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Dolls from Hell by Arthur Leo Zagat is a spine-chilling horror story that will make you rethink your childhood toys. In a quaint town, a seemingly innocent toy shop holds a dark and terrifying secret. When a collection of antique dolls is unearthed, strange and horrifying events begin to unfold. These aren't ordinary dolls; they're vessels for ancient malevolent spirits eager to wreak havoc. As the town spirals into chaos, a group of unlikely heroes must confront their deepest fears and uncover the horrifying truth behind the cursed dolls. Will they escape the clutches of evil, or will they become the next victims of the dolls from hell? Prepare yourself for a hair-raising journey into the heart of terror.
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Dolls from Hell
Synopsis
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Table of Contents
Cover
Who put the dreadful little dolls in the window of Doc Turner's drug store? Why was it that, each time one tumbled from its perch, its living image died horribly!
The Spider, February 1942, with "Dolls from Hell"
MORRIS STREET was thronged and raucous as usual. Trucks pounded the cobbled thoroughfare shadowed by the "El's" sprawling trestle. Hucksters shouted wares high-piled on their pushcarts, lining the curb. Shawled housewives babbled shrilly in a dozen alien tongues. Youngsters screeched at perilous play.
Two men peered into the display window of an ancient drugstore.
The younger spoke first. "They give me the creeps, Doc." Carrot-thatched and powerful, the lad emphasized by contrast his companion's stooped and slender figure. "I can't understand why the devil you stuck them in there."
"I didn't, Jack." White-haired Doc Turner tugged at his bushy, nicotine-stained mustache. "I don't know how they got into my window."
They were talking about the dolls that climbed a pyramid of bottled Turno-Tussin, the old pharmacist's own cough mixture. The mannikins, about half as tall as the length of a man's forearm, were so artfully fashioned as to seem almost alive; there was something grotesque about them. Something—evil.
"I thought it was queer," Jack Ransom said. "Since I've always known you disapproved of drugstores selling pots and radios and toys, to find you displaying dolls. That's why I called you out here to look at them."
There were four of the puppets. Two were clothed as men, two as women; but all wore a lusterless black fabric. Perhaps it was this that gave them their strange quality of malevolence; perhaps it was the malproportion of their limbs and torsos, or the slight distortion of their tiny features. "Hold on," Doc muttered. "There was someone this morning trying to sell me toys. A most annoying persistent fellow. I told him I wasn't interested, but he insisted on demonstrating some of his tricky gadgets anyway. He didn't show me any dolls, though."
"But he must have put them in here when you weren't looking, figuring that they would sell, and he could convince you to carry his line."
"Obviously." Doc's brow was furrowed. "What I cannot understand is how he managed it without my noticing. I was in the front of the store from the time he came in until he walked out."
"Maybe he slipped in later," Ransom suggested.
"With the door closed, Jack? Even if I was in the back room. I should have heard it open."
"Well—" Ransom was interrupted by a small crowd that rushed around the corner. Men were stooped over as though carrying some weight, and a curious whimper came from their midst despite the clamor of Morris Street, and the trample of hurrying feet. The crowd shoved up against the pharmacy's door, forced it open and pressed on in.
Doc and Jack worked their way into the store. Three men were laying a fourth on the gray floorboards, a broken form in overalls from which came that terrible whimper of agony.
"Phone for an ambulance, Jack," Turner snapped and knelt beside that shattered figure. The whimper faded as he reached for a grimy wrist. Blood appeared on the blue, twisted lips.