When I was younger, I had a Furby. It was dark grey in color, with the characteristic Furby eyes. But at one point my little brother got a hold of a Bic lighter and, like kids do with fire, screwed around and blackened its left eye.
I still remember it pretty vividly, when it started making strange noises. Furby speak, but in weird pitches. What you would expect from an early 2000s toy on its way to the grave. As a 10-year-old kid it scared the crap out of me. I remember the noises getting so loud and the pitch changes being disturbing.
We eventually threw it out. At least, that was my memory of what happened. My mom came home and Furby was sitting on the counter staring at her. She’d had enough, yelling at my little brother who had pretty clearly positioned it there just to scare her. She screamed in fright and said “OK, it’s time for a new toy.” He denied it, but no one believed him. My mom threw it out and got us a playstation, and we forgot all about that stupid Furby toy.
I’m 34 now. Last year, I was cleaning out my closet when I found Furby, covered in dust and cobwebs. I had forgotten all about it. I picked it up and turned it on. It started making those same weird noises, the ones that had scared me so much as a child. I tried to turn it off, but it wouldn’t turn off. I took the batteries out and it didn’t make a difference. Finally it stopped after I wound up and smashed it against the ground, spiking it like a football.
Freaked me out enough that I started to question my own sanity. I’m a staunch atheist. I have never believed in nonsense like this. But this really got to me.
I grabbed some salt and began to draw a pentagram on the floor in my garage, with Furby watching nearby on the workbench. I didn’t know what else to do besides that (like I say, I’m not religious). So I left it in my garage, in the center of the pentagram, and went to bed.
That night, I had a dream. In the dream, I was back in my childhood bedroom. Furby was sitting on my bed, just like it used to. It smiled and turned to look at me, its eyes glowed red. Blood running out of its weird little Furby beak. I woke up screaming.
I went out to the garage after waking up, but Furby was gone. I somehow went back to sleep and woke up late the next day. I stumbled into the kitchen sleeping and slipped on the bloody, mangled corpse of fiddlesticks, my poor cat.
I decided to move away. I packed up my things and left town. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.
I’ve been living in a new city for a few months now. I’ve started a new job, and I’m making new friends. I’m starting to feel like myself again.