Kyle and his friends were on the prowl, looking for fluffies to “play” with, as was common practice amongst teenagers in their rural town where there was nothing to do and nothing ever happened. As they moved silently behind the one “supermarket” the town had, they heard noises, and a clear voice.
“Fluffby hungry!”
“Found one!” Kyle hissed to his friends, and began to move forward when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Jacob looked at him with a look of dread on his face. “What?” Kyle snapped.
“It’s a fucking FLUFFBY, Kyle! Don’t mess with those.”
“So it has a plastic beak grafted to its face. So what?”
“Listen, man. There’s an old Furby at my house that my mom had as a kid. You don’t want to mess with anything related to those things.”
“You scared of a toy?”
“Dude, you don’t know what that thing does. I’ve woken up with my sheets around my neck with it standing beside me. They’re literally cursed.”
“If they’re so bad why does your mom keep it, then?”
“She’s tried to get rid of it, a lot of times. I don’t know what’s up with the thing, but it always shows back up in the middle of the night. Don’t kick the hornets’ nest.”
“Sounds like your dad has a sick sense of humor. I don’t believe in that bullshit.”
“It’s happened when he was away on business, Kyle. Just LISTEN to me! Fluffies attract supernatural shit to begin with, I don’t know what fusing one with a Furby would do!”
“Run away if you’re so fucking scared. I’m going to have some fun with that fluffy.”
“Please, Kyle!”
Kyle shook his head at Jacob’s cowardice as he moved towards the dumpster the Fluffby was rooting around in. Regardless of what Jacob said, everyone knew fluffies were helpless, stupid plastic beak or no. This was going to be fun, it always was.
About fifteen seconds later the rest of the group, who’d stayed back with Jacob, was passed by a high-speed blur as Kyle sprinted past faster than an Olympic athlete. Jacob, however, had already started running before Kyle even reached them. The stragglers took off, chasing the two.
“What the fuck, man?” Danny asked, when they finally stopped running some two miles down the road.
Kyle was too busy vomiting on the road to explain. When he looked up, the expression on his face made the group step back. He fell to his knees, heedless of the puddle of vomit.
“You okay?”
“I’m…I’m fine. Let’s just go home. This isn’t fun anymore.”
Kyle opened his front door, half-facing the dirt path that lead up to it while he fumbled with the lock. He never thought he’d ever feel this paranoid during the day. After too long spent trying to get the key in the lock without looking, he opened the door and dashed inside, slamming it behind him and locking it, then slumping to the floor with his back to the door. Safe.
He heard a soft mechanical noise, like muffled servos. There was no way the thing had followed him, now way it could have gotten inside, right? He looked up at the noise, just in time for the creature to slam into his face.
“FLUFFBY! HUNGRY!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
[Just a bit of a story mixing fluffies with the internet Furby mythos about how cursed they are. Seriously, though, those things are CREEPY.]
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Funny enough, literally a couple days ago I watched a video with people telling their stories of Furby weirdness. I’m so glad I never had one.