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Dolls by Kailleaugh Andersson

That was when I hit the ****er. I hit him hard and square on the bridge of the nose; with a hammer, and watched in delight as his funny, laughing face caved in and gushed red-black blood.

I smiled, knowing that I had finally killed him.

And that was when he started laughing at me, his wicked pink plastic face melding back together from the blow I'd dealt him. Giggling as I let out a deep sigh and reached for the hacksaw amidst the pile of **** implements scattered on the table.

I bought him for my daughter's fourth birthday. I remember walking into the toy section of Wal-Mart, sweating under those phosphorescent lights as I turned and faced a thousand "My Pal" dolls smiling deviantly from the windows of their bright pink boxes. Out of the corners of my eyes I even saw them turn their tiny heads and grin at me through little pairs of fangs as I walked past them.

I was five and my parents had let me stay up late to watch "Fantasy Island" on T.V. You know, the one with the midget named "Tattoo?" And in that episode I was made aware that dolls came to life at midnight and ran amok.

I took the hacksaw in my hand and pondered over the little guy bound in the tiny red plastic chair where he had been drinking tea next to the teddy bear before my wife and daughter went to church.

Forget what you think you know about dolls. Never mind that bear, he's okay in my book and he doesn't say much; but dolls ... They sleep during the day and wake up when everyone is asleep.

Plastic ones, porcelain (those are the worst!), cloth, wood or whatever, the whole lot of them come to life at night like the little vampires they really are.

They walk around houses and streets at night doing god knows what! I think they even have their own social system.

I plug in the skill-saw,and open the throttle full bore and taunt the blade at Pal's face as I grin over him.

"Now you're really gonna get it!" I cackle.
I put the saw up to Pal's neck and he starts to scream as the blade rips through his chin and bright red, blood-mingled, pink plastic sawdust sprays the room and I grin as Pal's head falls off the bloody pink stump of his neck onto the floor. I give his head a strong kick for good measure and watch it streak across the playroom and bounce off the wall.

"Take that, Pal!" I laugh, and downstairs I go to grab a cold one after a hard day's work. I slump in my chair and click on the big tube to watch baseball but quickly change it to "In Search of ... " hosted by "Spock" from Star Trek when a "Talking Tina" commercial comes on.

I must have drifted off to sleep from the boredom. It was dark outside when I awoke and saw the car keys on the table and could hear my wife loudly snoring in bed. I checked my watch.
It was 12.02.

I crept up the stairs quickly and gently pushed on the half open door of my daughter's room. My daughter was sleeping quietly, and there clutched in her tiny arms was Pal. He slowly turned his head, grinned at me with a mouthful of sharp teeth and gave me a short, knowing wave with his tiny arm.

I let out a deep sigh, felt a knot in my stomach and slowly closed the door.
Tonight I won't sleep, and maybe tomorrow I'll have to try the garbage disposal.

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