them. On the one hand, they are ultimately believable. How
many people actually have their family brutally murdered by an animated doll? I’m
guessing far fewer than those that dream about it.
On the other hand, dreams are but that – dreams. As scary as the worst nightmare is,
you merely awake to find the comfort of your own bed, instantly dispelling the terrors
that once seemed so real. Dreams can’t hurt you. Or at least, that was what I
thought. I now know differently.
Like so many before me, I swear what I am describing to you is true. I need not
hyperbolize to add strokes of the macabre to this chilling portrait, because I assure
you, it was the most frightening nightmare of my 28 years.
I was in a massive house. Not simply a big home, but a sprawling, derelict mansion
with multiple floors and long, winding corridors. Clearly abandoned, it was filled with
rubbish like broken lamps, stacks of news paper and other discarded odds and ends.
There were place where the uneven earth itself broke through the floorboards, and
the walls that were covered thick patches of mold. As is the case with most dreams, I
don’t know how I got there.
I was carrying a yellowed map of some sort. I had to plan my trek through the building,
because only so many lights could be turned on in the building at a time. Turning on
too many would cause the lights to permanently go out in another section of the
manse, rendering it permanently dark, which could be a hassle given the uneven
floors. To compound this issue, I was not alone.
There were children in the building as well. They were making their way from floor to
floor, picking through the ambient refuse, looking for something. They posed no
menace, other than arguing over which section of the house should be lit next. I tried
to push past them, and flipped on the lights for a new section, inadvertently shutting
off the lights in a section where many of the children had been scrounging. They all
screamed in unison.
At this point, I was feeling uncomfortable. Not scared, exactly, but definitely on edge. I
didn’t think there was a reason for these children to be so terrified of the dark. They
might stub their toes, but it’s not like the place was truly dangerous, right? That’s
when I saw them.
A glossy blanket of red began to emerge from the nearby darkness. It undulated over
the broken floors and flowed towards my feet. Crimson specs began crawling over the
discarded objects that littered the floor. Gusts of stale air carried with it the almost
imperceptible din of a billion chitenous legs clawing and scratching their way towards
me.
Ants. A sea of red ants was making their way towards me.
I backed up against the wall. The encroaching insects had me cornered. The only
way out of there was a nearby staircase that the ants were blocking. Using the map, I
tried scraping the ants out of the way. This works to an extent, but when they began
marching up the paper and towards my hand, I panicked, dropping it into the
gathering ruby swarm. Seeing my path rapidly becoming blocked once more, I took a
running leap and landed on the stairs. The aged wooden steps buckled under my
weight, but there was no time for caution. Tendrils of stinging ants were beginning to
snake their way up the stairs. I scampered up the well as quickly as possible.
Once on the next floor, I calmed down. I had lost the map, but I had left the ants
behind. The lights were no longer much of an issue, as dim lighting already seems to
fill the space. Oddly, even more debris and refuse was scattered upon the ground. I
poked around for a moment, and discovered pair of white foam figures. They looked
like someone was trying to make a puppet and has given up. They had large, round
eyes painted on, with big triangular noses. I quickly realized what I was holding.
Tails Dolls.
Earlier prototypes, at least. They were far from finished, and had no coloring, but the
resemblance was unmistakable. This sparked an obvious emotional reaction in me –
excitement.
I’ve always wanted a replica of the Tails Doll. Obviously, they don’t sell them, so I’ve
been searching for an artist who could make one for me. Upon fining these
prototypes, hope welled up in me that I might find someone who could construct a
complete one. Perhaps if I searched around, there may even be a finished model one
lying around the room.
Looking about, something caught my eye. One of the doors that lined the wall was
ajar, betraying a flickering light inside. Filed with the type of ill-advised curiosity
indicative of dreams, I made my way to the pulsing portal and looked inside. What I
found was bizarre to say the least.
A fully-formed plush Tails Doll was hanging from the ceiling by a cord of some sort.
The room, which appeared to an average teen’s bedroom, had red strobe lights place
around it, flashing crimson bursts of light at a near-epileptic pace. While the effigy
hanging from the ceiling appeared to be exactly what I was looking for, something told
me not to take it.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t that I thought the doll was creepy that stayed my hand. More
than anything, it just looked like it belonged to someone. The strobe lights were
clearly brand new, so I assumed they belonged to someone other than the house’s
original owner. It looked to me like someone was shooting a music video, or setting up
an amateur haunted house. Thinking that I shouldn’t interfere, I turned to leave and
nearly tripped.
There was a boy watching me.
A small child of about seven or eight, with dirty blond hair was standing behind me,
watching intently. He held in his hands an ivory cube, devoid of markings. The child
giggled and began rubbing the box’s smooth side with his left hand. A faint grinding
sound permeated the air. A shiver ran up my spine as I identified the deathly cube in
his hands. It was a jack in the box.
This is the point in the dream where I realized things were truly going south. Enigmatic
little kids with jack in the boxes can never mean anything good. My body tensed up as
I prepared myself for what sure to be an unpleasant surprise leaping forth from the
box.
Pop.
The lid of the box flipped open and something diminutive poked out. It was oddly
subdued, and far from the hideous projectile I feared. The box slipped from the child’s
hands and clattered to the floor before I could make out the tiny lump. Curious, I
crouched down and picked it up.
Orange felt peeked out from inside the white container. The figure was crudely
constructed, with slightly disproportionate features. It was a Tails Doll finger puppet.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed that it was not the original object inside the box, but
rather a hastily constructed overlay for the real spring-loaded contents. The little
blond child stepped closer and caressed the diamond-shaped felt jewel upon its
head. Suddenly he clamped down hard and yanked.
Golden thread trailed behind his tiny fist. Before I could understand what was going
on, he looped it around my throat and began choking me. My hands clawed at the
gilded wire embedded in my gullet, but it was too late. My trembling fingers could find
no hold. Looking up at my assailant I saw him grinning with a toothy rictus. They boy’
s eyes were bulging, with a glossy ebon sheen. I tried to shout but my throat was
cinched tight. The boy spoke, croaking words in a language I could not recognize. It
was a command, however, and deep down, somewhere past the terror clouding my
judgment, I understood the meaning behind those cryptic words. He wanted me to
give in. Feel the anger. Unleash my anger. It was the only way I could survive, but I
knew that if I let the hate take over, there was no going back. It would consume me,
transform me, and leave a barely human wreckage in its wake.
I was growing dizzy now from lack of air. The fear got the best of me, and I gave into
the anger welling up inside of me. My vision started turning red and I lashed out,
digging my fingers into the child’s face. It only seemed to smile wider. I wanted to hurt
it. I had to hurt it. I lunged forward, and mauled its face. My hate-fueled jaws
clamped shut on its soft flesh.
And then I was awake, biting down on my wife’s cheek.
I quickly released and apologized as best I could. To my relief, I did not break the
skin. This reverie has left me shaken, though. It was by far the most tangible, vividly-
recalled dream I have ever had -- especially, the fear and anger at the end. I can’t
possibly hazard a guess as to what all of it means, if anything, but I do know that I was
ready to hurt someone by the end. My wife is ok, and actually thinks it’s funny that I
bit her. I don’t. I know that something in my dream was trying to corrupt me, and I fear
what might have come to pass, had I not awoken in time.
I will never doubt those who have dreamt of the doll again.