"No one believed one very frustrated six year old about the headless Barbie doll. All I got was an earful about how bad a brother I was and the next day I didn't get a piece of fudge for breakfast. Because I was such a bad boy, making excuses to cover up after myself. My sister never seemed to forget about her lame Barbie doll, she has been whining about it for about ten years now.
But I know. And they won't let me go."
There's something sinister or maybe just wrong with Anthony's little 'ability'. Toys have been coming alive around him ever since he could remember. He hadn't actually told anyone about - except that one time, and look how that had turned out - no fudge for breakfast. Was he crazy? Possibly, but he didn't exactly have a family history of insanity. He doesn't know why, or how it first started and he was fine with that. Safe, cautious, professional, smart, nice, - that's who he was, until a certain feisty and annoying little doll shows up as his birthday present, asking, no, demanding that he help her. Dolls weren't supposed to talk or they were supposed to be toylike and nice- like in Toystory, they weren't supposed to come outright and claim to have once been alive, and he wasn't supposed to believe that or get too attached to a certain doll. Just when Anthony though his term break was going to be spent at another boring desk jobs things take a dive for the exact opposite of boring.