I used to live in a townhouse which was built in an area that was supposed to be haunted. And that was apparently built upon an old grave site, there were lots of stories of black masses and people coming back from the grave. I being young and naive about the spirit world didn't really believe any of it. Little did I know how fast that was going to change.
When I was much younger my mother had given me a beautiful Raggedy-Anne doll. I used to carry her around with me everywhere, at night she would sleep at the end of my bed to protect me from the monsters that lived in my closet and under my bed.
As I got older I didn't play with her as much and so when we moved she got packed away and stored in our basement. The time came when I moved my bedroom into the basement and that's when all the trouble began.
Our basement was was your typical basement dark, kinda creepy, a place where sound really echoed. I started to have really strange dreams that would end up as nightmares. I would awake in the middle of the night positive that my childhood demons had been resurrected. But nothing would ever be there that I could see. The nightmares persisted and they got worse over time. I began to see and hear strange things that I couldn't rationally explain.
When I would tell people they would laugh at me and say what a wonderful imagination I had, but they did agree that our basement did posses a strange kind of atmosphere. Anyone who would venture down there, always came up in a panic. But when asked what was wrong they refused to say.
One night while I was sleeping I was awakened by a strange rasping, heavy kind of breathing. (This had gone on for some time now so I didn't put much pass it) But this night was different, I could see something sitting against the wall across the room. I was feeling foolishly brave so I slithered across the room expecting at any minute to be pounced on by some unimaginable horror.
I wasn't wrong. It was my beloved Raggedy-Anne doll, only it wasn't. Something was wrong with her face instead of smiling, she was baring her teeth and making these awful sounds. And her hands, she had grown these horribly long fingernails. I was petrified I just stood there. (It was like something out those cheesy horror flicks I had watched as a kid, where the girl just stands there as this gruesome creature or mass murder kills her.)
My Raggedy-Anne doll crawled towards me with her fingers stretched out trying to grab me. I screamed for my mother over and over again, she didn't come. I ran towards the stairs thinking that my doll couldn't climb up the stairs that I'd be safe up there. I wasn't.
I kept on calling for my mother to help me and to god if he was there. I could hear a pounding on the stairs above me, I thought for sure my heart was going to burst out of sheer fright. The Raggedy-Anne doll had reached the stairs where I lay sobbing. I could see her reaching out for me her fingers stretched out latching onto my ankle. I've never been that terrified in my life. I could feel her puling me back down the stairs, back into the basement. But lucky for me my mother had finally heard me and came rushing down the stairs turning the lights on as she went.
My mother saw me huddled on the stairs tears pouring down my face and blood gushing down my ankle. She freaked out once she saw the Raggedy-Anne doll lying on the stairs below me. She never did say what exactly she saw that night but we moved out of that house a month later. I never went back into the basement, I was afraid that if I went back down there I would never come back out. The strange thing is I've still got the scar on my ankle where the Raggedy-Anne doll attacked me. And whenever I explain to people what happened I still get the sense that whatever it that possessed my doll that night still lives there in that house just waiting for the next unsuspecting family to inhabit it.