The doll, written by Mama 10-09.

When I was 8, I had one of those life-sized rag dolls with yarn hair.

One night I woke up and she was waving her arms around while placed on my beanbag.

I know it's not malicious. I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds like I was dreaming but I wasn't.

She was moving around all by herself.

To this day I don't mess with dolls.

So when I saw her moving I got super scared and hit under my blanket for like 10 minutes with my heart racing,

frozen in fear, building up the courage to run out of my room.

Eventually I ran out of my room to get my parents whose bedroom was downstairs and my dad came and got the doll and put her in the living room.

I was too scared to sleep in my room so I went to sleep in my brother's bed, which I would do when I had bad dreams and stuff.

We heard farting and magazine pages. when I had bad dreams and stuff.

We heard farting and magazine pages flipping,

and at first thought it was my dad.

It was like 4 a.m. at this point, who just couldn't go back to sleep.

But when we were yelling out for my dad,

he didn't answer.

So we were like, oh my God, it's Samantha, the doll.

Since I was with my big brother, I was brave,

and we started shouting at her from his bedroom saying we weren't scared and we were

were going to kill her and this.

I was so traumatized by this living doll

that my parents brought her to my nana's house.

...