“Night night daddy!” my daughter Sandra said as she yawned and stretched.
“Say night night to daddy, Goldie,” she told her honey coloured fluffy, who was lying next to her in her bed, wearing fluffy sized pyjamas and a special fluffy diaper.
My daughter treated Goldie like her own little baby, and she and my ex-wife had spoiled the creature rotten until it became a demanding little brat. Fortunately I had found a way of dealing with it. The fluffy stared at me, eyes wide with terror.
“Nuuu…” the fluffy whimpered. “Daddah am munstah!”
Sandra giggled at the fluffy, “Silly Goldie, daddy isn’t a munstah!”
As she gazed down at the terrified little fluffy, she was unable to see me. I took the opportunity to bare my teeth and curl my fingers up as if they were claws, only to snap back to a heartfelt smile as soon as my daughter looked up.
“Es! Daddah am a WEWE-BEAW! Daddah can tuwn into Beaw when da Moon am soon-mummah!” the fluffy told her, clearly believing all the bullshit I had been telling it.
Sandra’s only reaction was to laugh hysterically.
Sensing that my daughter was getting a little to excited for bedtime, I calmed her down, tucked her in, and turned off the light, leaving her night light on. As Sandra closed her eyes and settled down to sleep, I could see that Goldie was still staring at me in total fear, eyes wide and rooted on me, as if I might suddenly turn into a bear and num her right there and then.
Clearly, my Werebear strategy was working. For the last two weekends, the annoying little shit had been well behaved, and hadn’t demanded any treats or special privileges. The only problem was, the fluffy might cry so much to Sandra, or worse still, her bitch mother, that I might get in trouble. For tonight, I decided another story was in order. I left my daughter’s room, waiting until she was asleep, when I would return to torment the fluffy.
A hour later, my daughter Sandra was sleeping soundly. For some unknown reason I had been blessed with a child that was a sound and deep sleeper. Very little would wake up Sandra, so unless the fluffy actually screamed, I knew my plan would work.
Slowly opening the door, I was relieved that the hinges did not creak. I had oiled them earlier to make sure, but you never know until it happens. Creeping into the room, I sidled up alongside my daughter’s bed and slipped my hand over the fluffie’s mouth.
“Shhhhhhh!” I hissed, waking the fluffy, which immediately tried to scream. Grabbing the wriggling beast, I pulled her out from under my daughter’s arm, and carried her out of the room.
“Shhh!” I said, whispering to the fluffy, “There is a mustah in the house! Daddah is scared!”
Slowly taking my hand away from the fluffie’s mouth, I allowed the creature to speak again.
“M-m-mustah? In da housie? Daddah am scawed?” the poor fluffy asked.
“Yes! and its a really, really bad munstah. It likes to num fluffies, but it also likes to num little girls and daddahs too!” I tried my best to whimper and act like a total pussy.
“Nuuu! Nu wike nummy munstahs!” Goldie cried, “Nu wan be nummed! Quick, daddah, tuwn into a Beaw Munstah and num da uddew mustah! Sabe Gowdie an Sandwa!”
I looked at the terrified Golden fluffy and tried my best to shake with fear. I’m not sure my acting would even have fooled my seven year old daughter, but the fluffy was utterly retarded and believed my every word.
“I can’t!” I cried in false-fear, “Its not a full moon! and anyway, the munstah is so big and scary, it could even num a werebear!”
“Eeeeeeep!” squealed the fluffy in terror, filling is diaper as it was literally scared shitless. “Wat kind of munstah is da munstah daddah?”
“Its…” I began, whimpering, “Its… a… SOCK MUNSTAH!!!”
“Nuuuuuu! Sock munstah sound scawy!”
“They are!” I told her. “They live in… laundry baskets, pretending to be normal socks, like humans wear on their not-hoofies. But every so often, one of them will come and NUM fluffies. And then they num humans too. Look at these pictures I found of sock munstahs.”
I showed her some pictures I had found on the internet. You can see them here:
https://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/40989 (Art by @Carniviousduck)
Goldie cried and cried.
“Nuuuu! Nu wan be nummed by sock-munstah! Nu wan weggies be nummed! Pwease daddah! Sabe Gowdie! Am onwy wittew babbeh!”
I tried to put on a brave face. It was hard because I wanted nothing more than to piss myself with laughter at the fluffy’s idiocy.
“I’ll try Goldie! I’ll try. I’m going to go and look outside. If the sock munstah comes, I’ll try to turn into a Bear and num it, but it will probably num me. I love you Goldie!”
I leaned over, and kissed the horrible stupid fluffy. My unusual behaviour only seemed to scare her even further.
