Raggedy Ann Wants me Dead

It all started with the smell of brake fluid. I’d almost fallen asleep when the aroma wafted from the single shelf that held mementos of my childhood. I felt compelled to find out what the smell was. If it turned out to be brake fluid then it was entirely possible I wouldn’t be able to stop my bedroom before a collision. There was no obvious spill; but, the smell DID come from the old Raggedy Ann doll. I stepped back and just looked at her. When I’d gone to bed, it was on the right side of the shelf. When I woke up, it was on the right side of the shelf but it LOOKED as if it had gone somewhere else and then just come back. I think it was the fact that her hand had been stamped for readmission.

It wasn’t really a surprise. When my mom bought the doll, she saved a few dollars choosing the older amoral version of Raggedy Ann. It was a precarious situation: Raggedy Ann knew that, if I was murdered, she’d be the least likely suspect. Of course, in murder mysteries, it is always the least likely suspect that did it, so she’d be the most likely suspect… but, it is never the most likely suspect… Plus, She got evasive when I asked where she’d been, what she’d been doing or if she was going to kill me… Also, She spent a lot of her time wiping her fingerprints off of things.

Then, I noticed the little things. Any conversations she was having with the G. I. Joe doll stop suddenly when I walk into the room. When I asked what they were talking about, I pulled his string and he answered, “Oh, you’ll find out”… and that isn’t even one of the phrases the factory puts into the doll… And, I didn’t remember ever buying that GI Joe doll. I noticed that she watched the Child’s Play movies and took notes… which was creepy because she had no thumbs.

Worst of all, She kept trying to get me to take a trip on the Orient Express with herself and eleven of her friends.

We tried hiring an exorcist; but, when the priest intoned, “The power of Christ compels you”, the doll responded, “No it doesn’t”. After the priest offered, weakly, “Sure he does”, we decided an exorcism wasn’t an answer. We tried calling the factory where she was made; but, it had been build on an ancient Indian burial ground so it was full of ancient Indians awaiting burial. My mother came up with the idea of putting a stake through her heart. That did the trick! We left her in her normal spot on the memento shelf.

Let G. I. Joe find her!