There's nothing (well, not much) creepier than marionettes. I acquired these from my father-in-law, who picked them up from a neighbor's yard sale. They're beautifully crafted, hand-made from wood and fabric and papier-mâché. I keep them on a shelf above my writing desk, occasionally arranging them in lewd positions when I'm stuck staring at a blank screen.
But when the lights are off in the basement, I avoid looking at them. In case they move.