Long time lurker here on Nosleep, first time poster. I've watched this sub help a lot of people, so maybe you guys can help me now.

I was a 90’s kid. Growing up on Furby, Polly Pocket, and troll dolls. In fact, I loved those dolls. As a little girl I had entire shelves of them, all lined up neatly wit their shocks of colorful hair, shiny black eyes, and their cute little belly buttons that poked out. Some of my favorites were the series that had a gemstone, instead of an outie. I outgrew them though, as kids do with all their toys, and they were boxed away. I never gave a thought to where they went after those boxes were sealed.

I moved out, lived on my own and started a life. I don’t think I spent more than three nights back in my childhood home after that in over ten years. Not until my aunt called to break the news my mother had passed. Hasty arrangements were made, my husband agreed to handle things with our daughter at home, and I packed a week of clothes into the car, grabbed my lab, and drove six hours back to my childhood home. I know the question will crop up of why bring the lab. Jester, my dog, has severe separation anxiety. Leaving him was not an option. So long as I keep him with me he’s a happy boy and doesn’t destroy the house, snap at people, or stress himself out to the point of needing medication. He goes everywhere with me, and I’m probably as reliant on him as he is me anymore.

That was a week ago. Seven days have passed in a blur. Funeral arrangements, family pouring in to see me, and legal headaches to handle the estate devoured time in a ravenous whirlwind. For an old farmhouse, the two stories were surprisingly empty. Most of the rooms had been closed off and ignored for years, dust settling over empty beds and dressers, filming mirrors and dancing through disturbed air to catch in what little sunlight filtered through the windows. The only rooms upstairs that looked to have seen use in the past five years were her bedroom and bathroom. Downstairs wasn’t so bad. The kitchen clean, living and dining room sparsely furnished, walls holding more clutter than anything. Pictures of the family were crammed onto every available space, not all even framed. Tacked, taped, or just pinched into the corner of a framed photo, hardly any wall was visible outside of the kitchen.

Yesterday was spent trying to get the mess of photos under control, taking them down and neatly storing them away. I should have dumped them in the garbage, but it had clearly meant something to my mother. It felt wrong to just discard them. Jester did his part, staying at my heels all day and occasionally trying to steal my boxes to get me to play. The last thing I did before we called it a day was shake the dust off the bed in my old room, clean off the top of the dresser, and dump my freshly washed clothes in the empty drawers. I was determined not to sleep on the couch again.

Cue a hot bath, Chinese take-out, and propping my phone on a pillow, and watching old episodes of Futurama in bed on the tiny screen. Jester crawled up in bed with me, tucking himself against my side and snoring contently. That’s how I know he wasn’t the one downstairs when I heard the patter of feet. House settling, pipes complaining, something like that. It could have even been Nibbler or something, I wasn’t exactly paying the closest attention to the show. Ultimately, I decided it was time for bed. Cartons of noodles and General Tso chicken were stacked on the nightstand, sinking through the dust, phone was shut off and shoved under my pillow to muffle the alarm when morning came, and I pulled the blanket over me.

I’m a light sleeper, and a week of tossing and turning on a couch with 75lbs of dog trying to cuddle took their toll. I was out before my head hit the pillow. I was plagued by the strangest dreams, and I would have sworn at one point I woke up to a tiny pair of eyes staring at me from the top of the noodle box.

My alarm didn’t go off this morning. Jester woke me up, hunched on the edge of the bed and growling at the dresser. Outside of his separation anxiety, he’s never shown any sign of aggression. He’d invite a stranger into the home with waging tail and a heap of kisses. Groggy, I shushed him and rolled out of bed to get dressed. As I grabbed my socks, I found a doll lying on the pile at the top of the drawer, shock of bright pink hair standing out against the white socks beneath. Jester whined, slinking from the bed to press against my leg. Figuring he wanted to go outside, I grabbed socks, yanked them on, and shoved my feet into shoes. That was a few hours ago, and I’m only just realizing something is wrong with this picture.

It took me awhile, but when I went upstairs to get my phone from under the pillow I saw tiny footprints on the nightstand and all around the bed, leading to the dresser. Jester won’t come in the room he just sits at the door and stares at the sock drawer while I type this from the bed on the phone.