I had to have it. It was the only thing I wanted for Christmas. I was like I was a child possessed. More like a child brainwashed by the media, but I really didn’t care. I didn’t care if I got any other presents. I wanted that silly talking baby doll. I mean really, what could be cooler? A baby doll that talked, blinked its eyes and moved its mouth. It was the coolest! So naturally, I was elated when I opened Baby Heather on Christmas morning.

Baby Heather was designed to simulate a real baby.Therefore, if left alone for any period of time it would cry until it was picked up, fed, or its diapers were changed. She was the coolest!

My attention in her probably didn’t last as long as my parents probably hoped for, given how much they paid. As my attention waned, the doll became more “needy.” After all, it was programmed that way. So, I removed the battery and she was placed on a shelf with my other dolls.

One would think that her constant need for attention would end there. No batteries, no crying. Right? At least that’s what I thought.

I went on with my life without her. Barely paying her a second thought or a passing glance as I walked by her on the shelf. Years passed and I was somewhere in junior high before I even noticed her again.

One evening, I was in the living room watching TV after dinner. I thought I heard Baby Heather crying in my room. Knowing that it couldn’t be possible and it stopped rather quickly, I dismissed the noise. A cat maybe? Or the wind.

That evening, as I made my way to my bed in the low light, my foot bumped something on the ground. A cry let loose. Both from me and the doll. Not only should it not be making noise, but it should have been on the shelf across the room. Even in my younger years, I was a skeptical believer. I believed in ghosts and the paranormal but didn’t immediately proclaim that there was a ghost afoot. I was startled and had no explanation for the doll being where it was, but rationalized that maybe a cat knocked it down and the dog drug it across the room. Yeah, I went with that.

I picked up the doll and placed it back on the shelf and promptly went to bed. Sometime before dawn, I was woken by the sounds of a loud thump and crying from the doll. This time I knew that nothing knocked it off the shelf. I was terrified and went with the philosophy that if I hid under my blanket and couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see me. The doll continued to cry for what felt like an eternity but in reality was probably less than a minute. It ended its mechanical tears with a spine-tingling “Mama.”

I did not go back to sleep and did not get out of bed until my mother came in to get me up for school. I left the doll where she was, not knowing what to think really.

Eventually, I convinced myself that it must still have batteries in it and is short-circuiting or something. When I got home from school, I marched right into my room picked up the doll, flipped her onto her stomach and proceeded to open the battery compartment.

Then I froze, goosebumps up and down my arms and I had to fight the urge to run screaming. NO Batteries! I stood there frozen in disbelief and fear, as she uttered “Mama.” Now that got me moving. I promptly threw her into the closet and closed the door.  

I never touched her again but on several occasions, I could hear her cry or call out “mama” from the depths of my closet.

I don’t know why I never threw her away and have no clue what happened to her. She was still in the closet when I moved out of my parent’s house when I turned 18 and still occasionally emitting her tearless cries.

To this day, I can’t stand baby dolls. Island of the dolls documentaries scare me more than any horror movie. I have even asked friends to remove dolls from guest rooms when I visit them.

Wanna see the horror of Baby Heather in action? Watch this video