About: The Dollmaster   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

Now since you're still alive (I hope) and reading this, that means you were the type of kid who gave in to his or her fears and hid under the sheets, or the type of kid who could shrug it off and continue trying to get to sleep, or perhaps the type of kid who would seek comfort with his or her parents or older siblings. You have escaped his clutches. But if you know any brave children, any fearless, curious children, warn them. Because if they are brave enough, they will follow the singing. They will follow it to wherever he has made his lair, probably in an old attic, basement or storage room. He prefers dusty old places where adults don’t come often.

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  • The Dollmaster
rdfs:comment
  • Now since you're still alive (I hope) and reading this, that means you were the type of kid who gave in to his or her fears and hid under the sheets, or the type of kid who could shrug it off and continue trying to get to sleep, or perhaps the type of kid who would seek comfort with his or her parents or older siblings. You have escaped his clutches. But if you know any brave children, any fearless, curious children, warn them. Because if they are brave enough, they will follow the singing. They will follow it to wherever he has made his lair, probably in an old attic, basement or storage room. He prefers dusty old places where adults don’t come often.
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dbkwik:creepy-past...iPageUsesTemplate
dbkwik:creepypasta...iPageUsesTemplate
abstract
  • Now since you're still alive (I hope) and reading this, that means you were the type of kid who gave in to his or her fears and hid under the sheets, or the type of kid who could shrug it off and continue trying to get to sleep, or perhaps the type of kid who would seek comfort with his or her parents or older siblings. You have escaped his clutches. But if you know any brave children, any fearless, curious children, warn them. Because if they are brave enough, they will follow the singing. They will follow it to wherever he has made his lair, probably in an old attic, basement or storage room. He prefers dusty old places where adults don’t come often. This is because they will find him. He will be waiting for them in the furthest corner of whatever place he has made his lair, lurking on the ceiling with his six long, spidery legs. But the kid won’t see him. The dolls will have captivated it. Such is their power. They will sit there, singing and smiling to it, their faces awfully human-like, as if they weren’t even made of wood in the first place. Yet when the child comes closer, they will see the tears running down their cheeks and notice the sadness in their eyes contradicting the smile. By then the Dollmaster is already above the child, one pair of hands coordinating the undead choir with hardly visible strings. The other pair of thin, skeletal arms extended, its hands decorated with pitch-black talons reaching towards the child. If the child looks up, all it will see is his widely grinning mouth filled with crooked, yellow teeth and his pitch-black, reflective eyes. A raspy, ghoulish voice will then speak the next words: “Now you will sing too!”
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