Night Gallery

I don't know if any of you out there remember Rod Serling's Night Gallery.  It was a TV show that ran from 1969-1971 after the Twilight Zone had finished its run--it was sort of the horror show version of the Twilight Zone.  At the beginning of each show, Mr. Serling would walk through a gallery of paintings.  He would stop in front of one and tell the horrific, twisted story captured by the artist's oil paint.  Then he would say "Welcome to the Night Gallery" as the freakiest music ever composed played.

I'm not really sure how old I was when I watched this show with my dad and my brother who is 5 1/2 years older than I am.  Since I was born in 1969, I was either a baby with an amazing memory or I watched reruns of the show.  What I do know is that whatever age I was, it bordered on child abuse for my dad to put me in front of the TV while that show was playing. What I also know is that I will never, ever, ever forget "The Doll."

"Our painting is called The Doll and this one you'd best not play with."

I don't remember the details of this episode.  I tried to watch it on instant download (paid my $1.99 and everything), but the first few seconds freaked me out so badly that I had to turn it off.  What I remember is that the story had something to do with a British soldier, voo-doo, and a doll who kills, bites and maims.  There was a little girl in the episode who loved this doll even though it killed all of her other dolls (and her family and dog, I think).  The final scene showed someone throwing the little demon into the fireplace and her skullish grin as she laughed and burned.  Here she is . . .

(Yahhh.  I can't even look at her.  I'm typing with one hand and covering her with the other)

So . . . after our family night of wholesome television viewing, my brother turned to me and said, "Sarah, I wonder if any of YOUR dolls have teeth??"  We both fell over each other running up the stairs to inspect all of my dolls, and we found one.  She was a beautiful china doll with black hair wearing antique lace and silk slippers.  She had red painted lips and tiny, straight teeth.  My brother and I both started screaming, so my mother told us we were being ridiculous and took the doll away.

About a week later, I was lying in bed almost asleep when I heard a voice.  I could barely hear it but it got louder and louder.  I felt a weight on my chest as my heart was pounding.  The voice was saying "I've eaten your mommy.  I've eaten your daddy.  Now I'm going to eat you . . ." over and over again.  I slowly opened one eye--and staring me in the face was THE DOLL.  The china doll with teeth.  The one my mother had taken away.  I screamed louder than any human being has ever screamed to this day.  I screamed myself hoarse.  I screamed so loudly, I set off the motion detector on our alarm system.  My mother came upstairs and found my brother under my bed laughing.

This happened to me several times throughout my childhood.  My mother would always take the doll and hide her.  My brother would always find her.  Sometimes it would take him years to find her in some tucked away closet, but he would always find her, place her on my chest after I had fallen asleep, and he would began to chant and psychologically torment me.

The last time I saw the doll was about ten years ago.  I was searching for something at the top of my mother's closet, and as I was shoving boxes around, something plummeted from the top of the closet and came crashing onto the floor.  It was the doll.  And, as she crashed onto the floor, her head broke off and rolled onto my foot.  I kid you not.

I will never go in that closet again.

Sooooo . . . . you can imagine how I felt yesterday when my daughter Sallie came home from her school library with this

Needless to say, I took it from her, threw it in our outside freezer, and told her not to open the door until Daddy got home and could take care of it.

sf