Lore - REMASTERED – Episode 15: Unboxed

Episode Date: November 15, 2021

The folklore surrounding haunted dolls, and the tale of Robert the Doll in particular, deserves a revisit. This Remastered edition of a classic Lore episode includes fresh narration and production, and a brand new story at the end. ———————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com Access premium content! To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here.

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My great-grandmother was a painter. She picked it up late in life, but she produced dozens and dozens of oil paintings once she hit her stride. They're mostly still life studies and landscapes. They're not Dutch masters by any stretch of the imagination, but to our family, they're precious. They connect us to her. Because of this, those paintings have become a centerpiece of her extended family. Generation after generation now makes room on their walls for as many of these framed treasures as they can acquire. People have a way of becoming attached to things.

Maybe it's the long journey these objects accompany us on through our lives. Or perhaps it's due to the feelings they could invoke when we see them and touch them. Or maybe, deep down, we understand that even though our lives might be fleeting and temporary, these things, these objects we grow to love and revere, seem to live on after we're gone. This habit of attributing personality and emotion to our possessions is something known as anthropomorphism. We give human characteristics to things that are far from human. Some people name their cars and talk to them like an old friend. Others will say that their house has a lot of nervous energy.

They don't, but at the same time, they do, you know? But the best place to see this practice in action is in the presence of children. The toys they cherish, the ones that follow them from room to room or lay in their laps on long car rides, or get pulled under the covers with them at bedtime, those objects take on a personality of their own. Oftentimes, it's just a game. Other times, it's a coping mechanism for fear and loss. But sometimes, on very rare occasions, these objects seem to set the rules themselves. They pick their own personality.

They guide the child's decisions, as if someone, or something, were controlling them. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. In 1982, a backhoe operator was preparing a building site for development in Titusville, Florida. While working on one of the ponds, he noticed what he thought were rocks visible in the mud. But something didn't sit right with him, so he climbed out to take a closer look. What he had thought to be stones actually turned out to be bones, specifically a human skull. The country medical examiner was brought in, but it became clear almost immediately that the bones belonged to someone who had died a very long time ago.

When Florida State University became involved, they uncovered, so to speak, the truth. The bones belonged to a three-year-old girl who had died more than 7,000 years before Florida had become a state. It was clear that she had been buried by her parents, though. They had wrapped her in cloth made from local plant fibers and placed her in a shallow grave. But she wasn't alone. With her in the ground, placed near her arms in case she wanted them, were toys. It seems that children have had toys, objects that they loved and played with, for thousands of years, perhaps tens of thousands.

But toys were still rare, in a world where everyone had to contribute to the well-being of the community. Even the children weren't expected to grow up fast and do their part. When they did have toys, they were often basic in shape, such as marbles or tops. They would also play with objects meant to represent the things most important to their village or clan. Toy animals, soldiers, and religious icons are all objects commonly found by archaeologists in the graves of ancient children. Interestingly, the ancient Greeks expected children to give up their toys when they came of age. Young women would actually take their toys to the local temple on the night before their wedding, where they would offer them as a sacrifice to the gods.

These rules began to shift after the advent of the Enlightenment in the mid-1600s, though. Society became more affluent and children weren't always expected to work as often as they had previously. In addition, their toys became more complex and more useful. Jigsaw puzzles were born in 1767 as a way of teaching geography and board games from the same period were meant to entertain. Toys had evolved. But throughout all of history, it seems, across cultural boundaries and spanning thousands of years of art and technology, there has been one constant in the world of toys.

From the tombs of the pharaohs in Egypt to the shelves of Target down the street, one toy has maintained a universal and timeless appeal. Dolls Their little representations of us, after all, they personify the people we love and provide comfort to the lonely in a way that no other toy can. And because of that, people get attached, children refuse to put them down, and even in adulthood, dolls have a tendency to be kept around. Sometimes, though, the roles are reversed.

As unhealthy as it sounds, there have been more than a few stories of dolls, not children, who refuse to let go. They seem to take control, to set the tone and dominate the lives of the people who own them. And sometimes, the consequences have been frightening. Thomas and Minnie Otto were a well-off and well-traveled couple who had a deep love of the arts. They were natives of Key West, Florida, and in 1898, they completed building a brand new home there on Eaton Street. Two years after moving in, the couple welcomed their third child to the family, a son they named Robert Eugene.

