The porcelain doll looked harmless at first.

My wife Brooke and I bought Frank at an antique doll shop in New York City for our daughter Dahlia’s birthday. The brown-haired-blue-eyed boy would make the perfect addition to her porcelain doll collection. We wrapped him in a big box with a blue ribbon, excited to see her face.

“Oooh, he’s beautiful!” Dahlia shrieked as she opened her gift. “I love him!”

It was a fun day, but our enjoyment was short-lived. Events took a darker turn before long.

***

A few nights later, I woke up late to children stomping and giggling. It sounded like someone was having a party. But Dahlia was our only daughter; something didn’t feel right.

Concerned, I hurried down the hall to check on Dahlia, but she was sitting at her vanity, serenading Frank and brushing his hair.

"Honey, why are you up so late?"

"We're playing beauty parlor, daddy!"

She beamed, enjoying herself and her new friend. I hated to be the killjoy dad who ruined her fun.

"Okay, I'll let you stay up just this once. But don't tell your mother."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Good night, pumpkin."

But when I went downstairs to cook breakfast the next morning, a surprise guest greeted me in the kitchen. Frank sat defiantly at the head of the table—in my seat—with a plate and fork placed before him. He even had a napkin tucked into his shirt like a bib.

Who does he think he is? I thought, figuring Dahlia put him there.

But when I glanced under her door, the room was dark, and Brooke was also asleep.

I moved Frank onto the couch. "Nice try, buddy."

Then, I returned to the stove and scooped the batter into the skillet. But Frank was back in my chair when I turned around.

He looked so entitled, like he was waiting to be served.

"Dahlia? Brooke? Anybody up?"

Silence.

I checked upstairs, but they were both asleep.

An uneasy feeling rushed over me as I returned Frank to the sofa and finished making the pancakes. Moments later, I turned back around to see Frank again. Even the napkin I'd removed was tucked back into his shirt.

What's going on? I wondered.

I hurried upstairs to talk to Brooke. “Sorry to wake you, honey, but we have a situation.”

She groaned. “Not now, John. I’m sleeping.”

“I know, but—”

She sat up, bleary-eyed. “What is it?”

“It’s Frank. He was sitting at the table when I woke up, so I moved him, but he came back—twice!"

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and frowned. "Honey, have you been drinking?"

"No! But that doll. Something’s just—weird."

Brooke crawled out of bed to scope out the scene, but Frank was back on the sofa when she got downstairs.

I pointed at the table. "He was just right there. Little bastard was wearing a bib and everything."

But Brooke rolled her eyes and patted my head as though I were a child having a nightmare.

I put the incident out of my mind, but these events happened more often as the weeks passed.

And my anxiety grew by the day.

***

Some nights, I woke up to a boy giggling, but no one was there when I opened my eyes. Other times, Frank popped up in odd places, appearing in the kitchen or bathroom even after I’d put him in a storage room or closet.

It also didn’t help that Dahlia brought Frank everywhere; he was her new, best pal. But while Brooke and I were thrilled Dahlia loved her gift, I’ll admit, Frank creeped me out.

"Honey, you don't want Frank to break," Brooke told her one day. "Porcelain dolls are fragile."

Dahlia shook her head. "But Frank is special, mommy. He even talks."

"No, honey. Porcelain dolls don't—"

"But he does!" Dahlia shouted.

Later, Dahlia showed us Frank's secret talent. She stood him on the kitchen table and spoke to him. “All you have to do is start talking, and he talks back.”

Brooke and I exchanged amused glances, but we played along.

"How are you, Frank?"

Kids are so cute, I thought, expecting nothing to happen.

But just as the thought entered my mind, Frank's left foot twitched, and his green pant cuff swayed. Then, a raspy voice arose from deep in his throat: "Heeelllooo, Daaahlliiiaaa."

He sounded like ET but less charming.

My eyes bulged with horror, but Dahlia’s face lit up, delighted. "See? I told you!"

But when Frank spoke again, he chatted in an unknown language. It sounded like nothing we’d heard before. Our eyes almost popped from our sockets as the doll launched into a spine-chilling monologue, blabbering for minutes uninterrupted.

I searched the doll from head to toe looking for a button that made him talk. Surely there was something.

But nothing.

