Episode Details

Hello, it's Spooky Boo ready to tell you stories about freaky dolls. Some are possessed while others just seem to have a mind of their own. These creepypasta stories have been handpicked just for you from the Creepypasta Library. Before I begin, I'd like to invite you to listen to some of the stories I've written which includes the very creepy story "Doll in the Hall" by Spooky Boo Rhodes. Find out more information at www.scarystorytime.com, the website for Spooky Boo's Scary Story Time. To get this Creepypasta and True Scary Story podcast as well as Scary Story Time commercial-free, while supporting the podcasts through Patreon, subscribe at www.spookyboo.club.Before we begin, I'd like to invite you to watch Creature Features with me on Saturday nights at 9 PM Pacific on YouTube. The fans and I chat in the chat room while watching Vincent Van Dahl interview guests as well as old horror movies. It's a lot of creepy fun. Check it out at www.creaturefeatures.tv.Now let's begin.Story OneMy Doll Collection by TheDivineAuthorOne would say that I am a serious collector of dolls. Collecting dolls has been a passion of mine since college and since then I have collected hundreds of dolls from every corner of the world. I have sunk more money into my doll collection than it could ever make me back, but it has come to be my one true joy in life. However, calling it a 'collection' may be a bit misleading. I do collect dolls, but mostly because I enjoy taking them apart and piecing together new dolls of my own creation. I scan my collection to match the best parts of certain dolls and stitch them all together. I guess I should call it the outcome of an artist and their work rather than an actual collection. A passion driven pit of blood, sweat, and tears.Because I do dismantle them, my works of art have less real monetary value and more sentimental value. Even if I were to find a buyer, there would be no way I would ever sell them. Ever since I really found my stride in collecting and creating my dolls, it has become so much more than a hobby to me. They are more to me than my works of art; they are my family.One day, I was working in my crafting shop, which also served as my basement. I was stitching together a new doll when I noticed something sitting among my doll collection. I recognized it as a doll of sorts, but one unlike the kind of which I had ever seen before. I was sure that I had never owned this particular doll a day in my life, nor had I constructed it from other parts, but there it sat, staring in my direction. The sheer eeriness made me stop working on my project and demanded I give it my full attention. I knew not of how it came to be inside my workshop, my personal space of being, but there it was, sitting upright among my other dolls. I walked toward it slowly, unsure of the reasoning behind the visit.The first, and most dominant, thing I noticed about the doll was how much smaller it was than any other doll I had ever seen before. It had all the parts that a doll should have: arms, legs, a body, and a head, but its diminutive size was extraordinary. Upon closer examination, I noticed other differences. Its arms and legs were made of some sort of soft fabric. It wore a blue and white dress, that of a southern belle; very Scarlett O'Hara. The most abnormal feature about its makeup was its head. Its head appeared to be made out of unscathed, bleached porcelain. The pristine condition of its pale face was unnerving and unlike anything I had ever seen before on a doll. Its hair was straw-like to the touch, and was as yellow as the clear morning sun. Its face was cold and distant. Its eyelids seemed to open and close at will, exposing and hiding two marble eyes which stared into the room without expression. Its cheeks were rose tinted and as smooth as ice. It had two tiny, pink lips curved up in a naive smirk. I h