Hello again, Story Club members. I'm Ivy, your ghostly host with the most and keeper of the strangest, spookiest tales on earth.

Today is another Ivy's chilling tale. This mischievous tale story club members might make you stay away from antique dolls. It's one I call

Myron. His name is Myron. My mom said. He's pretty neat, isn't he? Marron? How do you know? What kind of name is that for a doll?

The doll sat on the living room coffee table. He was about a meter or so in length

with a cloth body covered in a black and white striped long-sleeved shirt and black suspenders with

black boots. He had a pale porcelain head, raven-colored hair, and was wearing dark, round glasses.

Behind the glasses were inky eyes. As I stared back at him, transfixed and

deeply unsettled, there was one thing that I was absolutely sure about. I was not a fan of this

doll. My mom, on the other hand, excitedly pulled the back of his shirt away from his body.

See here? The tag says Myron. Um, mom, he's seriously kind of creepy.

Where did you even get him? Well, while your sleepy head was still in bed on this fine Saturday morning,

I got up early and went yard sailing. There was this big estate sale on Sycamore Lane,

you know, the place with that big old mansion that burned down

last month? Ah, a shame. It was a landmark. And those poor people who died in that fire, just horrible.

Anyway, there was some furniture and some other items in there that were for sale. He smells like a campfire.

Yeah, he does have some smoke damage. I might remove his clothes and have them dry clean to get that stench out.

He might have some pretty good resale value on eBay or offer up.

Or I might just keep him around.

Myron is one of a kind.

Yeah, I guess.

My mom was kind of weird about collecting random junk from yard sales.

She has this collection of metal jello molds hanging on the walls

...