A Toy Story

You've heard of those toys. Furbies, right? Kind of weird, furry bird mechanical things that talked a lot? They were super popular in the '90's. Well, I used to love them. Funny thing is, none of my friends ever had any.

How sorry I am that they don't know how lucky they were.

See, I loved playing with these Furbies. They'd talk, weird bird nonsense phrases, mixed in with a little English. The more you talked to them, the more they'd talk back to you. They were cute. Eyes that shut and opened, mouths that shut and closed. Clicking and clacking all the way along your floor, they could even "walk" a bit, although it was more moving by motorized wheels. I was playing with them, having them talk to each other, because sometimes they'd interact with each other if you put one near another. But my mother walked into my room and told me that it was time for bed. Reluctantly, I picked the Furbies away and put them neatly in a line near the opposite wall. Then I tucked myself into bed and tried to sleep.
But later I heard something.
Something strange.
I was used to waking up in the middle of the night, to get a drink of water, to get an extra blanket, to go to the bathroom, or whatever. But this time when I woke up, I wasn't really thirsty or cold. Then I noticed a very quiet noise. A high-pitched keening and squeaking. I looked over, and saw a shadow of one of the Furbies moving. I figured I must have left that particular Furby on.
I only wish I'd remembered that Furbies were motion-sensing, and didn't turn "on" when nobody was awake in the room.
I turned over to go back to sleep, thinking I could put the sound out of my mind. And believe me, I tried. But the noise just kept getting a little louder every time I closed my eyes. What began as a simple, pathetic keening, soon crescendoed into a horrid cacophony of screeching, sounds that would remind anyone of a wild animal being disemboweled. Finally, unable to stand the sound anymore, I looked over at where the Furbies were. The offending Furby was three feet from the rest, jolting back and forward violently, as though it were having some Satanic seizure.

The very last thing I saw before ducking my head under the covers was the moonlight outside reflecting onto the Furby's glassy, cold, unseeing eyes, as its mechanical beak clicked open and shut, screeching a cry that would haunt my nightmares to this very day.

Later the next morning, I would discover that this phenomenon had all been due to the Furby's batteries dying down. Still, the noise was so great that my father personally removed all the batteries from all the Furbies by hand.