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I feel a little nervous
when I climb into bed at night,
something in the dark is lurking
it fills me with such fright.

I look under my bed
to find nothing there,
a doll sits in the corner
on a rocking chair.

She's my favorite dolly
I talk to her every day,
she is always there
when my life is in total disarray.

I get out of my bed
and creep across the floor,
to hug my dolly tight
suddenly, I heard the slamming of the door.

I run across the room
and jump back into bed,
I pull the covers tightly
up over my head.

I slowly peep from under the covers
looking for the light,
then I saw my dolly there
holding a kitchen knife.

Her eyes glowed the
deepest crimson red,
I fall on to the floor
my dolly stabbed me, now I'm dead.

Copyright Cynthia Jones
Nov.25/2004