• I'm not crazy- at least, I don't think I am. For awhile I was on the fence, though. I mean, you can't see the stuff I saw and just assume your sane. The things I saw shouldn't exist in a sane world. But I saw them, and I don't think I'm going crazy.

    I don't even know why I'm writing this down. It's a plea, I guess, a hope that someone will hear me, believe me. But I don't think that will happen. People will just assume its a piece of fiction. Hell, maybe its better that way. If people thought I actually believed that a doll almost killed me, and succeeded in killing others, they'd throw me in a nut house. Maybe its better people think this isn't real.

    Looking back on it now, its almost possible to believe it was a bad dream. Almost, but not quite. There's proof everywhere. The burn mark on the floor. The scrach marks on the wall. And, most importantly, the empty room down the hall. The one that wasn't always empty.

    So maybe someone will believe this. Someone's who's gone through the same thing, or something like it. Maybe this could even help someone.

    Sometimes, mostly a night, staring at the scraches on my wall, I wonder: Did I kill it? I hope so, but somehow I doubt it. I think its still there, waiting. I can hope that I'll never see it again, but evil- true evil- never dies. And that's my worst fear.

    My worst fear is some night I'll wake up, and I'll find myself staring into those glassy blue eyes. Those eyes will be filled with triumph and hate. Then the doll will raise one porcelian hand, and in the hand will be...

    No. I can't think of that. I destroyed it, or at least slowed it down. It won't be able to terrorize me anymore. At least, I hope not.

    At night, I hear scraching, coming from outside. I hope to God that its just mice, or cats, and not tiny fists scraching there way out of a grave. I know that's impossible- if it was, I wouldn't be able to hear it- but the thought comes, all the same.

    So maybe the doll's already won. Even if I did destroy it, its still running my life, making me afraid to sleep, to dream... to do anything. And maybe that's what the doll was trying to do all along.

    And if that's true... then how do I fight with that?