XXX Scary Doll Warehouse

We moved from our Melrose Ave. Bungalow after my first year in elementary school. I was seven years old, I knew how to ride a bike, dial the phone, and the way a butcher’s knife looked at heart level. I learned how to disrupt a lover’s quarrel by scattering into the night under parked cars. This happened within a year of my mom’s plate act in the kitchen after suspecting her lover unfaithful. My mom and her landlord eventually decided to move in together into one of his other properties. Her better judgment or passion for him (which proceeded the other?) must’ve had somewhat of a lobotomized influence over her. I don’t know, love is complicated, and maybe they needed each other.

Our next stop was a two-story mocha-brown, vintage industrial rectangle. I was told it was an old renovated commercial dry cleaners/laundry facility from the turn of the century. The building was musty, tall and lean as if a depressed beam on the sidewalk. Adjacent to it was additional warehouse space with xxx appeal. The two structures rested on the corner of Dekalb Avenue, and Drexel (It even sounds dreadful, especially the way my mother pronounced it, “DRUAHEXILL.”) across from the Marta train tracks. Whenever the train passed by the house gurgled like a belly full of rocks. The nearby train yard was picturesque of post Civil War Industrial Revolution.

Our house was divided into two units; we lived on the second floor, up a long, narrow passage of stairs. We parked in the back on a weedy, gravel road, and entered the building from the side next to the warehouse. Before we moved in we visited the unit while the previous tenants were still there. An upside down cross hung at the end of the dimly lit hallway past a closed door bedroom, and a bathroom with stark subway tiles and a claw foot tub. The well-fed woman living there had ass length, boxed-red hair, and black eyes, occupying space was a slight man with pointy features and a snaggle tooth smile. The second man stood excessively high with a grayish tone much like the building. They were unmistakably odd.

The second bedroom housed a “flowers in the attic” collection of dolls with life-like gruesome faces. The porcelain faces reflected alert eyes with nobody home. They were situated around the room in miniature Victorian homes, cases and were displayed on a brass daybed. (The room reminds me of the Inn Augusten Burroughs describes in “”Possible Side Effects.” It was disturbingly odd to see a shrine of dolls living among flesh as if they were paying rent. I was ushered out of the room quickly, setting my jaw in place. “Mommy! Come here, look?” My mom came over, immediately stepping back. “Shannon! Get out of there, come on.” We walked back towards the kitchen as the swaying hair called out. “Don’t touch anything in there!” The shadow of the character, weird- man appeared from around the corner. “Yah, don’t go in there.”

Feeling the unease of fright, we went towards the kitchen reeking of garlic and carob chips. The whole place smelled like herbs with a hint of patchouli lingering in the air. Later my mom told me they were witches and warlocks that slept in the same bed. “They hang out at the rusty nail off of Buford Hwy with all the other Wiccan’s.  You know that place with the cannon size smoking gun out front? And you know those smells we smelled; well they cook with special ingredients too. And I think they worship the devil.” My mother looked scared and serious when she told me, which made me believe her even more. I didn’t know what “Wiccan’s” were, but I was certain it wasn’t good especially by the way she acted. She played with her hands as she told me, staring off somewhere else. My mom was pretty open to most people and situations, but not this one; it made her nervous.

To my displeasure, the “doll room” ended up becoming my bedroom when we moved in. My bedroom faced the tracks and was floor to ceiling with windows galore. The thin glass rattled like plastic in the wind whenever the trains went by, needless to say, I never slept well. To Be Continued.

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About monocurious

I'm like air, forever flowing, moving, changing, gaining and losing myself, undefinable. View my complete profile
This entry was posted in crossing boundaries, Marta Train, Scary Dolls, Witch Hunt and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to XXX Scary Doll Warehouse

  1. Kendra says:

    omg, creepy! Should have called in the wiccans to cleanse that place!

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