They called him Gene, and the family quickly settled into the leisurely lifestyle of the Keys. They had more than enough money, and they spent it on convenience, which included a staff of caretakers around the house. Cooks and maids were always at the ready, including a woman from Jamaica who worked as Little Gene's nurse. History doesn't remember her name. If you were a woman in 1904, that was pretty common, unfortunately. If your skin color wasn't pale or European, those chances dropped even more.

So we don't know her name, but we do know that she loved Gene. She spent hours with him every day. She traveled with the Ottos on their journeys around the country, carrying for him like a turn-of-the-century version of an uptown Manhattan nanny. She was close to him. And that's probably why she gave him the doll. It was big, about the size of a four-year-old boy, in fact. It was filled with straw, hand-sewn, and dressed in a white sailor's uniform.

And Gene loved it. He took it everywhere with him, on travels abroad and on day trips into town with his mother. It was said that Gene even sometimes wore a similar outfit, and the two seemed like siblings. Gene called the doll Robert, using his own first name, and their relationship got off to a storybook start. The doll had its own chair near the dining room table, and Gene would sneak little pieces of food to it as the family ate.

During bath times, the doll would be placed on a dry towel near the tub, while Gene played in the water with toy boats and corks and all the usual things that little kids loved to play with. At the end of the night, Gene would bring Robert to bed with him, and the two of them would be tucked in together. And everything about this is normal. My own children used to do similar things, naming their dolls and bringing them along for car rides.

But for Gene, that's where the normality stopped, because not long after settling into a routine with his new toy, things got weird, and according to most reports, it all started with the talking. Gene's parents would often hear the son's voice coming from his bedroom as he played, even though he was in there alone, it would always sound like he was in deep conversation with someone else. First, they would hear his voice, sweet and tiny, and then another voice would reply, different and rougher than his own. Oftentimes, the second voice would sound insistent,

while Gene's would almost sound unnerved and flustered. Of course, Gene's parents assumed it was a game, and that he was simply playing make-believe. But over time, they began to second-guess that presumption. During a few of these apparent conversations, Gene's mother would quietly approach the boy's room and then, without warning, she would burst into the room. Inside, she would find her son, cowering in a corner,

arms wrapped around his knees, while Robert the doll sat on the bed or a chair. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed to her like the doll was glaring at the boy. Things escalated from there. The autos awoke on a number of occasions to the sound of Gene screaming in his bedroom. They would rush to his room, only to find him sitting up in bed. Furniture in the room overturned and belongings strewn about. According to Gene, Robert was to blame.

Robert, the doll glaring at him from the foot of the bed. Robert did it, became a common phrase around the auto house after that. They didn't believe their son, of course, but the boy blamed the doll for most unusual activity. When his parents found toys that appeared to have been mutilated or broken, Gene said that Robert had done it. Sometimes the autos could hear giggling from somewhere in the house. Sometimes this happened at night,

and each time when Gene was supposed to be in bed, dishes and silverware were often found thrown about the dining room. Clothing would be found on the floor, appearing to have been shredded by some unknown person. Sometimes servants would enter unused guest rooms, only to find that the bedding there had been disturbed and pushed to the floor. The staff would even find themselves locked out of the house when making their nightly rounds. If Gene was clearly not at fault,

sometimes the servants themselves were blamed for the disturbances. As a result, turnover at the house was high, with a constant rotation of people coming and going. But the one constant through all of this was Robert, the unusual doll in the white suit. And according to some reports, he did more than create a mess. He may have killed. Now, hearing giggles from distant parts of the house was one thing.

Sure, it would unnerve most of us. I know it would freak me out, but the autos soldiered on, putting up with the repeated excuses. They were strict parents, maybe even a little overbearing by today's standards, and were always quick to punish Gene for the mischief. It was one thing to make a mess, but staff was hard to train

and having them frightened away all the time wasn't compatible with their life of convenience. And so they punished Gene. To the boy's credit, he appeared to have been a true believer in his own stories. He would put up a short fight, blame the events on the doll, and then take the consequences like a responsible child.

