I had just finished watching an episode of a popular paranormal spirit hunting show that featured Harold the Haunted Doll. I had a few fun scares watching the show and found it to be very interesting. I loved the historical facts and the beautiful video of the place they were investigating. But Harold? To me Harold was just salt and pepper added to story to stir up a little more interest. Nothing more.
When the show was over I thought about old Harry for a few and decided to look up he and Anthony on line. I quickly found their Facebook page and scanned through looking at posts and comments. They all culminated into one assumed statement: “Don’t mess with the Harold-Meister!” To me that was just hilarious!
I have old dolls. Mine. Dolls from flea markets that I found interesting, hand made dolls from 40 some years back and China dolls given to me by older relatives. None of them speak, move, cure or make my coffee boil over in my cup.
I was good with harassing Harold through the phone….. or so I thought. I snickered, picked up my phone and gazed into Harold’s little black eyes. “OK ya little bad ass! Come at me bro! Hit me with what ya got! Aaaaaawwwwwww! You can’t touch me through the phone can ya, ya little bad ass!?” Yes, I actually said that. I did what every good ghost hunter knows you shouldn’t do. I was ignorant and I innocently egged Harold on.
Not ten minutes later I was struck with a mind blowing migraine. I mean light out. Don’t speak. Ice on the head.
After a long, painful night I got back online to join in the Harold discussions. That was not possible. Oh I could get on Facebook with ease. I could see Anthony’s page about Harold. No problem. But I was not able to get a comment through or even stay on the page long. Every time I tried to comment about what happened my phone would immediately scop back to my news feed. If that had happened to all the pages I followed I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Just a Facebook or cell phone glitch. But it only happened to me when I tried to post on Anthony’s Harold page.
After about a week of frustration I pulled Harold’s picture back up, looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “OK Harold. I’m sorry I called you a bad name and I’m sorry I challenged you. Please let go of my phone! Be a good boy.” Low and behold I immediately had no problems with my phone after that.
Now I can’t say for sure that Harold did that. I don’t know. I can only say what happened and that is what happened.
I do know this: everything has life. Dolls must have some life. They’re loved, they’re cried over. They’re cared for. They’re abused. They’ve been used by abused counselors to help children voice what’s happened to them and they are sometimes used drug smugglers. They see everything. The older they are the more they’ve seen. I still love dolls. But now I have a greater respect for them.