The Doll Maker

         Don't call me crazy. Others have had crazier claimed then I. No, I assure you, the Doll Maker is
real. Dispel all “Proof” you have to disprove it's existence, I can tell you first hand, that it is real. How
you ask? How you ask I can prove something that science has claimed a lie? I have seen the Doll
Maker, in a fresh and sober state, I have seen it, and I never will be able to forget it. Oh how menacing
that figure was, taunting my being with a needle and thread, threatening to sow me shut... oh that bitter
image of the others who encountered the malevolent being. I am too rash, let me justify my madness.
It was not but a month ago, when ignorance swam though the air, and joy was a common word.
I had just moved into a apartment complex on the outskirts of the small town of Arrowbrook. It was a
nice enough place, it was a fine mix of nature and civilization, truly a perfect living place for a man like
myself. I had the movers carry my few items up the dizzying staircase to the top floor, which had
became the location of my home. That night, I unpacked my slight gear-- A series of books on
evolution and genetics, my notebooks containing various experiments and notes, and finally, a gag
present I received from my friends as a going-away gift... a book on the supernatural. The room was
quaint, not much much in the way of fancy, but livable. There was no real issue, besides its location,
that is.

         Days after I settled into my new home, a weird string of articles on bazaar deaths appeared on
the news. in the outskirts of Arrowbrook, in the deep Arrowbrook forests, five people were found, dead
and butchered. All of the said victims were found, stuffed. Turned into life sized dolls by some twisted,
depraved being. “The Doll Maker Murders” is what the newscasters dubbed them, and before they
knew it, rumors of a more supernatural force behind the murders rose. “Witchcraft” some claimed,
“Vengeful spirits”claimed others. Most agreed that no mere mortal could forge such a nightmarish
scene. Most, except for me that is. I was skeptical from the start. I was a man of science who had better
things to do then worry about some man with a depraved doll fetish... or so I thought. When the rumors
spread to me, I thought nothing of them other then false claimed created from paranoia and fear. I used
all my knowledge of anatomy and psychology to prove how this could be done, and how disturbed you
would have to be to do it. However, in most of my cases, I feel flat. There always seemed to be
something that stuck me. Whether it was the fact that the victims had no previous records of existing,
or that they found no trace of the Doll Maker at the scene, I was convinced that these murders were
nothing but hysteria, and that there must be some evidence to the victims identities, and the identity of
the Doll Maker.

         That was when I, who was braver then most other men, set off on a search for this fabled being,
spending three days, hopelessly wandering though the Arrowbrook woods, looking for the pitiful shack
that many considered Ed Gein's summer home. Half way though the first day, I realized I had no real
clue on the location of the Doll Maker's domain, and I only new vague directions though rumors, and
from what I read in the articles. The only directions I could gather was that the shack laid about twelve
miles out from my home, deep into the forest. The second day was better. I was able to find a clear
path, a path I speculated was made by the police, by their vehicles. News crew vehicles and
ambulances can forge a lovely path in these types of situations. I spent most of the day traveling the
ways... but something strange happened at about six pm. I heard a screech, a blood curdling screech
that was faint, and distant. My head swam with images of murder, and human taxidermy, of a man
sowing a fellow human beings mouth closed... I quickly dispelled the thought. For I was a man of
science, not superstition. The third day was when things truly too a turn for the worst. I was nearing the
shack, I could feel it deep within me, I could finally dispel all those dreaded, nasty rumors that
spammed my ears for weeks. With glee, I sprinted though the path of overgrown, and pressed down
mosses and broken tree branches, till I reached a cloaked figure, standing in the path. Who it was, I did
not know. I could barely even tell its gender. It's skin was as pale as moonlight, and its face was
obscured beyond recognition. It wore a black dress, although it had no sigh of a figure. The thing just
stood there... I stared at it, and I could feel that it was staring at me. Time stopped, and fear truly began
to sink in. However, I stood my grounds, staring down the thing. Calmly, it seemed to just turn around,
and walk away. I just stood there, staring into the same place as before, staring into space and nothing,
reconciling what I had just saw. My first thought was that it was the Doll Maker, but I quickly dispelled
these thoughts, and simply thought her to be a foreign woman who was exploring the Arrowbrook
woods, then the thought occurred... “Why would a woman in a mourning gown be in the center of a
forest?” and “Why couldn't I make out what her face looked like?” These thoughts, I shrugged off, and
continued my venture. Later that night, at midnight, my skepticism was shattered.

         I reached the shack that I believed was the home of the Doll Maker, and I made my way inside.
It was quite easy to enter the pitiful shack, seeing how there was no door, and not much in the way of glass in the windows. I
carefully stepped in, looking to my left, and to my right. I still had a great amount of doubt with me on
the existence of the Doll Maker, but after a while, even the rumors become possible to a mind like
mine. The room was dull, empty, decaying. Mold was plastered to the walls, as if it had always been
there. I wandered further still into the room, my gaze locked in constant search for some sign of life.
When I reached the center of the room, I noticed a staircase, leading down into a pitch black pit.
Cautiously, I plunge myself into the deep abyss.

         The room I found myself in was dark, eerie, the darkness plunges everything into obscurity. The
darkness pressed against my skin, as if it was trying to become me. I shrug it off, rapidly rubbing my hands
against my arms. The temperature was bazaar, it seemed to have been so much colder then the poor,
pitiful shack above. The room, while obscured, still was visibly complex. Large, strange structures of
cloth, metal and unidentifiable substances that could only be described hide off some large animal. I
reached into my pocket, and pulled out a flashlight. Oh how I wish now that I forgot that infernal torch
at my home... If I had, I would have died peacefully, instead of having to witness the horrific events yet
to be told.

         I shown my light on the wall, to revile grotesque masks and human shaped figures. Each one, a
victim of the Doll Maker. I started to shake as I stared in horror at the dolls, I could not move. I
dropped my flashlight, and span back to the staircase, only to realize it had vanished. The horror sunk
in quicker, as my light began to fade. The drop had done a toll to the light, unfortunately for me, it was
my only source of light, and I was about to plunge into the dark. Now, my superstition had been
demolished, and now, I was a firm believer in the Doll Maker, in shades, in evil... That was the first
time ever I broke into tears and prayed. I prayed for my safety, I prayed for this to just be a dream, I
wanted this to just be a hallucination. It was when an unearthly chill was sent down my back, that I
knew that praying was not going to help me here.

         I looked up, shivering, cold and afraid, to see a tall being standing before me, face obscured,
dressed in black, and flesh as pale as moonlight. I fell backwards, crawling backwards, as the figure
approached. It mumbled words of languages that no human knew, and held its hand out, as if it was
telling me to not be afraid of my fate. For a second, I wanted to take its hand, and accept my fate,
however, I did not. I stood up, legs weak and trembling, and I screamed I was not afraid of it. I told that
it had no power over me. Time stood still, me and it were locked in a staring contest. I thought for a
second, I was free. I was wrong. The creature did not kill me, no, that punishment would be to lenient.
Instead, I witnessed the Doll Maker doing its horrible deeds that I can not recount in the article. The
scene was beyond graphic, beyond shocking, and beyond disturbing. The next thing I remembered... I
was in a hospital bed, being held down by several people, screaming “The Doll Maker is real! You
must believe me! I'm not insane! Get your hands off of me! I'm not insane!”

         I was told I imagined the entire thing. I was told that there was no Doll Maker. But now, I
believe, I believe that the Doll Maker is fact. How do I know, you ask? How do you know I'm not
insane? When I was deemed cured....

                                                 I returned home to find a life sized doll sitting in my home.