But there were other reports about the doll, and these were things that could in no way be blamed on the youngest auto boy. Visitors to the house reported that the doll would blink. Some of them claimed to have heard the laughter themselves, and at times when the auto family wasn't at home. Neighbors said that they would sometimes see the doll in the upstairs window, moving from one to another, glancing out through the curtains toward the street.

Servants would find Roberts in a completely different part of the house from where he had been left moments before. Sometimes the sounds of small little feet could be heard moving from room to room. All of this became too much, and extended family stepped in to find a solution. One of Gene's great aunts visited the family and pleaded her case. The doll was cursed, she said.

Some evil spirit lived inside it, and if they wanted to be rid of the chaos and random episodes of disturbance, they needed to get rid of the doll once and for all. On her recommendation, Robert was taken away from Gene and placed inside a box. The box was then moved up to the attic of the large house, out of sight and, at least in theory, unable to cast his shadow of fear over the house anymore.

The next night, the aunt was found dead in her bedroom. She was an older woman, and so the official story that she had died of a stroke was passed around and believed by all. But the autos didn't buy it. Out of fear for their own safety, Robert was brought out of storage and returned to their son's side. And that's how things remained.

As all kids do, though, Gene grew up. He trained as a painter, traveled throughout Europe, and eventually married an accomplished pianist. But after his parents passed away, he moved to Florida and took up residence in his old childhood home, right there on Eaton Street. Gene spent his days painting, and his wife Anne settled into domestic life.

And right there, in the middle of it all, according to reports, was Robert. Rumors in town spoke of how the doll still had a place at the dining room table, and that there was a chair beside their bed for him to sit on during the night. And then Gene had a habit of taking the doll with him as he moved about the house.

There were whispers that his wife Anne hated the doll. Unnerved by the presence of the doll so close to their marriage bed, it was said that she stopped allowing Gene to bring it into the room. And for a while, he complied. Robert was locked back in the attic. But according to reports, that didn't help. Robert would sometimes be found sitting in a rocking chair downstairs, even though he was supposed to have been locked up.

A couple would hear footsteps in the attic at night, in the soft, distant sound of laughter. Local legend claims that all of this drove Gene's wife insane, eventually ending her life. The study of folklore often encounters the same patterns throughout the world and across the centuries. One of the common themes that we can see is the dehumanization of people of minority status.

The witch trials stand as a somber example of this, where the accused, often women, often poor, and often social outcasts already, were stripped of their humanity and treated like animals and monsters. But Robert the doll stands at the opposite side of that spectrum. Rather than being one more tale of someone having their humanity stolen from them, Robert, a cloth and straw doll without a soul, appears to have had humanity bestowed upon him.

Why? It's hard to say. Perhaps it's because Gene Otto's parents needed an excuse for their son's unusual behavior. Maybe it was a culture of superstition brought into the house by servants with ethnically different backgrounds. Somehow, a living, breathing Robert was an easier story to swallow than the alternative. But we'll never know for sure whether Gene Otto invented it all.

He passed away in 1974. With Robert at his side, some say. For a while, the house remained uninhabited, unless you count Robert as a resident. But eventually, a new family moved in and made the house on Eaton Street their own. They restored a lot of the original charm of the house, and in the process, they found the doll. Maybe they were compelled to, or maybe they had heard about it from the locals.

But for whatever reason, the new family packed up the doll and moved it back to the attic. Eventually, though, the family donated Robert to a local museum. But it wasn't charity that motivated them. It was fear. You see, not long after moving in, they began to experience odd things. Things that Gene Otto would have known all too well. Soft giggling.

Light footsteps in the attic. In random, unexplainable messes. The family's 10-year-old daughter reported that the doll would appear in the house on its own and on a handful of occasions that even tried to attack her, a claim that she holds to even now as an adult. But the final straw happened later when the girl's parents were awoken in the middle of the night.

