I Paid $10 for a ‘Haunted’ Doll on eBay—Now I Can’t Sleep

It started as a dare.

My friend Dylan and I were deep into one of those late-night YouTube spirals—paranormal investigations, ghost hunters, creepy Reddit stories—when he turned to me and said, “I bet you won’t actually buy one of those haunted dolls.”

We laughed about it. But later that night, after a few drinks and far too much curiosity, I opened eBay.

There it was, right near the top:

“HAUNTED ANTIQUE DOLL – Active Spirit – Not for the faint of heart!”

Starting bid: $10.

Free shipping.

The description was vague and dramatic. Apparently, her name was Annora, she came from an “old estate in Pennsylvania,” and the seller claimed she was linked to “whispers, movement, and vivid dreams.” The listing even warned: “DO NOT MOCK HER.”

Naturally, I placed the bid. I won the doll for exactly $10. No one else even tried.

She arrived four days later in a shoebox.

No padding. No note. Just the doll, wrapped in crinkled brown paper like someone couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

Annora was... unsettling. Her eyes were hand-painted, slightly uneven, and her smile was the kind that made you wonder if she knew something you didn’t. Her dress was dusty lace, yellowed with age. One of her porcelain fingers was chipped, and her hair—once blonde—was patchy, as if it had been pulled out.

I laughed when I pulled her out. “This is what people are afraid of?” I scoffed, propping her up on the bookshelf in my bedroom.

Big mistake.

The first night, I woke up at 3:12 AM. Not to a sound, but a feeling—like I was being watched. I chalked it up to suggestion. Of course I’d feel weird after reading the listing a dozen times.

But it kept happening.

Same time. Every night. I’d jolt awake, drenched in sweat, heart racing. And Annora would be there—facing me.

I could’ve sworn I left her facing the window.

By the fourth night, I started dreaming about her.

I was in my room. But everything was slightly off. The wallpaper was peeling. The light bulbs buzzed with static. And Annora was standing—not sitting—by the edge of my bed.

She’d whisper, but I couldn’t hear her words. Her mouth moved in jagged, unnatural rhythms. Like a puppet, badly controlled.

And then I’d wake up—with the sound of her porcelain feet tapping on the floorboards fading in my ears.

I moved her to the closet.

Locked the door.

The next night, I woke up with the closet door wide open.

Annora was sitting on my chest.

I screamed, jumped out of bed, and turned on every light in the apartment. She was just lying there—facing the ceiling, arms outstretched, as if someone had dropped her.

I shoved her back into the box, wrapped it in tape, and tossed it in the dumpster behind my building.

Problem solved.

Or so I thought.

The following night, I didn’t wake up at 3:12 AM.

I woke up at 3:13.

To a knock on my bedroom door.

Three slow knocks. Deliberate. Calculated.

I live alone.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared at the door, heart thudding in my chest.

Then… silence.

Until I heard the soft scrape of porcelain on wood—something being dragged.

The next morning, I checked the dumpster. The box was gone.

No trash pickup. No windstorm. Just gone.

And when I walked back into my apartment, there she was.

Sitting in the middle of my bed.

Her head tilted. A fresh crack across her cheek like a smile too wide.

I started documenting everything—videos, voice memos, photos. But things never showed up clearly on camera. Every time I pressed record, the sound would glitch, or the image would blur. One clip just played static, but underneath it, I swear I could hear whispering: “Don’t mock her. Don’t mock her. Don’t—”

I tried to get rid of her again. Buried her in the park two miles away. Came back home, relieved.

At 3:12 AM, I woke up to find dirt on my floor and her muddy little feet poking out from under the bed.

I don’t sleep anymore.

I can’t.

I’ve tried everything—blessing the apartment, sage, even a priest. Nothing worked. One psychic told me, “You invited her in. She won’t leave until she’s ready.”

Sometimes, I hear her laughing. A tiny, breathless giggle, like a child’s.

Sometimes, I see movement in mirrors—but only when I’m not looking directly.

She’s always there.

Waiting.

Watching.

Last night, I made one final attempt. I left her outside on the curb in a sealed box, wrapped in chains. Then I moved into my friend’s spare room across town.

I didn’t tell him why. Just said my place was being fumigated.

At 3:12 AM, I woke up to a soft knock at the door.

My stomach dropped.

I opened it, slowly.

No one there.

Just the box.

Unchained.

Unsealed.

And this time, there was a note:

"You bought me. You’re mine now."