I am certainly not going back into the house where something bad or creepy has happened to me already. I am never going to a carnival or a fair, especially if there is happy calliope music playing. You will not find me owning, or spending any time with, a ventriloquist’s dummy, or the kind of doll that “walks and talks.”
Read the rest online or pick up the March 31, 2014 issue of The New Yorker.
