My grandmother, for the longest time, held the record in the state of California for owning the largest porcelain doll collection in the region. Every memory I have at the ranch she lived in were dotted with glass eyes, and dusty, cold, synthetic skin; some figures were even bigger than myself, and were littered throughout the property.
The main house had three stories—a basement (technically the ground floor), a small half level where one could find the guest bedrooms, and the top level of the house. Our family was large, and back then, I being the youngest of the grandkids, couldn’t call a bedroom for myself. And, as my childhood luck would have it, I always had to sleep in the doll room—the room where she had stored the most of her collection. Cases upon, dimly lit, cases of small lifelike figures kept me company every night—the only floor of the house with no connecting bedrooms.
With a large, aged sofa as my bed, and a tall grandfather clock at the threshold of the room, I spent every night waiting for the clock to hit midnight. I couldn’t sleep until then. When you’re told as a child that the ghosts and spirits begin their stride at the strike of midnight, all the way until three in the morning, by natural fear and curiosity, you wait, just to make sure nothing gets up and moves after the clock finishes its final strike!!
Every time we visited and every night we stayed, I always continued the same practice. Nothing ever came of it, but there was a certain comfort in knowing if nothing budged after the start of the “witching hour”, chances are you could sleep with no interruption. And being all-alone on the lowest level of the house, well, I took any comfort I could.
However, my grandmother always told me, regardless of where I was, or where anyone else in the house could be, never to go to the top level by myself. “The spirits live up there,” she’d tell me. Having grown up in such a spiritually engrossed family, I never once doubted the existence of spirits, ghosts, or the paranormal in general. Besides, one could feel the presence of another walking beside them as they cross into such spiritual territories. Sometimes I thought it was the dolls, but even then, I never seemed to live in a house that didn’t feel as though it contained an extra occupant, growing up.
One morning, however, I awoke to hear silence, which in my big family, was very unusual. I looked about the main living spaces of the home and found no one. Let alone any noise of feet scuttling about on the floor above me. As I climbed to the second floor, I scouted about the tall mock family of a porcelain girl with a baby carriage, and the princess dolls and even the Shakespearian tragedies contained in cases, or standing upon wooden pedestals, filling every room and around every corner. And yet, as new as the morning had been, I knew my family well enough to know they’d be up at this hour, especially my grandmother.
Still, I found no one. As my search came to a steady halt, I found myself at the foot of the last flight of stairs, the tallest of the house. It stretched over the sitting rooms and half the kitchen like a giant archway, and for someone so small; it was quite a daunting climb. My grandmother’s words lingered, not to go upstairs; the spirits live up there. Still, child logic told me, if my parents and family were already up there, what would be the harm of going up to meet them?
So, bravely, I started my slow hike up the steps. But as I ascended, I started to feel as though I were back on my sofa bed, huddled under a blanket just waiting for the clock to chime. It was an anxious and eerie sort of feeling, and my thoughts stopped as I heard a quiet scuff behind me. Pausing on the stairs, I slowly turned my head. And behind me, standing at the foot of the staircase, was my grandmother’s very impressive Rapunzel doll. She didn’t move. She hadn’t budged. At least, not from what I could see. But I remembered the case she reined over, all on her lonesome, a floor below me. As a child, I realize, there’s usually a distinct lack of awareness when it comes to the obscure. Either the child panics, as though a monster lived under the bed, or the child is acutely unaware of any danger whatsoever, and finds the happening to be more curious than scary. Unfortunately, I find myself to be the latter of these two options, and with a great deal more care, I turned away from Rapunzel to continue my climb.
A few more steps, another shifting of fabric close behind me. Suddenly, the arid heat of the day was hard to feel, and the stairway became colder than it had been shortly before. I stopped and turned around again. This time, Rapunzel in her pressed red dress and train of hair, stood several steps closer to me, only a handful of short, carpeted descents away. Where else could I go, though, but up still? Slower steps didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, but my grandmother’s motto kept coming back to me. Turning back to the ascent, I skipped steps, hurried up the best I could until my feet began to slip on carpet.
Hearing the shift of cloth and hair against carpet once more, I’m forced to stop from sheer exhaustion. Turning around for the last time, I froze. Two steps below me stand Rapunzel, and this time, something new had come about. Her chalk-dusted head tilted up, and her arm and hand were extended towards me, as if offering something. Mind you, these dolls my grandmother owned were by no means opposable; she didn’t collect ball-joints. Stunned and almost enamored with the change, I looked between Rapunzel and the top of the stairs, only a few more steps above me. Looking back on it now, perhaps I should have been more wary of my options, but children are by nature very trusting, and slowly, I began to reach back to the doll.
A clattering of a spring-loaded door and my grandmother’s voice shouting for breakfast breaks the silence from below, startling me out of my train of thought. Relieved to finally hear someone in the house, I turned my attention to the railing, peering over the balcony of the stairway to greet my grandmother and tell her I’ll be right down. As I dropped back to my feet and looked back to the steps below me, the stairway is empty. Rapunzel was gone, but this piece was left on the step. It was what Rapunzel must have been offering to me.
Looking back on it now, I should have thought more about what had happened, but I was so happy to rejoin my family, I never stopped to mention what had happened. Not until several years later did I even share with anyone about where this piece came from, but when I did my grandmother instantly became big eyed and was in shock... she knew that the doll was inhabited and came to life!
For years she had experiences with her whole collection, but she never shared this inisight as she did not want others to think she was crazy - but now someone else had seen the truth, so she could share. The piece was similar to what the dolla would always bring forth to my grandmother... it showcases their inner energies and personalities.
Dolls are prime vessels for spirits to enter into. The energies and powers of the deceased are able to expand and transpire easily through a vessel that looks like a human.
I have kept the piece that I found years ago as a momentum, but never really worked with it until about 2 years ago. It holds the spirit of a young girl named Rose. She needs to be loved and communicated with regularly and I simply do not have the time. Over the past 2 years since I recalled the piece and felt the energies of Rose, I only really talked to her about 3-4 times. She is lonely and I want her to have a good home.
Rose is extremely knowledgable about transversal portal traveling and will impart the energies upon you to allow you to transpire your soul upon the astral realms, as well as gain her skills in mind reading, celestial visionary gifts, transpiring luck and more!
She is enchanting and will come forth fast to work with you and bring you elevated powers that will improve your life~