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The Room on the Left

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3127769172 Porcelain Dolls xlarge

I'm writing this to warn you. Never go to the room on the left. I live in a small town in New Jersey. The type of ones you see in movies, where everyone knows each other. The town was founded by Native Americans. Which gives it a eerie sense. A lot of weird things happen here. And of course, they mostly happen to me.

My house is a fairly large one. I remember playing hide and go seek in it as a child. Thing is, I was and still am terrified of it. The house has a life of its own. It roars in agony every time we move something. My fathers fish tank which was a fifty-six gallon one was tossed into thin air and flipped over. We believe a spirit haunts our house. Particularly, three of them.

None of the three really care about our safety. They toss things at us, pinch us, hell, they even scratch us. But there is one. I think one of them has possessed one of our dolls in our infamous "Doll Room." (My mother is an ecstatic collector.)

One doll, the one I believe the spirit haunts, is a porcelain doll. It has a sort of blank expressionless face on it. It is just staring, with bright blue ambitious eyes, and curly brown locks. It wears a shade of blue dress with a sort of Victorian style hat. It has a lifeless look on it. It just stares there. Staring at nothing. But it has a reason to stare. Because I know something is there. Something that makes it stare into the blank air in which I breathe in everyday. Something is in the room on the left.

The doll. The doll has stricken me with fear. A type of fear that tingles your spine and shrivels your heart into nothing. I feel it sucking my life away. I watch it everyday, waiting for it to move. And when it does. Well, when it does. God bless my god forsaken soul.

After a long day, I decided to go to bed early one night. But the thing that really concerns me is that my room, of course, Is the room which shares its walls with the "Doll Room." After thinking about tomorrow, I finally fell into a deep sleep. I had a dream that night. I was running. Running away from my house. But which ever turn I took, I would end up back at my house. And every time, I would look into my room. To see that doll staring out my window. I would just look at it. And try to sprint away. But it wouldn't work.

Losing my mind. I'm losing my mind I said to myself. I woke up from the night mare and had seen the doll peak into my room. I held in my shreak, for I know, The doll would be back to its spot on the shelf by the time my father had gotten his bat. It's useless kid. You tell your parents, you end up in a psychiatric home, You keep your mouth shut, you end up dead or crying every night from the doll.

Into the darkness I go. I decided to get up and search for the god forsaken doll the next day. I found it on its normal spot. I tore the head off the thing and made sure I had dealt with it properly.

Vaccine, I had thought. This was my cure to the problem, I killed it. The night which I had been happy for had came. I fell asleep no problem. But was rudely awoken by a menacing bump around 3:00 in the morning. Oh god please not the doll, I had thought. I opened my door. And built enough courage to walk five feet into the hallway and turn left. The doll was there. Staring at me...

Every night. Every night I would wake from a stir, a commotion, a bump. And see the doll. I can't stand it. I'm going to commit suicide. A quick hanging will do. I tied the noose which will bring my rigorous fight to an end. I hung it on my fan and stood up in upon my desk chair. I let go of my last breath and kicked the chair.

I woke up in a hospital room. Three IV's in each arm. My parents said they had awoken to me on the floor. The noose cut, with a sharp knife on the floor. They didn't cut it. But who did?

Please read every starting letter in each paragraph except the one above me.

I'M NOT ALIVE.

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