Episode Details

Stories About Creepy Haunted Dolls and Other WeirdnessGood evening, it's Spooky Boo coming to you from the lighthouse in Sandcastle, California. Baby, it's cold outside and my heater died a horrible death so here I sit with a pound of blankets on me telling you stories. The fog has no mercy on cold feet. Even my spooky collection of dolls are cold and very unhappy. We all know what that means! Eventually they'll get angry and start to cause mischief! But I'm ready for their little games. They stop when I start telling stories because they enjoy listening. Maybe a few will curl up at my feet and keep them warm.Today's first story is about creepy, haunted dolls. I know you'll enjoy it. Then I have a couple of other truly terrible tales from the Creepypasta library but first I'd like to thank the listeners and Patreon members for their continued support including madjoe, P.A. Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, John Newby, Patrick, and 933TheVolt.com. If you would like to support Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time, please visit my website at www.scarystorytime.com/support where you will find links to all the different ways to help me bring you scary stories. Click on the submissions tab to find out how you can submit your own stories for me to read.Now let's begin...Beady Black Eyes"What is your name?""Morgana. My name Is Morgana Raynott," I whispered, my small mouth unmoving and my black eyes staring eerily up at the man in the shadows."And why are you here, Morgana?" he murmured, sounding like he was smiling."I'm here because you brought me here. Have you forgotten?" I remarked."I remember," he chuckled. "But tell me why I brought you here, tell me your story."I would have frowned if I could, why should I tell him anything? But I spoke anyway, something about him made me think it was the best thing to do. So I told him everything, starting with my death.I lay in my hospital bed crying as my mother and father held my hands and my closest friend from my ballet class frowned at me, trying to hold back her tears. I felt sick, empty even. This was normal though, as three years ago, I was told that I had superior mesenteric artery syndrome. SMAS for short. It made eating painful; I couldn't keep anything down, vomiting after every meal. I started losing weight. Eventually, I ended up in a hospital, dying of starvation.I was told there was only a low chance I would die, and yet I did. The heart monitors repeated beeping turned into a single, long, droning sound. My mother let out a loud sob, my father and best friend comforting her, both crying.I watched them, standing beside my body. I watched them crying there for hours until the doctors finally urged them to leave. I latched onto my mother as they walked out of the room in each other's arms. They caught a bus home and then walked the remaining way, my incorporeal body floating behind them.My mother went to her room to sleep away her sadness, so I followed my father who went to his workshop.He created and sold ball-jointed dolls for a living. Previously he had made a few for me, but I never appreciated them as much as I should have. He pulled a picture of me out of his wallet and started sketching concept art for a doll of me. Tears stained the paper but he didn't stop, moving to start sculpting as soon as possible.It seemed he wanted to properly represent my poor health, as he made sure to show how skinny I had been. But he did something odd when creating the eyes. Instead of using his usual method, he used black resin to create them, making me look even more sickly and creepy than I had really been. I chalked it up to my father's deteriorating mental state. He frequently had hallucinations, so I guessed that the eyes were one of them.It was odd but I continued to watch him for hours upon hours. My mother came and went, giving him food and small kisses on the cheek, It was bittersweet to wa