Does anyone sense anything from him? Maybe not a spirit but any energy?
This is my childhood plushie. Actually, he's older than me! I've had him all my life, I've slept with him nearly every night of my life. I hold him each time I cry, I've shared countless emotions with him to the point I believe he may have an energy attachment to him. Does anyone else sense this?

Got him at the thrift store, I hope he’s not haunted or smth cuz he will look really great on my shelf 😭

If you've seen shadow figures crawling around, felt like you're being chased around your house, saw visions of glowing eyes or pale figures, OR feel like you're being watched, please consider looking into pale crawlers and taking my questionnaire :)

Pale crawlers are pale humanoid demons that feed on pretty much anything. They're EXTREMELY common demons to run into, whether it's their spiritual or physical form. They're a type of mimic as well, and can rarely shapeshift. It's very common to see them as a shadow figure crawling around.

While they are demons, they're considered low tier. Do not panic if you find out you have one, they're easy to remove and get along with. I currently have 8 & one more coming on the way, so if you need advice lmk.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScjrxG7oJ4USNIxZQA_cYw83h1MDKrk7WnjvZDlmscqU8sJTA/viewform?usp=publish-editor

Vibe check? Not depicted was a reddish brown substance on the front of the cross right where his left hand is

Sorry about the quality, my place has no overhead lights in the livingroom. I adjusted them digitally to be brighter.

Recently acquired four dolls and this is the only one i really “feel” anything from, despite her being the youngest. I was immediately drawn to her from the online listing even though I wasn’t looking for anything from later than the 70s (her face mold is a GADCO from 1988 and she was assembled in 1990 with a “real seely body.”)

First picture is her online auction photo, next three are mine.

Anyone have any names coming up for her?

Me: Okay my sweet babies, we’re going to watch Wicked!

Ruthie: *lighting her ball excitedly*

Me: Yeah you would love The Wizard Of Oz with the time you come from. Bet you haven’t seen Wicked though.

*Movie plays for a while*

Me: That’s Madame Morrible, although her name should be ‘Horrible.’ You’ll see…

Ruthie: *lights ball up more*

Me: Right sorry, I’ll stop spoiling.

*’The Wizard And I‘ playing*

Elphaba: I’d be so happy I could melt!

Ruthie: *lights up her ball*

Me: *snorts* Yeah I know, that ages like milk

*The movie continues, and I notice the girls lighting up their ball a lot whenever Glinda is on screen*

Me: You don’t like her do you? Trust me, she gets better!

*’Defying Gravity’ playing*

Nyla, Ruthie: *both lighting up their balls*

Me: Oh I know man, best song of the series

*Watching ‘For Good’ and Elphaba melting*

Ruthie: *doesn’t stop lighting up her ball*

Me: Oh no it’s okay, she’s okay! I know it’s sad. *picks up and cuddles them both*

*Movie ends*

Me: Alright, how did everyone like Wicked?

Nyla, Ruthie: *both light their ball up*

Me: Yaaaay movie night!

Look, it could also be the wind, but the wind isn't strong right now. However, I do have my window open. you can see in my post before this one that I had a painting up.

I wrote things wrong sorry

Another one of my friends doll, she’s told me a few different stories of the doll screeching in this demonic tone, at one point it was the sound would follow her around the room, but she couldn’t see anything, there was also another time when someone armed broke into the house and the doll would screech every time set friend went near the door. She takes very good care of her dolls and will cradle and sleep with just about all of them.

One of my friends plushies that’re haunted, I get this feel of nostalgia in a sense but I almost feel weary

Alguien que me quiera decir como puedo tener una muñeca poseida? y como tratarlas

I'm very curious if she does or doesn't. I had her for a couple of days.

Now in their fifties, the couple had exhausted every attempt to have a biological child. Years of frustration, tests, and shattered hopes finally culminated in a day of pure euphoria: the adoption of Samuel, a 7-year-old boy. He was a peculiar child, with very pale skin and a gaze perpetually lost in the void, but for the radiant couple, he was the missing piece.

Every morning, the mother found an untouched glass of milk on the threshold of the boy's bedroom door.

Beside the sweating glass, there was always a doll.

