Horror stories to tell at midnight

Some toys aren't ment to be played with...

I found this story on Reddit....creeps also reads this story on YouTube,

I like to collect things that remind me of my childhood. I occasionally wander through yard sales or thrift stores, looking for old toys like those I once owned, trinkets similar to the kind my grandmother collected, or old souvenirs from places I visited with my parents. This hobby of mine usually produces nothing but happiness, but last summer it was the source of a nightmare.

I found it at some little old lady's yard sale, somewhat hidden between a box of old baseball cards and a milk-crate full of beat up action figures. People always joke that Furbies were creepy, but I absolutely adored mine when I was a kid. I considered it more of a friend than a toy and would spend hours talking to it and stroking its fur. While I held the black and white ball of fuzz in my hands, I couldn't help but to remember the tea parties and games of house that I played with the pink one I carried everywhere 15 years ago. The little old lady that I bought it from didn't seem to remember having it, but happily reasoned that "my grandkids accumulated so many toys here over the years; I couldn't possibly keep track of everything." I politely listened as she told me about 2 grandsons and 3 granddaughters, how they used to visit every weekend until they grew up and moved on with lives and families of their own, before heading home with my newest treasure.

I played with the Furby for a while, giggling at the childish gibberish it spoke and running my fingers over its still-soft fur. The white on its belly was kind of dirty, and the fluff on top of its head was missing more than a few strands, but it worked well and made me happy. I placed it on a shelf in my bedroom before eating dinner and going to sleep.

I woke in the middle of the night to a kind of hissing sound coming from the doll. I removed the batteries and went back to bed. The next day, I replaced the batteries and it seemed to be working fine again. I ran my fingers through the white fur on its head, and vowed to be more careful with it when a clump of that fur came off in my hand. That night I woke yet again to the hissing sound, but this time it was louder. As I approached the Furby, I realized that it was whispering in its own little language. I figured that it wasn't a stretch for a toy so old and well-used to malfunction, so I removed the batteries and decided to only have them in when I was actually playing with it. My little problem was solved, for the time being.

Three days went by. I had been busy with work and such and hadn't paid much attention to any of the toys on the shelves. I had had a friend over for dinner, and grabbed the Furby from my room to show it to her. We joked around and she messed with it for a few minutes while I cooked before she commented on the state of it.

"I know you love this thing, but wouldn't you be happier with one that's not in such bad shape? There are patches of fur missing, and it's dirty."

I knew about the bit missing from the top, but I could have sworn that the two dime-sized bald spots that she pointed out on its backside hadn't been there before. Perplexed, I mumbled something about it being "well-loved" before putting it back on the shelf and finishing dinner.

After my friend left, I settled on the couch to watch some TV before bed. I heard a thump come from somewhere in the house, and muted the show so that I could listen for the source. Just as I was about to shrug it off as nothing and turn the volume back on, I heard another thump and the "hee hee hee" the Furby makes when you tickle it. I armed myself with the umbrella I keep by the door and slowly made my way into my bedroom, wondering what kind of intruder would stop to play with his victim's toys. It giggled again as I entered the room, ready to strike with my improvised weapon. There was no intruder, and the only sign of something being amiss was the Furby on the floor in the middle of the room. I checked every possible hiding spot, listening intently for footsteps or other signs of not being alone, before turning to leave the room to check the rest of the house. Right before I walked through the door, I heard the nasally voice of the toy behind me.