Fear Definition: Fear of dolls

I walked upstairs to my friend's room, a wave of excitement rising in my chest. I had never come over to his house before to hang out and I couldn't wait. I thought of the various things he had planned for us: watching a movie, heading over to the mall to grab some school stuff, playing basketball in the nearby park, and then prank calling our cranky old art teacher who enjoyed ripping our paintings and smashing our creations if she didn't like us. We couldn't hang out in his room though since there were breakables in there. That and he said I probably wouldn't want to stay in there any way. I wasn't sure why, but whatever.

As we reached his room, he turned tome and said, "Maybe you should wait out here."

"I don't mind seeing your room," I replied. "I can handle a mess."

"It's not the mess I'm worried about. Though I'd hardly call it a mess. Just let me grab my basketball and then we'll go."

He opened the door, just a plain old wooden door, and walked inside. I waited a second before I poked my head in. The room wasn't entirely messy. There were basketball trophies lined neatly on a single shelf, a basketball in one corner, a bowling medal hung on a wall, and a framed pair of ballet shoes above his dresser. (And under that, I noticed a picture of a smiling five year old boy wearing tights and a frilly blue shirt). I kept glancing around the room until I saw a pair of beady eyes staring at me from next to his bed. I froze. There were actually four pairs of eyes. One to a green-dressed doll with a tilted hair bow and the other a boy with a cap. They were leaned to one side, staring at me, gazing into my soul. I felt myself grip the door in fear until I swore one of their sleeves moved. I shrieked and ducked out of the room, trying to erase the haunting image of those human-eating dolls out of my head.

"You looked, didn't you?" he called from in his room. "Don't mind the dolls, okay? They're not alive. They won't attack you. They're actually really cute when you look at them better. My grandmother had them as a girl. She gave them to me as a family heirloom since mom...well, enough about that witch."

I just shuddered. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I let out a scream, half-expecting one of the dolls to be grabbing me and holding onto a knife. Instead, it was just him. He laughed.

"That's not funny!" I scolded.

"I'm not making fun of you, I promise. I'm scared of clowns if it makes you feel any better."

"Not really."

"Well don't think about Thomas and Teresa, okay? Lets just get going!"

I nodded and followed him down the stairs and out  of the house. I didn't dare look back behind me. I didn't want to risk seeing anything at the top of the stairs.