I remember when I was just a kid, about maybe 11 or so, I was staying at a friend’s house. I spent the night there, and I remember her grandma, who she lived with due to her parents being irresponsible druggies, collected porcelain dolls. I didn’t used to have a problem with dolls. Sure, I thought they were a little creepy, but I could easily overlook that and deal with it, like I could with a lot of other things. But one doll freaked me out particularly badly. “Mm… What?” She sat up. “The doll…” I murmured. “What? Did you have a bad dream?” “No, it’s in the hallway.” She chuckled at my reaction.