Really Scary Dolls Novels & Stories

If she had told me right away that she was my sister, it would have been different. I turn my attention back to the store and open the doors. I go in and see that the objects are not the way I left them before. On the floor there were two dolls sitting in front of me, one blonde and one brunette, both with sharp eyes. I take a deep breath and look around to see if anyone was inside. I've been robbed before, so I didn't know whether to move forward or back. I looked at the dolls on the floor, took a deep breath, becoming calmer. He put me back together and I took the dolls and put them on the shelf, placing them next to the other dolls. When I placed the doll on the shelf, I leaned against th

One of the most famous ghosts in the southern states of the USA is "Soap Sally". In the 1950s, there was an old lady soap-maker who walked the streets of the mill villages kidnapping children and murdering them to use the fat in their bodies to make soap. There were numerous reports of people having seen her for years after her death. Every time a child went missing, Soap Sally could be seen wandering the streets, carrying her knapsack full of soap. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

A chilling cold trickled down my back at the sight. A similar twelve-inch PVC boy doll that had been haunting me, sat on the floor. Cute and spine-curdling cuddly. Eddison followed my line of vision and was bending to take it up. “Why would this be here?” “Don't touch it.” I blurted out to stop him. The toy both repulsed and unnerved me. So, it was her. Jiya knew we were on to her. She was trying to scare me. Eddison erected himself. He scratched the side of his neck as his forehead wrinkled with a lack of understanding. “It’s just a doll, Luna. Maybe Selma has her kids somewhere on this floor.”

The doll smelled like Emily. I picked it up slowly and my heart pounded in my chest as I stood there, clutching Emily's stuffed doll to my chest. The sight of the doll, with Emily's scent still lingering on it, filled me with a mix of emotions - fear, anger, and heartache. It was a painful reminder of my children's absence, a tangible connection to the little ones I longed to hold close.

It wasn't until a loud thump echoed through the silent night that she jumped up in horror and turned around. The head fell again, she thought. The last project of hers had been a life-size wooden doll that she had worked hard to make it look like Medusa, but unfortunately, it turned out a bit deformed. Her parents had proposed to bring the doll to her uncle's farm to scare the crows in the fields... Needless to say, Ryder felt quite offended by such a proposal.

“It would be such thrilling fun to watch you cry in that mousy voice of yours as I twist your innards and melt your bones.” I want to scare her off, to instill so much fear in her that she’ll run away and back to her Pack in extreme fear and reproach of me. So why does she stun me with her tearful smile as she dares to opt for death by my hands? My mates had begged for their lives while I had gotten drunk from their agonizing cries as I ended their lives. Yet, this dainty doll is so sorrowfully joyful to embrace death? Just as I presumed and dreaded, I’ve stumbled upon a very troublesome one it won’t be so easy to shake off and scare away.

“I… I am scared, Rhys… I am scared of this… love. I don’t know what… what…” “You’re scared of your past.” Amara’s eyes widen in surprise and uncertainty. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice barely above a whisper. “It… haunts me, consumes me, I try to forget but the memories, linger like shadows that never fade,” she took a deep breath, her voice trembling. “I am scared of what I’d find there.”

The way she watched Paul with something that looked like hunger, not love. "You're lying," I whispered. The doll laughed. It was a horrible sound—too high, too wet, like a baby choking on milk. "Maybe. But you'll never know, will you? Because you're too scared to try. You've always been too scared. That's why she died. You were too scared to push. You gave up." I threw the holy water. The doll screamed. A long, piercing scream that filled the whole house. Paul came running. The doll was on the floor, its dress smoking, its porcelain face cracked from temple to chin.

“But I fear what you do to me.” The admission nearly ripped his chest open. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped—she saw the echo of something old and hurt flicker across his features, like a scar the world had forgotten, but he still felt every time he breathed. She stared at him. Really stared. This was The Devil—the monster from stories, the thing mothers whispered about to keep children in line, the creature who took the life of one girl every decade and dragged her soul to Hell. And here he stood… Looking at her like she was the threat.

MELISSA'S POV The moment we stepped downstairs, the air changed. All the other players stood frozen at a corner, their eyes widened in horror. A metallic scent hovered over every inch of the room. The room was dimmer than usual, shadows stretching unnaturally across the walls. My heart throbbed as I hid behind Gavin, quietly mimicking his footsteps. Then it came to view, something truly horrifying— A porcelain doll. One so hideous it was beyond words. It sat on a high chair like a grotesque queen, stiff plastic limbs.