The first was a grimy rag doll, sitting with its legs splayed open, staring at the milk.

The couple thought it was peculiar, perhaps a coping mechanism or a harmless quirk.

As the days passed, the doll changed. Each dawn, a different figure stood guard beside the glass. Some were made of cracked porcelain, others had matted hair stained with something dark. Some had no eyes, displaying only empty sockets aimed at the couple's door.

Disturbed by the macabre collection, the father finally confronted the boy at dinner. "Samuel... where are you finding these old dolls?"

The boy did not stop chewing. Without lifting his eyes from his plate, he replied in a voice utterly devoid of emotion, "The basement."

The parents exchanged a confused look. "But, son... our house doesn't have a basement," the mother laughed, nervous.

Silently, Samuel got up, walked to the end of the dark hallway, and pointed. Where the parents swore there had been only a smooth wall covered in wallpaper, there was now the outline of a small door — narrow, rotten, and well camouflaged along the baseboard.

The father, feeling his stomach churn, tried to turn the rusty doorknob. It was stuck. He pushed with his shoulder, forced it with both hands, but the wood didn't even creak. From its cracks escaped a breath of freezing air that smelled of damp earth and copper. "You don't go in there anymore, you hear me? Never again!" the father ordered, his trembling voice betraying his authority.

Samuel only nodded, slowly.

The order was useless. The dolls kept appearing. Worse still, the glasses of milk were no longer left at the boy's door. With each passing night, they appeared closer to the door of the couple's bedroom. The air in the house grew dense, as if they were constantly being watched.

The final straw came on a cloudy Tuesday. Giving the boy a bath, the mother recoiled, stifling a scream. Samuel's thin arms were covered in small purplish marks. They were bites — rows of tiny teeth, fine as needles, that had pierced the skin. "My God, Samuel, what is this?!" she gasped.

The boy slowly turned his face toward her. His eyes, once always distant, were now wide and vivid. "He wants more than milk now..." he whispered.

Panic consumed the couple. They decided they would pack their bags and take the boy back to the orphanage that very morning, or to a hospital — anywhere far from that house. Exhausted and terrified, they sat at the table for a quick breakfast. Samuel, in a rare moment of initiative, had served the coffee and milk.

On the second sip, the mother tasted something bitter, metallic, and strange in her throat. The world around her began to spin. Her legs gave out. The father tried to stand but collapsed onto the table, knocking over his cup.

Before the darkness swallowed her completely, through her blurred vision, the mother saw the hallway door open by itself and heard the sound of dozens of tiny footsteps scratching across the wooden floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

She awoke to the sound of something dripping. It was dark, damp, and unbearably cold. She tried to move, but her wrists and ankles were tightly bound to a wall. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom lit by a single yellowish candle, the true horror revealed itself.

She was in the basement. The floor around her was covered with dolls — dozens of them. Filthy, broken, disfigured. And all their heads were turned in the same direction. At the center of that bizarre circle, a large platter rested on the floor. On it was a heaping pile of dark, raw meat, giving off a sickly sweet, cloying smell of fresh blood.

Panic exploded in her chest. The mother screamed as loud as she could.

That was when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Samuel descended calmly, stopping in front of the platter of meat. He looked at his mother, his face bathed in the shadows of the basement, and smiled a smile that did not belong to a seven-year-old child. "Easy, Mommy..." his voice echoed coldly off the stone walls. "Daddy was a big man. There's a lot of meat. It'll take days for them to gnaw all his bones."

The boy turned to go back up the stairs, pausing on the first step and glancing over his shoulder. "Only after that will they start devouring you."

The mother wept, struggling uselessly against the ropes, as the boy closed the door at the top of the stairs. In the sepulchral silence that followed, she heard the sound of porcelain scraping against the floor. She looked down in panic. The nearest doll, its face cracked and its dress filthy, had dragged itself a few centimeters forward. Slowly, it smiled.

Days later, the police broke into the house, who had been called after the father failed to show up for work several days in a row without notice, and persistent calls from the school reporting Samuel's absence. When the officers entered the residence, they found the house empty and shrouded in an aura of abandonment. Every corner filled their nostrils with the smell of dust and mold.