***

Later that night, I combed the internet for answers, determined to solve the mystery. I Googled everything I could imagine:

- Talking porcelain dolls…

- Creepy dolls…

- Language experts…

The last search yielded several results, but Dr. Randolph's bio caught my eye. According to his website, he was a local university professor specializing in philology, ancient languages, and paranormal studies.

This is our guy, I thought. If he can't help us, nobody can.

I emailed him right away and marked the message urgent. He responded within the hour: "Come by tomorrow morning and bring Frank."

Brooke and I couldn't get there fast enough.

The next morning, we wrapped Frank in a giant Ziploc bag and sealed him up like evidence from a crime scene.

We arrived at Dr. Randolph's office before lunchtime. He was a short, jolly-looking fellow with ruby cheeks and wire-rimmed glasses. Awards, diplomas, and maps of ancient Mesopotamia hung on his walls.

Dr. Randolph invited us to sit. "So, tell me about this mysterious addition to your family." He twirled his pen, raptly listening as we explained.

Afterward, Dr. Randolph motioned toward Frank. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Brooke handed him the Ziploc bag.

He stood Frank on the desk, studying him. "I could fill a library with the stories involving haunted dolls. Dolls are some of the most common items associated with paranormal activity because of their likeness to humans.”

"Do you think it's a poltergeist?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Could be. It's hard to say." He pointed to Frank. "But I'd like to chat with him if I may?"

I nodded. "All you have to do is start talking, and he'll talk your ear off."

"Very well. And do you mind if I record this?"

"Please, go ahead," Brooke said.

Then Dr. Randolph began. "Good morning, Frank. I'm Dr. Richard Randolph. How are you?"

Silence.

Then, Frank's left foot twitched, and the raspy voice from the previous night returned. “Helllooo, doooctooorr.”

I shuddered.

"Tell me about yourself. And feel free to use your native tongue if you wish."

That really got Frank rolling. After that, Frank jabbered nonstop for minutes without taking a breath. Dr. Randolph listened, but his amusement soon turned to concern, and he scribbled something in his notepad.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

After Frank finished, Dr. Randolph turned to us, his eyes serious. "I'm uneasy with what I'm hearing."

"What is it?" Brooke asked.

"I'd have to translate the recording to give you the full content, but I understood enough to help you.”

"What did he say?" Brooke asked.

Dr. Randolph's eyes widened like half-dollars, and he shook his head. "I can't believe it, but your doll is speaking ancient Sumerian, a language from Mesopotamia. Not just that, but whatever is inhabiting this doll isn't very nice. And frankly, I don't care for the way he talks about you, John."

"What did he say about me?"

"He said you grabbed him and threw him on the couch, and now he wants to—and these are Frank's words—'teach that asshole a lesson.'"

Dr. Randolph shook his head.

That dick, I thought.

Dr. Randolph continued. "This doll must have quite a history, though."

“How does a doll become haunted?” Brooke asked.

"Sometimes, dolls absorb energy from their environments. But other dolls are inhabited by low-level entities, which aren't always so nice."

Dr. Randolph returned Frank to the Ziploc bag, then continued. "But you two have a paranormal emergency on your hands and removing the doll from your home is vital. I'd also like to send Frank to a lab for testing if you don’t mind.”

"Please, go ahead," I said, eager to get rid of the foul-mouthed creature.

“Very well. You two go home, relax, and I’ll be in touch.”

We thanked him and left.

***

Dahlia sulked when we told her Frank wasn’t coming home, but she understood we had our reasons. Days later, Dr. Randolph called with an update. Turns out, the entity inhabiting Frank was far older than we knew.

Dr. Randolph filled us in: "The paranormal specialists believe the spirit inhabiting Frank comes from an ancient Mesopotamian man. He's more than two thousand years old.”

Brooke and I exchanged looks.

Dr. Randolph continued. “Apparently, when the man was alive, he slaughtered his fellow villagers, including innocent families in their sleep. He was even put to death for his misdeeds. So, rest assured you did the right thing by getting rid of the doll.”

Brooke and I thanked Dr. Randolph for his help and sighed with relief.

Finally, we’re free at last.

After I hung up, I headed to the living room, eager to relax and watch a movie. But when I rounded the corner, a surprise guest greeted me. Frank sat in my recliner, gazing up at me, his eyes twinkling in the dark.