Linda had a ragdoll that could sing and talk like every other kid. She could giggle and cackle, and this made Linda always scared.
“Mommy, I want a new doll. I don’t like this one,” Linda talked to her mother. She wanted her to see what she was seeing. But each time she brought the doll near, her mother wouldn’t see beyond its form.
“I swear, Mommy, she can talk,”
“Oh, Linda. Stop this dilly-dally, will you? Mommy’s busy.”
Linda would cry. The poor girl’s had the doll since when she was five. Now she was seven, she wanted to get rid of it.
“I’ll get rid of you!” Linda huffed. She dumped the doll in a garbage can and made back to her room, so her mother wouldn’t know. Laying all her crayons out, she got to colouring and hummed as she worked.
“Raggie…. Hum hum… Raggie…”
“You dumped Raggie,” she heard, and she turned.
Linda saw no one but her teddy bears. She went back to her colouring, and began humming again.
“You dumped Raggie,”
Linda turned again. She got up from her little chair and made to her bed—getting on all fours, she checked under it and found it all clear.
Linda turned. Her little mind told her to run out the door; this she did, and was out in a flash.