From bringing good to causing nightmares

Maybe it's the unblinking eyes, staring at you emotionlessly, day and night. Or perhaps it's their small size, acting as a cloak of innocence, or their human-like appearance, making them seem almost too real.

However you look at it, there’s something creepy about dolls. Why do we take these seemingly innocent objects and bring them to life? And why do we keep imagining them as capable of evil, violence, and cruelty?

As symbolic figures, have long been used to project meaning onto artificial forms. Besides their role in ritual and religious contexts, dolls may very well be among the earliest forms of toys. Archaeological findings show that ancient cultures such as the Egyptians, Chinese, Minoans, and Etruscans created dolls for spiritual reasons. The oldest known dolls date back to the third millennium BCE.

Although early dolls were occasionally employed for darker purposes, they were more commonly used for protection. However, in the third century BCE, the spiritual use of dolls began to take on a more negative connotation, especially in literature.

In the second Idyll collection by the Greek poet Theocritus, a witch is depicted using a wax doll as part of a harmful love spell. Similarly, Roman poet Horace, in a 30 BCE work, tells a tale of necromancy and erotic magic, where two female witches use a woolen doll and a smaller wax doll in a mock execution.

Over time, stereotypes and demonizing rumors about dolls used in religious and spiritual practices—such as voodoo dolls, kachinas, corn dollies, and puppets—have contributed to negative associations. These dolls were often falsely linked to demonic witchcraft and spirit manipulation.

This negative view of dolls used for spiritual purposes likely influenced how society perceived dolls meant for entertainment and the commercial market.

Originally, human miniatures served primarily for ritual, religious, and funerary practices.

All of this changed over the course of medieval Europe, miniature fashion dolls were collected by wealthy adults. By the early 15th century, doll-making had become a recognized profession, and by the 16th century, dollhouses began appearing in Europe.

When the fashions they depicted went out of style, the dolls were often passed down to children to be used as toys. This shift in usage contributes to the ongoing uncertainty and unease surrounding dolls. We’re never entirely sure of their purpose—dolls have always existed in an ambiguous space, and that ambiguity can make us uncomfortable.

There’s something about a doll that can feel unsettling, especially in modern times. But why? The first ventriloquist dummies appeared around the 18th century. While technically they’re not dolls but puppets—at least according to enthusiasts— they’re still very much part of the "uncanny valley" family.

These dolls are animated with movement and speech, and a ventriloquist’s performance relies on the audience’s ability to suspend disbelief, seeing the doll as a sentient being, or at least as something separate from the person operating it. Often designed to resemble children or be child-sized, these dummies evoke the sense of a child possessed.

In the 19th century, baby dolls and porcelain dolls rose in popularity, adding another layer to the evolving relationship with dolls over time.

At that time, innovations like socketed joints, movable eyes, and talking dolls began to emerge. This period also saw the development of the modern concept of childhood. Prior to the Enlightenment Movement in the 17th and 18th centuries, the idea of childhood as a distinct stage of life wasn’t widely accepted.

It wasn’t until philosophers proposed that human experience shaped knowledge and reason that the notion of nurturing an ideal childhood for personal growth began to take hold. Children were increasingly viewed as blank slates, which meant that what they interacted with, including toys, became significant. This is when dolls began to be integrated into children's developmental play—and when the story takes a darker turn.

One reason for our unease with dolls is tied to our discomfort with childhood itself. Children, like dolls, appear innocent and pure, yet we can never truly know what’s going on in their minds. When dolls are seen as miniature humans, this ambiguity becomes even more pronounced. This tension surfaces in literature, where the lines between child and doll blur, raising questions about what is truly alive and what is not.

Take Pinocchio, for example. First serialized in 1881-1882 and later published as a novel in 1883, the story of The Adventures of Pinocchio revolves around a wooden puppet that is carved from a talking piece of wood, capable of laughing and crying like a child—a chilling detail omitted from the Disney adaptation.

And then there's Jiminy Cricket—who, in the original version, meets a gruesome fate when Pinocchio kills him with a hammer. That’s just the beginning of the story’s unsettling tone. Before becoming a real boy, Pinocchio endures a series of traumatic experiences, turning the tale into an exploration of morality and humanity, with a hint of the macabre.

While Pinocchio, the talking, sentient marionette, remained firmly in the realm of fiction, real-world dolls were beginning to take on more human-like qualities, especially with the introduction of voices. At the end of the 19th century, the first talking dolls were introduced by an unexpected inventor.

After creating the phonograph in 1877, Thomas Edison developed a talking doll powered by a miniature version of his phonograph. Despite his hopes that the doll would be a major success in the late 1880s, Edison was sorely mistaken.

Dolls have always existed between the worlds of children and adults. They often feature adult-like characteristics on child-sized bodies, and the way children play with them—nurturing them as though they were their own children or crafting elaborate adult scenarios for them—further blurs the lines. This ambiguity can feel unsettling, drawing us back into the "uncanny valley."

Consider the notorious case of Robert the Doll. In 1904, Robert Eugene Otto was given the doll by his grandfather, and it quickly became the boy's inseparable companion. He spoke to the doll as if it were a real person, even naming it Robert and calling himself Gene.

Gene began blaming any mischief or accidents on Robert, the doll. Coming from a wealthy, eccentric family in Key West, Gene's relationship with the doll fueled rumors and curiosity. Robert remained a fixture in Gene's life well into adulthood. Locals reported seeing the doll standing by itself in Gene's window, appearing to move on its own.

After Gene's death, the doll’s new owner heard footsteps and giggling in the house and even claimed that Robert’s facial expression would change when anyone spoke ill of Gene.

This eerie story has inspired countless terrifying tales, none more famous than Chucky, the murderous doll who spawned a successful franchise and haunted the nightmares of many. "Hi, I'm Chucky. Wanna play?" [screams]

By the early 20th century, living dolls were capturing the public's imagination in literature and real-world stories, and it wasn’t long before they made their way into films. That like the stories delve into themes of family, faith, and the lasting consequences of actions considered sinful—whether spiritually, socially, or intellectually.

The dolls in these tales unexpectedly become vessels for violence and deviant behavior. They transform into monsters, not because of any inherent evil, but because of human fear—the terror associated with childhood, the unsettling possibility of malicious intent in a tiny form, and the confused struggle of developing identity.

What unnerves us is our discomfort with their uncanny resemblance to humans, especially when these artificial beings seem to mirror our own darker impulses. It is this eerie familiarity, combined with the potential for distorted motivations, that creates such unease.