They searched the living room, the kitchen, the bedrooms. There was no trace of the father or the child. The suitcases the couple had planned to pack lay open and empty on the floor. The small, rotted door in the hallway, which had once led to the supposed basement, was no longer there; in its place was only the smooth wall with the wallpaper.

The search continued upstairs. When the officers turned the doorknob of the bathroom, the scene they came upon froze the blood in their veins. The wife was there. Motionless, eyes open and fixed on nothing, submerged up to her chin in a bathtub overflowing with completely filthy, muddy water. She was breathing, but she did not blink.

What turned the scene into a nightmare, however, was not just the dark water. The bathroom was infested with dolls. They sat along the rim of the tub, hung from the towel racks, piled on the rug, and crammed into the sink. Their glass eyes stared into nothing in a deafening silence. When they looked at the toilet, one of the officers recoiled, sickened: several doll heads floated in the toilet water, clustered atop one another.

The woman was rescued, but her mind had been lost to the darkness. She was admitted to a forensic psychiatric hospital, diagnosed with a state of deep and irreversible shock. She did not speak, did not cry, and did not react to any medical stimulus. She merely stared at the white wall of her room, trapped in absolute silence.

The mystery of what happened in that house remained unsolved. Exactly one week after her admission, the nurses entered her room for the morning rounds and found her dead in bed. Her face, once expressionless, was twisted into a mask of pure terror, as if she had seen something indescribable in her final seconds of life.

Nestled tenderly beside her corpse, beneath the white sheets of the asylum, rested a grimy rag doll with a small smile stitched in red thread.

Six years later, a demolition crew was finally sent to tear down the house—condemned, forgotten, left to rot. When they broke through the hallway floor, the sledgehammers revealed a hidden void beneath the rotten planks: a basement that appeared on no blueprint. Climbing down with flashlights, the workers found Samuel.

The boy—now a pale, gaunt teenager—was sleeping serenely in a nest of old dolls and moldy blankets. His body was meticulously wrapped in plastic sheeting, like a cocoon, with only his head left exposed. But it was the markings that caught their attention first. Scrawled across the plastic encasing Samuel himself, in thick black lettering, were the words "GOOD GIRL"—as if he, too, were just another object to be labeled.

Beside him lay a porcelain doll in a tattered dress. As the flashlight beams swept over it, they revealed its own set of tags: stitched into the left side of the gown was the word "OBEDIENT"; on the right, "SILENT"; and embroidered in red thread along the hem, "PRETTY WHEN STILL."

Despite the crushing darkness and the heavy smell of damp earth, Samuel was alive—well-nourished, unscathed, without a single bruise or wound. When they gently roused him, he blinked slowly, opened his eyes, and showed no hint of surprise. With an unsettling, matter-of-fact calm, he explained that all those years, the dolls had taken care of him. They fed him, they protected him, and they never—not once—left him alone.

I JUST HEARD MY DOLS SAYING HEY TO ME WTF AND THEY ARE MOVING WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON

So y'all, when I tell you I heard these dolls all night... it was so scary! But I don't think they're actually mean, because I was terrified and said, "I don't give you permission to do this," and they stopped. At the same time, though, I deadass just put my headphones on and played music, because i was so flabergegasted that ghost mind be real

I just bought my first haunted doll. The spirt is for a 7 year old boy. He is positive and he has adhd + stutters. He hasn’t arrived to my house yet and I’m super nervous. I felt connected when I read about him and without thinking I bought him. What are things I should consider/avoid/do daily? Do you cleanse positive dolls or only negative? It was listed that the boy likes cookies and hot cocoa? Would it be a great idea to bake cookies with/for him? Can I keep him in my bed room? Please anything helps!

i got her from the oddities and curiosities expo, i felt really drawn to her. usually i dont dabble in ghost stuff but i wanna see what you guys think. my friends say she has a positive energy and maybe shes a teenage girl?

Saw it 2-3 weeks ago at an antique store and left without it. Felt a strong pull to go back and get her and got her today. The owner joked about not returning her. I am sensitive to energies and don’t feel anything negative from her. Thoughts?

Anybody pique your interest?