In the darkness of their room, they could hear laughter in the sounds of movement. Alarmed, one of them flicked on a bedside lamp, only to feel their hearts stop. There, at the foot of the bed, was Robert the doll. A kitchen knife in his hand. Like most of you, I find it easy to be fully and utterly creeped out by the story of Robert the doll.

But that said, I take solace in knowing that it's a rare and unusual example of a very small corner of folklore. At least, that's what I thought when I first made this episode. But over the years, more and more examples have come to light. And if you stick around through this brief sponsor break, I'll tell you about another of my favorites. Humans have always gravitated toward dolls. On a symbolic level, they make a lot of sense.

These are miniature, portable versions of ourselves. They give us something to look at, something with a human face. And for a lot of people, that offers comfort. Children are especially drawn to dolls, which I realize is probably the most obvious thing you've heard today. But I love the evidence that supports that claim, because archaeologists have been finding dolls in graves and dig sites for a very long time.

In fact, back in 2004, researchers on an island off the coast of Sicily were excavating the remains of a Bronze Age village when they discovered what they believed to be a 4,000-year-old example of a children's doll. This one was complete with a life-like mouth, nose, and eyes, along with what they described as wavy hair. So, yeah, it seems obvious when someone says that kids like dolls.

But discoveries like this really ground that truth in reality. For thousands of years, we've been making and keeping dolls for various reasons. But sometimes those reasons aren't exactly cheerful. According to the legend that's grown up over the last half-century, one man found peace through dolls. It's said that Don Julian Santana found the body of a drowned girl in one of the small lakes just outside of Mexico City. And he responded to this discovery emotionally

by leaving his family and moving to an island in that same lake. For the rest of his life, he rescued dolls, some taken from nearby trash dumps, and others literally found floating in the water just like dead bodies. And he put them on display all over the island. Before long, there were hundreds of them, placed in the crooks of branches, resting on rocks, and most of all, hanging from trees.

Santana passed away in 2001, but his dolls are still there, perhaps waiting for him to return. More unsettling, though, is how he died. His body was discovered floating just off the shore of the island, in the exact same place he had found that girl all those years before. But there's one last doll I want to tell you about. It was purchased back in 1918 by 17-year-old Aikichi Suzuki, a boy from the Japanese island of Hokkaido.

It was dressed in red robes with a pale face and short black hair that stopped even with the doll's jawline. It was actually a gift for his sister, Kikuko, and the stories say that she and the doll were inseparable. Now, if you have kids, you know this behavior all too well. It's sweet and endearing, and knowing just how long children throughout history have been playing with dolls, it certainly makes sense.

But a century ago, childhood illness was a lot more dangerous than it is today. Many of the medical tools we have today that can keep our kids safe were simply not available then, and the Suzuki family experienced the sad reality of that danger. After getting sick, little Kikuko passed away. And naturally, her family was devastated. I can't imagine what it's like to experience that sort of dark moment, but they responded in part by placing her favorite doll in a sort of shrine in their home.

It was a way to remember her, to keep her present and on their minds, to keep her alive in a way. But as time went by, they started to notice something odd about the doll, where its hair had once been cropped short, just below the ear. It was somehow getting longer, which is crazy to say, I know. Dolls aren't alive. Their hair does not grow. And yet, well, this doll was. Many years later, life pulled the family away from their home there on the island.

But rather than take their long-lost daughter's doll with them, they chose to donate it to a local temple, hoping that the monks there could care for it, along with the spirit of their daughter that they firmly believed was living inside it. And it's been there ever since. Now, in a strange echo of Robert the Doll's story, visitors to the temple are not allowed to photograph this old doll. But those who have been there have revealed one startling observation. It seems that the doll's hair has continued to grow over the decades,

and now reaches all the way down to its feet. Most shocking of all, if the stories are true, the doll's hair should actually be a lot longer than it is today. Why, you might ask? Because for years, the monks have been cutting it off. This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast.

There's a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video. Check them both out if you want more Lore in your life. I also make and executive produce a whole bunch of other podcasts, all of which I think you'd enjoy. My production company, Grim and Mild, specializes in shows that sit at the intersection of the dark and the historical. You can learn more about all of our shows and everything else going on over in one central place,

grimandmild.com. And you can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Just search for Lore podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening. You