Title: Dolls
Summary: She really doesn't like dolls
Author notes: I am in no way associated with the WWE. This story is from Trish's POV
I fucking hate dolls.
You know; forget what you know about dolls. Forget about porcelain, plastic, cloth figures that people like to collect, and understand. Understand that they are evil and that they come to life at night. They wreck havoc on the people who are smart enough to figure it out. Their lifeless eyes are following everywhere you go. Don't turn you back on them. Don't turn out the lights and always keep a weapon handy.
When I was little, you would think that I didn't play much with dolls. But I lived with my grandma, who had a whole room full of them. I could feel them watching me at all times. I had a lot of unexplained bruises and scratches when I woke up sometimes. They even locked me in a closet. They would sing through the walls about how they were going to kill me. I spent as much time as I could outside the house, away from them. When my grandma died she left them to me, along with a letter about how she knew that I loved them so much. I burned them all that night. It was the best thing I ever done, they all were screaming in misery. I thought that was the end of it. Oh how wrong I was.
The next morning there it was sitting on the desk across from my bed. The one I feared the most. Christopher. He was a cloth monster who was always the ringleader. He grinned evilly at me and dared me to get rid of him. Before he could react I lunged across the space between us and grabbed a pair of scissors. I cut of his legs and was extremely satisfied when blood started to flow down my hands. I listened triumphantly as he screamed in agony, swearing revenge on me. I cut of his head before he could say anything else. I went off to work humming a little song. It was all okay, until the next morning. I sat up and stopped in the middle of my stretch. That fucker was sitting in exactly the same place.
And so it when on. I tried everything; burning him, cutting him up in even smaller pieces, putting him through shredding devices. I even threw the damn thing in the river. Locked in a safe. Nothing worked; the evil thing always appeared the next morning, laughing at me. That was when I got accepted into the WWE. On the day I head to leave and tried something new. I grabbed Christopher who immediately started to curse at me. Using a hacksaw I sawed him in half. A crescendo of screams followed as I cheerfully carried his top half to my garden and buried it. That night at the hotel in a city 3000 miles away I buried his other half in the garden. I thought it must have worked, because he didn't appear the next morning, or any mornings for a whole 6 years. Then it happened. A package was waiting for me one day. I didn't think anything about it and opened it in my room. I threw it across the room in horror. Inside was Christopher. He explained that he "missed me." I locked him in my empty suitcase and flung myself back on my bed. I wonder if I can find a wood chipper.