Nostalgia Is a Hell of a Drug Part 10: Mom's Porcelain Dolls

As a child I was at the mercy of my parents and their collections. While my Dad mostly collected regrets, Mom was into antique teddy bears and porcelain dolls. The issue being she displayed them on the top bunk of the bunk bed in which I slept for many years during my youth. You should already know how creepy antique porcelain dolls are, but the things they did in the dark was downright unnerving. I believe that items that are well loved by their owners are kind of imbued with a part of that person. Since teddy bears and porcelain dolls whole purpose is to become a favorite item for someone, that only assures these items had some kind of spiritual connection to their past owners. Trust me.

The things started innocently enough, things like I would wake up in the middle of the night and hear porcelain clanking against porcelain. No biggy, maybe I wiggled about while I was asleep. As time went on things became a bit more sinister, such as the ones with criers in them would go off without warning. For those unfamiliar with a crier, it's a cylinder that has a diaphragm in it and when turned 180 degrees the diaphragm slides down and makes a crying like sound as it moves. The effect is only repeated once the item, be it doll or bear, are turned upside down. Meaning since these dolls and bears were sitting upright there should be no reason for their criers to be going off in the middle of the night.

Now, I won't say I ever experienced one peaking over the edge of the bed and watching me sleep, but it's creepy enough to have them moving about and crying for no real reason. I'm pretty certain some of these were trauma aids from one of the world wars, or even many sinking ships of the early 20th century. These weren't 10 year old dolls, back in the 90s, these were 1800s, early 1900s porcelain dolls and raggedy old teddy bears. These were well loved by some mischievous little scamps and after they had outgrown them these items were passed down and eventually sold to my Mother. After which they would haunt me in the darkest hours of the night as I tried to sleep, as a mischievous little scamp myself. I've often wondered what items I've picked up from my many thrift trips that might have some connection to a mischievous little scamp.