|These dolls are essentially the same thing to me.|
I am not a fan of the Elf on the Shelf. I cringe whenever friends post pictures on social media of where the little doll -- of the literary version or some other similar incarnation -- moved upon its own volition throughout their homes.
I am a fan of childhood mystery and magic. I am a fan of holiday tradition. I'm just not a fan of dolls that move. Not since the movie "Child's Play."
More campy than creepy now, that stupid serial killer doll Chucky made me rather anxious in my adolescence. Dolls were my most favorite toy growing up, and several dolls and stuffed animals were still hanging around my room as fond reminders when I first saw the film in the late '80s.
A possessed doll isn't really groundbreaking in the terror genre, but it remains a thread in storytelling because what could possibly be worse than an object intended for joy to turn into something dreadful, particularly when it belongs to a child?
I developed an abject fear of any stuffed thing with eyes and limbs suddenly coming to life at night and hacking me to pieces as I lay in my bed.
I'm sure I've given my sons enough terror in their lives and reasons for therapy. I don't need to add to the mix dolls that apparently got up on their own two legs and climbed up a bookshelf or crept into the cereal box or tangled themselves into a strand of Christmas lights.