My mother […] had a large Shirley Temple doll when she was little whose eyes she says followed her, literally. She hated that doll, and it ended up buried somewhere, only to resurface when she was much older. She would not tell me the rest of the story until I begged her, and made me promise not to ask my aunt about it, and to not mention it again after she told me.
She gave the doll to my cousin. Why she did this, I can’t imagine. She says that she had convinced herself that she was imagining things as a child herself, but seriously?
Anyway, my cousin is playing with the doll one day, when my aunt comes in and finds the doll TALKING to my cousin. So, she promptly freaks the fuck out, and takes the doll away. My uncle buried it, in pieces, as it continued to laugh up a storm.
That shit is evil.
I asked my aunt about it (against my mom’s wishes), and she simply said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”