It started with a drunken dare on a stormy Friday night. My best friend Rachel and I were scrolling through an online auction site, giggling at the weirdest things people were selling: a haunted toaster, a potato that “looked like Elvis,” and then — a porcelain clown figurine named “Jasper.” The description read:
“DO NOT BUY IF YOU SCARE EASILY. Jasper doesn’t like to be ignored.”
We laughed so hard we cried. For $6.66 plus shipping, it was too perfect to pass up. I clicked Buy Now with a flourish.
“It’ll look hilarious on your nightstand,” Rachel cackled.
Two days later, Jasper arrived. I expected a cheap, tacky figurine — but the craftsmanship was disturbingly realistic. His eyes were glossy, too lifelike. His grin wasn’t the painted-on kind, either. It had depth.
I placed him on my dresser and forgot about it. Mostly.
That night, I dreamed of footsteps echoing in a long hallway. I turned — and saw Jasper. Standing. Not porcelain. Not small. Life-sized. Watching.
I woke in a cold sweat. Brushed it off.
But the next morning, something was off. Jasper was no longer facing the mirror, where I had placed him. He was turned toward my bed. His little head tilted slightly, smile wider than I remembered. I assumed Rachel had come over and moved him as a prank. She swore she hadn’t.
The next night, it got worse.
I woke up around 3:30 AM to the sound of music. A tinny lullaby playing softly from nowhere. I sat up—and froze. Jasper had moved again. He was now on the nightstand. Right next to my head.
I screamed.
Rachel rushed over when I called. We both stared at the figurine in silence. She picked it up, examined it. “There’s no speaker. No battery compartment. What the hell kind of joke is this?”
We decided to lock Jasper in the basement. Out of sight, out of mind.
But I kept dreaming about him. Each night, a little more vivid. A little more… real.