The Doll–Master by Joyce Carol Oates — The Aftertaste of Short Stories

I'm scarred for life... but fascinated. I have a fear of dolls(pediophobia), which made the plot of this tale even more unsettling.

It’s the way he thinks he’s saving them. That’s what’s rotting in my mind. He looks at a vibrant, messy, living girl and sees something 'broken' that only he can 'fix' by making her sit still forever. My skin feels tight just thinking about it.

Because I have this fear, every mention of a glass eye or a stiff limb feels like a needle prick. He isn't just a collector; he’s a taxidermist of the spirit. He wants the world to be a shelf where nothing ever moves, nothing ever changes, and nothing ever leaves him. The stillness isn't peace. It's a scream that’s been painted over with a smile.

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