It was two o’clock this morning when I heard the voice. I was lying in bed playing poker on my tablet because – well, for two reasons really. Number one, my red-haired wife is traveling. So I’ve no motivation to go to bed early. And secondly, because I’m insomniac, so there’s rarely any sleep for me these days. And thirdly, because I – wait… I only promised you two. So that’s that. I was, therefore, not awakened by the sound of a voice. But I was startled by it. That’s for sure.
It sounded at first like a woman talking in my kitchen. I was alone in my bedroom with the door closed. So it could have been coming from anywhere. But it sounded about as far away as it could be while still being inside my house and downstairs. The kitchen is the answer to that. I perked up and listened a minute. Then I went back to my poker game. Some people get arrested for taking other people’s money. I get badges. I was well into another good hand when I heard the voice again. And this time it was louder.
That might very well be because I was partially listening for it now. But I definitely heard it more clearly. I’m not talking about a ghost, either. I don’t believe in them. And it wasn’t one or two spooky words either, like “Die!” or “Get out!” or “Troy Polamalu!”. It was a complete sentence. And this time, chills shot up my spine and all down my arms. In fact, sitting here writing this, I get chills thinking about that sound. I’ve heard sounds before in my house. I’ve had people come into my house before. But I’ve never heard someone just start talking. This, to put it bluntly, freaked me the hell out. Seriously.
So I swung my legs off the bed, chills covering my entire body now, and slipped on my pajama pants and grabbed my handgun from its resting place beside my bed. I chambered a round and took a deep breath, then grabbed my tac torch and headed out into the house, prepared for a confrontation. My body was literally covered in chills now. Hey, I was brave enough to get up and go confront it. Doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the shit out of me though. I walked into the kitchen, through the dining room, and peeked into the bar. No one. Then I heard it again. It came from upstairs. Dear God. My girls are asleep up there.
I flipped on the light, not wanting to surprise anyone whose eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and crept up the stairs. I looked in the playroom. No one there. And as I headed back toward my girls’ rooms, I heard it again, from behind me. She was in the bathroom! And now, being this close to the source of the voice, the chills felt like someone had just ripped a gigantic square of duct tape from my skin and every hair on my body was standing at attention. This was not a dream. This was not a hallucination. Not a ghost, either. There was someone standing in my effing bathroom. I raised my pistol and reached in to turn on the light. Was someone outside my window? Of course not. I was upstairs. But when you’re freaking out, all sorts of things shoot through your mind like Roman candles in a dark closet. The voice sounded like someone talking on a walkie talkie. This doesn’t give me much relief at this point, because I only have two of those, and I keep them locked up in my hunting bag. The children don’t have access to them. But all these things are sparking in my head as I peek into the doorway, and the voice speaks again. White fear lit up the inside of my head like a bolt of lightning and I put my finger on the trigger. I turned into the bathroom and took a deep breath, sure I was either about to be shot, or be questioning some woman why she was standing in my children’s bathroom at two in the morning.
But there was no one there. Then another crazy thought shot through my head. Was the voice coming from the drain? Like the drain lady? Of course not. Impossible. But again, the mind plays evil tricks when it’s being pumped full of sudden adrenaline, and I had not confronted a human being with a firearm in some fair amount of years. The hair on the back of my neck felt like it was holding my weight as I dangled from some dark rafter in an old haunted barn. There was no one in my bathroom though. But wait.
I looked into the bathtub. There were four Barbie dolls in there. Two of them have definitive lines around their abdomens as if a section of their plastic torso was removable. Like maybe to put batteries in. Could it be…? I picked them both up. One was a female, I think a Taylor Swift doll. The other was Justin Bieber. As I picked them up, the Justin doll spoke again. My hand wrapped round the two dolls with a force that would crush marble. I sighed heavily and thanked God I didn’t have to shoot anyone – though I briefly considered shooting Justin Bieber just to finish out the adrenaline.
Apparently, these dolls aren’t water proof. They aren’t supposed to be in the bathtub with your darling daughters when they take their evening bath together. And that is apparently what happened. When mom’s not home, the girls bathe together upstairs and mom’s not here to help them with their hair and whatever else she does. They’re on their own. So I had no idea what I’d be finding in the tub. But when these dolls get wet, apparently it shorts some circuit and makes them talk. Not constantly. And not on a schedule. Just at random intervals several long minutes apart, in the middle of the night.
I shook the dolls out and threw them in the sink after switching the Bieber doll to off. I couldn’t find a switch for Taylor, but I don’t think she had been the one doing the talking. Funny though, that I had originally thought it was a female who was speaking. I guess a teenage boy’s voice is in the same vocal range as a grown woman’s. Anyway, everyone survived last night, including the dolls. Though I didn’t get much sleep. F you, Justin Bieber. Come into my house talking shit during the night.