I can’t sleep in a room where there are baby-dolls on account of I find baby-doll eyes and faces very soul-suckingly terrifying.
That’s the face of a toy that will lick your cheek while you sleep.
I once slept in my niece’s room while visiting my sister in Virginia and she had a six-foot shelf high up on the wall, upon which rested two dozen dead-eyed baby-dolls. The lights were out. I laid there. In the glow of the moonlight, the dolls looked down at me. Their eyes bore into me. That doll that was smiling before seems to be angry now. That doll just blinked. That doll is crying. That doll is possessed and will wait until I fall asleep and then whisper directly into my ear, “Won’t you come out and play with me?”
It’s a miracle my niece didn’t come into her room the next morning to find carnage — every single doll beheaded and each with a tiny Bratz heel impaled in one eyeball.
All that said, those dolls have got nothing on this terrifying thing:
Yeah, give THAT to your young child or niece or nephew. Let THEM try to figure out if Steely has had his legs chopped off in a tragic steel beam accident or if he’s just been naughty and is now waiting for his spanking.
Let them figure out if those are Steely’s angry eyebrows or his happy eyebrows. Let them figure out why he doesn’t have lower teeth. Let them figure out if Steely is laughing with joy or roaring before the kill. Let them figure out if this is the kind of toy that just silently blinks at you or the kind that eats your vital organs while you sleep. Let them figure out WHO ON GOD’S EARTH THOUGHT THIS NEEDED TO BE MADE.
I would sleep in a room with a hundred blinking baby-dolls that look like this:
… before I’ll ever be left alone with the monstrosity that is the Steely McBeam Pillow Pet.
As God is my witness, that is church.