“Gowdie wuv daddah too, even though daddah am Wewe-Beaw. Pwease sabe Gowdie an Sandwa! Pwease num da sock-mustah befowe it num us!”
I left the room, wearing a look of grim determination on my face, biting the insides of my cheeks to stop myself breaking into total hilarity.
A few minutes later, I had changed into my “Sock-Munstah” costume. It consisted of all the odd socks I could find, plus several more I had bought from Wall-mart earlier that day. I wore women’s tights on my arms, leg, and over my head, with socks of all colours, shapes and sizes tied to an old stripy shirt. I had even managed to find socks with cartoon style children’s monsters on them, and I looked like a vaguely human shaped shambling mound of socks. For the overactive imagination and retarded level of reasons that fluffies possessed, I must have looked terrifying.
“WAAAAAGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!” I moaned, “WAGOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”
Slowly, I shambled into the living room, where Goldie was sat on the sofa, shaking with fear.
“Nuuuuuu! Daddah! It am da SOCK-MUNSTAH! Pwease come back! Sabe Gowdie! Gowdie nu wan be nummed!”
“WAGOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!” was my only response.
The fluffy panicked, and ran to the other side of the sofa. Any half sensible animal would have jumped off the sofa and ran for the door, but the fluffy was scared of breaking another one of its oh-so-delicate leggies, so it just panicked and shat itself some more, running from one end of the sofa to another. I was so glad it was wearing its diaper.
“WAGOOOOOOOOOOOM!” I wailed again, shambling towards the fluffy.
“Nuuuu! Pwease sock-munstah! Nu num fwuffy! Am onwy wittew babbeh!”
“Wag-OOOOOOOOOOOM!” I yelled, louder this time, and started shambling more quickly towards her.
“Nuuuu! Pwease nu num fwuffy!” the fluffy cried, before starting its pitiful huuing noise.
“Huu huu huu… Gowdie nu wan be nummed!”
I grabbed the fluffy, and pulling a sock with cartoon pictures of monsters all over it, I pulled the sock down, over the fluffy’s head, as if she was being devoured by a snake. All the while I held my mouth next to her ears, and made my “Wagoooooom!” noise repeatedly as the fluffy screamed and wailed for mercy.
Grabbing the fluffy, I hurled her into the laundry basket. I placed a tape recorder, with a tape of three hours of WAGOOOOM noises next to her, and started the tape. The tape was appropriately titled, Wagooooom.
“Nuuuuu! Hewp! Hewp! Huuuu huuu huu! Huuu huu huuu huuu huuu!” the fluffy wailed pathetically.
I left her there for three hours.
After three hours were up, it was approaching daddy’s bedtime. Grabbing the fluffy again, I could feel that the sock was soaked with her tears, and that her diaper was bulging with fluffy shit. Fortunately, my daughter dealt with the diaper changes, as she cared for the fluffy almost as though it were a baby.
Carrying the fluffy upstairs, I snuck back into my daughter’s room, and placed it under her bed. The fluffy said nothing, and didn’t even wriggle. It seemed to be frozen in fear, some ingrained animal instinct that the HASBIO people hadn’t programmed out with their genetic engineering. All I could hear from the brat was some muffled huuing.
I slowly slid the sock covered fluffy underneath the bed. The elastic in the sock was stronger than the fluffy’s weakling muscles, so I knew she stood no chance of escape, if she hadn’t been able to escape the last three hours. The sock was one of Sandra’s, and there were even several other socks underneath the bed. In the morning, I would return to see how things progressed.
“Huuuuu huuu huuu! Dewe was a munstah! A sock-munstah! And it nummed Gowdie! An twied to num Daddah an Sandwa!” the pitiful fluffy was explaining, as Sandra hugged it and I tried my best to look caring and concerned, rather than laughing.
“Silly Goldie,” Sandra told the fluffy, "You just got stuck inside a sock under my bed. Its not a monster really, its just pictures of monsters on the sock.
“Nuuuu! It am weaw! Teww Sandwa Daddah! Show Sandwa the pictuwes of da Sock-Munstah!”
“Pictures? What are you talking about you silly little fluffy?” I lied, “I think you must have had a bad dream last night.”
“Nu! Nu am dweamy tiem! Gowdie hav seen Sock-Munstah, jus wike daddah hab sayed. It nummed Gowdie!”
Sandra laughed again, “It nummed you? Then how are you alive now?”
“Huuu huu huu… fwuffy nu know… huu huu huu… huu huu huu… huu huu huu…”
“Oh Sandra,” I said, with my best concerned daddy voice, “What a silly little fluffy you have.”
Next Goldilocks story - Coming Soon
