OCTOBER 26th-"I burned the dolls even though my children cried. They did not understand my fear because they assumed I moved the dolls into their beds each night"

I burned the dolls even though my children cried. They did not understand my fear because they assumed I moved the dolls into their beds each night
 
I never wanted the dolls in the first place. They were broken, creepy, old porcelain things, with frayed velvet dresses, and eyes that blinked periodically. Who would want them? I told the owner of the antique shop we weren’t interested. That we were just there to find a new coffee table, but the kids saw them. The kids saw the freaktastic dolls, and begged for them. My husband caved. We left the store: up one relieved husband, one annoyed wife, two excited girls, two ugly dolls, and down one coffee table.

In the first week that passed my children were transfixed by the dolls. The house was filled with tea parties, fashion shows, and other make-belief games. The dolls never left the kids sides. I thought, at least they’re not on their tablets anymore! Maybe this isn’t so bad. The next week, the same thing, but it was different. Although the enthusiasm was the same, the zeal wasn’t as strong. The children looked tired and drained.

By the third week, both of the kids had small fevers. I tried to take the dolls away. I said it was so the dust off of the dolls wouldn’t make them worse. Which was true, I had no reason to think the dolls were otherworldly. Creepy? sure! But "evil"? The kids refused to be parted from their beloved "dollies". I watched the fever grow worse. 

The fourth week took a turn for the worse, the kids could barely get out of bed. My husband sneakily took the dolls while the kids slept, and put them in a trunk in the garage. Almost instantly the girls got better! Once they were alert enough to leave bed, they demanded to know where their dolls were. We, my husband and I, wouldn’t say. We said they’d had enough play time with the dolls, and could only play with them once a week.

The girls were mad. That was an understatement, they weren’t mad they were livid. It was like watching two angels turn into demonic hell hounds, who could not be reasoned with. The change in their demeanor frightened me. We vowed not to let the children near the dolls again. They were going straight back to the shop. The girls went to bed after tiring themselves out from their fits.

In the morning we were expecting more of the same but they came down smiling. Their eyes were a little red and glassy, I assumed from the crying the night before. I was about to wish them good morning, when I saw each holding a doll. I glanced at my husband and he shook his head no, indicating he hadn’t moved them. This happened again, and again. So I took out the gasoline and blowtorch; I wasn’t taking chances. They'll get over it!