When I was a VERY little girl (about 5 or 6), I had a doll that I loved. She was life-sized – actually, about the same size as ME – and had elastics on her hands & feet so I could dance with her. One day I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere. I finally looked in the cellar. In one corner my brother had set up his Horror Movie Fan Club, with Silly String as cobwebs, and other things horror. To MY horror, there was my beloved doll: she was hanging from the ceiling on a noose, with fake blood splattered all over her, and a gardening hand-rake stuck in her back. My mother put an end to my brother’s “clubhouse” that day.
When I was a VERY little girl (about 5 or 6), I had a doll that I loved. She was life-sized – actually, about the same size as ME – and had elastics on her hands & feet so I could dance with her. One day I couldn’t find her. I looked everywhere. I finally looked in the cellar. In one corner my brother had set up his Horror Movie Fan Club, with Silly String as cobwebs, and other things horror. To MY horror, there was my beloved doll: she was hanging from the ceiling on a noose, with fake blood splattered all over her, and a gardening hand-rake stuck in her back. My mother put an end to my brother’s “clubhouse” that day.