A short sigh escaped my lips as I took an uncomfortable seat on the floor, using the wall as a backrest. The man in the room next to mine would not quit screaming. Every night he did this for several hours. Scream his crazy little head off. Eventually a small lot of nurses would enter the room and shut him up with an injection of some sort, but I knew this would not happen for a while. He had only begun screaming fifteen minutes ago and it usually took an hour or more before they felt too irritated to allow it to continue. Until then I offered as many suggestions as I could telling the man to shut his mouth.

                  I really didn't belong here. I have never held any mental problems, but the state government seemed intent on keeping me here. I'd wasted three weeks of my life in here already, and I hadn't done a thing to get here. The cops misunderstood me. So did everyone else. The only other thing that knew the truth was that doll, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life here if I did not have to see that damned thing anymore. I blamed the doll for my presence in this small cramped room now.

                  I marveled one last time over the item I had purchased earlier in the evening: an antique oak desk with a leather top. Circa 1870 measuring thirty inches high, fifty-nine inches wide, and thirty-five inches deep. The craftsmanship appeared a true wonder, and I felt a deep sense of accomplishment every time I looked to it. I had bought it from some senile old hag for a little more than half its value. After having the item appraised I had to work quite diligently to name a price the old lady would accept. She did not care too much for money (if she had she might have bothered to have it appraised herself), but the item had rested in her family's possession for several generations. After spending nearly an entire week's worth of lunches with the old bat I finally got it.

                  I enjoyed collecting antiques, and over the past few years it had become a sort of hobby with me. I have no memory of why I began collecting antiques, or what I might credit for getting me involved in such a thing, but it became an obsession for me none-the-less. I suppose, looking back now, that I could credit this obsession to the Antique Roadshow. That might sound a bit silly, I admit, but I never gave much thought to antiques before I first saw an airing of the show. Whether that show really led to my obsession, or if the credit belongs to something else altogether, I had the obsession and my large apartment had antiques all over the place.

                  One night in this antique infested home, as I crawled into bed, I noticed a small porcelain doll set upon the bedside table. I did not think overly much of this, and I assumed some friend had given it too me some time ago. I simply must have failed to notice, or I had forgotten it recently. I sat laying on my side and stared to the doll. It certainly appeared as a wonderful piece of work. Its eyes, in fact, appeared almost life like. The entire thing looked real too me, only the smooth pale surface that made its skin told me otherwise.

                  I closed my eyes, deciding I would further investigate this doll that had escaped my memory the next day. I sat there for quite some time with my eyes closed, but no sleep ever came over me. I tossed and I turned, but the sandman never came. After staring to my ceiling in shallow thought I came to a conclusion as to why I could not reach a simple slumber. The doll. The statement came to me rather quickly, but my solution took quite some time.

                  I at first felt foolish, and chose not to let something as trivial as this bother me. I closed my eyes and sat there, waiting for the sleep to come, trying to think of anything but this simple and aged child's toy. Still, no sleep came. So, I grabbed the doll and set it down on the counter of my kitchen; then returned to me bedroom and awaited a blissful sleep, and it came. Though, the sleep did not feel overly blissful. Rather, I spent the night waking in shivers and tossing and turning till I once again met unconsciousness.

                  In the morning I woke to a bit of a surprise. I felt as if I had not slept a wink, though I knew I had slept at least two, and when I went to the kitchen to retrieve the little porcelain monster that had kept me up all night I could find it no where. I thought that, by some chance, I had set it somewhere other than my memory told. So I searched my home and could find it no where. Soon I gave up my seemingly fruitless search and made the decision to continue later. I bet you can already tell what I have to say. I entered my room to dress for the day, and what do I see by the bedside table? You've guessed right, my friend, the doll. It appeared to have not moved an inch from where it originally sat several hours ago.

                  Ignoring all chills I felt running down my spine, I dressed as though nothing had happened. I came to several conclusions to explain this extraordinary event, but none served to calm my spirits. Perhaps I had actually fallen asleep and merely dreamt of moving the doll. Or I could have retrieved the doll when I first awoke, and when I came to a more full conscious I had forgotten all about it. To tell the honest truth, the idea that I felt explained things the most told a tale of demons possessing this simple doll, and using it to drive me mad, but I ignored such an idea, no matter how correct it felt.

                  For a series of nights I merely sat in bed, wide-awake. I dared not move the doll again-out of some childish fear-I felt I could get the better of this doll by meeting the sandman in its presence. This, of course, never occurred. It appeared the sandman chose to go on vacation, and foolishly left this doll here to take its place. The first few nights I kept my eyes closed and felt the hours move by. A few times I would turn my back to the doll and attempt to sleep, though I knew it watched me. I could almost feel its eyes burning a hole through my back, as if using the very fires of hell itself.

                  One night I made the choice to merely sit there and stare at the doll, as if I could beat it as its own game. The night appeared unusually darker than others did, and only the eyes of the doll really shone through this veil of darkness. O, how they shone. I could see them as clear as day. I felt as if I looked into hell itself and the fires within beckoned me to step into them, but I resisted their foul temptation and at that moment made my decisions, quite clearly. I knew what I would do to rid myself of this foul thing.

                  The next night I returned to bed in an unusually chipper mood convinced that the night would end as a most rewarding one. I prepared myself for bed, ignoring all temptation to look over my shoulder at the beautiful antique toy until I got myself beneath the blankets. Once I had myself settled I sat and stared too the doll for a great length of time, almost an hour, before I spoke. I do not plan to paraphrase my words here, but quite simply I told the foul thing to close its eyes or I would punish it. As I suspected, it did not follow my order. A smile crept on my face as I made the order for the second time, and still not obeying.

                  Then, quite suddenly, I told the doll it could stare at me all it wished, but it would stare through a different form. I leapt from my bed, the blankets and sheets that covered me flying into the air as I grabbed a long aluminum bat I had propped next the bed earlier that day (I pretended to move things around in a fruitless search so that the doll had no idea as to why I left the bad where I did). I looked into the doll's eyes and a shrill laugh escaped my lips as I brought the bat up high above my head and then slammed it down towards the doll. The loud crack the met my ears filled me with a great surge of bliss, but after looking down towards my intended target I noticed that I had missed! The doll sat, unharmed, next to a long narrow crack I had made in the short wood table.

                  My bliss quickly faded and began swinging again and again while screaming as loudly as possible, as if it would help in my swings. After several long moments I noticed the flashing of a police cars lights outside my window. The bliss returned. I knew right away that they had come to rid me of the item that had brought me so much grief. The policemen stormed my residence, entering my bedroom with guns raised, and demanded I put the bat down. I laughed gleefully and pointed to the doll demanding they take it away. Can you guess what happened next? Those policemen must have suffered blindness! They claimed not to see the doll, and after much coaxing they ushered me into one of their cheap cars.

                  I doubt I need to tell you the rest of my simply story. In the end, they sentenced me to live my life in an asylum until some idiot doctor deemed me safe to return into society. Madness! I tell you they must have known of the entire thing. They must have shared ranks with the doll. "Conspiracy!" I screamed, to no avail. I only feel a single advantage in my new home. I saw the doll no where. It obviously held the wisdom to keep itself away from places like this.

                  I smiled slightly. The screaming in the next room had ceased. Simply wonderful. I turned toward my bed, ready to sleep, and there it sat. The doll. Its eyes fixed on me as if they had never left me. I began screaming and beating on my door, begging for help. In the next room I could hear a man scream back, "Shut up!"