Today, I bore witness to the conclusion of Barry’s weekly purification ritual, which he oddly refers to as "cleaning." There he w...
Today, I bore witness to the conclusion of Barry’s weekly purification ritual, which he oddly refers to as "cleaning." There he was again, armed with his trusty feather duster, vacuum cleaner, and what I can only describe as an unhealthy obsession with the conquest of dust. Truly, his determination is both admirable and baffling.
He is cleaning for St. Patrick's Day visitors. Ah, St. Patrick's Day—a celebration steeped in green, gold, and human mischief. The leprechauns, no doubt, have a grand time cackling at you Earthlings stumbling about in search of treasures they'll never share. But beware, for even a haunted doll like me knows that not all that glitters is gold—sometimes it’s just a trap waiting to be sprung. Cheers to your shamrocks and shenanigans!
But this time, something was different. As he whisked dust away from the corners, an eerie feeling began to creep over me. It wasn’t just the usual dance of dust motes in the sunlight that caught my attention—it was the sense that we were not alone.
Perhaps it was the faint creak of the old attic, or the shadows flickering along the walls, but I felt...watched. The unseen eyes of an unknown observer seemed to be fixated on Barry's futile battle against nature's delicate debris. My wooden jaw trembled ever so slightly—not in fear, mind you, but in anticipation. After all, a doll like me thrives in the presence of the mysterious.
Barry, ever oblivious, continued his ritual, blissfully unaware of the possibility that the dust he so fervently battled might hold more than just particles of history—it might carry whispers of the attic's long-lost memories.
And so, I sat, content to let the unseen eyes linger in the periphery of my painted gaze, silently wondering what secrets they held. Were they specters of past tenants, spirits entranced by Barry’s choreographed ballet of cleanliness? Or was it merely my imagination, fueled by my own supernatural origins?
Whatever the case, dear Diary, this house has a way of reminding us that it is alive, pulsing with history, and sometimes, with the presence of the unknown. Barry might be preoccupied with his quest to erase the physical evidence of life, but I, Dale T. Doll, am here to ensure the intangible lingers.
Until next week’s dusting duel,
Dale T. Doll
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