Revenge of the Dolls

Revenge of the Dolls
Written by David M. Muench


It was many years ago, I was perhaps five years old, and as usual I was being a nuisance to every other human being in my proximity. Usually my siblings. My sister was assisting my brother with homework in her bedroom, and for some unfathomable reason I was intent on bothering the Hades out of them. That whole "five-years-old" thing I suppose. Exhausted from repeated attempts to get rid of me, they had finally devised a devious scheme of revenge.

After I had left the room once again, my brother and sister had gathered up her dolls and lined them up facing the door. As I returned for a Scheduled Annoyance I noticed the dolls and inquired (as five-year-olds would do) what they were doing there. My sister replied, "They're tired of you coming in here, so they are going to get you."

I of course was torn between denial and terror and ran to mom in the kitchen and informed her of the nefarious doll attack. Mom was attempting to stifle laughter, though at the time I didn’t know this as my mother informed me many years later. Mom told me to go on and play.

As I was reporting the demonic dolls to my mom, my brother and sister proceeded to move the dolls from out of my sister's bedroom and out into the hallway, facing towards the way I would return (if I did).

Frustrated with mom's ennui, I trotted back towards my sister's bedroom and had gotten only about halfway down the hall when I froze in my tiny tracks. Good GOD, my brother and sister were right! The dolls were after me, and they were getting closer!

I let out a shriek of terror and went airborne to my now-perturbed mother and screamed to her that those dolls are gonna get me!

Tired of the mind game, my mother finally put a stop to the advancing dolls, telling an uproariously laughing son and daughter to "knock it off. Now."
So they acquiesced to mom’s demand and stopped scaring the hell out of me. For the time being.

Although I had the last laugh. A few years later my brother and I had a habit of interchanging the heads of my sister's dolls, which provided hours of amusement for us. We’d put Ironman’s head on Barbie and other such nonsense. Not only did my brother and I enjoy watching our sister go from serene to psychotic in a split-second, but also we unknowingly developed cross-gender toys.

We were very strange children.