When I found a knitted doll in my mother-in-law’s closet, I thought it was cute at first. It was left in a dark corner of the guest room where my husband and I were staying that day, and I assumed it was a forgotten present. Smiling at the doll’s uncanny resemblance to myself—dark hair, green eyes, and even a tiny replica of my favorite dress—I sent a photo to my husband. His reaction, however, made me nervous.
“Oh no! You don’t know my mom… whatever you do, DON’T TOUCH IT,” he texted back almost immediately.
But it was already too late for that. The doll was in my hands, and a chill ran down my spine as I reread his message. My mind started spiraling. My mother-in-law had never really liked me, and to be frank, she had some strange tendencies. But making a voodoo doll? That was taking it too far.
My husband was out running errands, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread as I looked at the doll again. It wasn’t just the resemblance that unsettled me—it was the precision and detail. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, I took the doll and marched downstairs to confront my mother-in-law. She was in the kitchen, preparing lunch, when I burst in, holding the doll out in front of me.
“Why do you have this?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger.
My mother-in-law’s eyes widened in shock when she saw the doll. She gasped, dropping the knife she was holding. “NO! NOW IT IS NOT GOING TO WORK!” she exclaimed, rushing towards me. “PUT IT BACK OR—”
“Or what?” I interrupted, feeling a surge of defiance. “What is this, some kind of voodoo doll? Are you trying to curse me?”
Her face twisted with a mix of panic and anger. “You don’t understand! It’s not what you think!”
“Then explain it to me,” I challenged, refusing to back down.
She took a deep breath, her eyes darting nervously around the room as if she expected someone to be watching. “It’s… it’s a protective doll,” she said finally. “It’s meant to keep you safe.”
I stared at her, disbelief flooding my senses. “A protective doll? You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true,” she insisted. “Our family has a tradition of making these dolls to protect our loved ones. But they only work if the person they represent doesn’t know about them. Now that you’ve seen it and touched it, it won’t be effective anymore.”
My mind reeled with this new information. I wanted to believe her, but something about her story didn’t sit right with me. “Why didn’t you just tell me about it?” I asked, my voice softer now.
“Because it’s part of the tradition,” she replied. “The protection is in the secrecy. I was only trying to keep you safe, even if I haven’t always shown you that I care.”
I felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Could it be true? Or was this just a convenient lie to cover something more sinister? Before I could respond, the front door opened and my husband walked in. He saw us standing there, the doll between us, and his face turned pale.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice shaky.
I explained everything, my mother-in-law remaining silent, her eyes fixed on the floor. When I finished, my husband looked between us, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.
“Mom, is this true?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s true. I know it seems strange, but it’s an old family tradition.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, this is a mess. But if it’s just a protective doll, then maybe we can find another way to keep you safe,” he said, turning to me. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
I looked at the doll in my hand, feeling a mix of relief and lingering doubt. “I guess we’ll have to figure this out together,” I said, handing the doll back to my mother-in-law. “But next time, let’s not keep any more secrets.”
She nodded, taking the doll with a grateful look. “Agreed,” she said softly.
As we stood there, an uneasy truce formed between us. Whether or not the doll was truly meant for protection, we had taken the first step towards understanding and perhaps, eventually, acceptance.
