In a certain, unremarkable New England town is a certain street, and at the end of that street is a certain, unusual place of business. Gazing up at the ancient building’s worn and wind-beaten edifice, one would immediately spot the imposing wooden sign just above the front entrance.
“Mister Weber’s House of Hopefuls”
And today, for no particular reason, one young man has found himself in front of those very doors, trying to figure out what this place could be. His curiosity piqued, he nervously steps inside, finding himself in a dimly lit foyer. He scans the room, his eyes falling on odd trinkets and tacky ornamentation strewn about the walls and furniture. One particularly gaudy decorate plate suspended on a shelf behind the front desk depicts two rosy-cheeked cherubs sitting on a cloud.
All in all, the young man’s first impression is more of a senior citizen’s home, rather than an actual place of business, and he is immediately put off. He considers turning around on the spot and leaving, but he’s already stepped inside, and he thinks he might as well try and talk to someone instead of backing out awkwardly.
Seeing no one else in the room, he steps closer to the front desk and lets out a hesitant and questioning “hello”.
No one answers the young man, so he tries again - more confidently this time:
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
Once more he is met with silence. Confused, he looks around the front desk and spots a small silver-engraved call bell on it, and promptly taps it. A gentle chime echoes through the quiet foyer for a moment, before fading back into a silence punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock near the door.
The man waits for a few seconds before sighing, disappointed. He turns around to go and leave, but instead nearly jumps out of his skin as he comes face to face with an old man grinning at him.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouts as he stumbles backwards, “Where did you come from?”
When the old man replies, he does so in a thick german accent. His voice is thin and and unassuming, but carries with it a kind of subtle confidence, like that of an experienced salesman.
“I’ve been here for a few moments now, sir. I heard the bell and came down to see who it was. Did you not hear me coming down the stairs?”
The young man casts a glance at the old wooden staircase leading upstairs. The damn thing looked like it’d creak if so much as a mouse skittered onto one of its steps, so how had this old man snuck up on him like that?
He tried to shake off his nervousness. Maybe he was just so hyperfixated on the tacky decor that he completely failed to notice the old man. He was fairly small of stature, though that was mostly due to his hunched posture.
“Yeah, I guess I didn’t. I uhh… I saw the sign out front and decided to look inside.”
The man’s grin widened slightly.
“Ahh, so it was curiosity that brought you here!”
The old man extended his right hand in greeting and the young man clasped it in his. The old man’s grip was cold and surprisingly strong.
“Welcome to Mr. Weber’s House of Hopefuls. I am the owner and proprietor - Rudolf Weber. It’s nice to meet you, herr…?”
“Oh! I’m uhh… Ryan.”
The old man smiled softly as he regarded the young man in front of him. Finally letting go of the handshake, he held both his hands behind his back in a relaxed manner before turning away from Ryan to inspect another decorate plate hung up on a nearby wall.
“So… herr Ryan, what is it that you’re looking for exactly?”
Ryan didn’t really know himself. He’d only stepped inside out of idle curiosity to begin with.
“Well uhh… I don’t exactly know what it is you sell here.”
Weber chuckled as if reccaling an amusing joke. “Sell? I don’t sell anything here. This place isn’t a store at all, herr Ryan.”
Ryan looked at him with obvious confusion. “So, what do you do here?”
Weber turned back around to look at Ryan, a wide grin adorning his face.
“I make connections, herr Ryan.”
“Connections? Connections between what?”
“People like you, and the residents at my House of Hopefuls.” The elderly proprietor said, still smiling, though Ryan noticed that the smile didn’t quite seem to reach the man’s eyes.
The answer combined with the old man’s demeanor was starting to seriously disturb Ryan, and Weber seemed to notice his discomfort.
“Oh, come now, herr Ryan. Not like that. The dear transients that find their way to my abode are all fluffies. You may think of it as a shelter - of a sort.” Weber chuckled darkly as he finished.
While still somewhat hesistant, Weber answer did Ryan to relax somewhat, grateful that at least he wasn’t stuck in some Texas Chain Saw Massacre-esque situation. Though him finding his way to an out-of-the-way fluffy shelter by pure happenstance was an oddity in and of itself. In truth, the young man had been thinking of adopting a fluffy for some time now.
“So this is a shelter? And you put up stray fluffies for adoption?”
“Quite so, herr Ryan. Might I take this to mean that you are interested in getting yourself a fluffy friend of your own?”
Ryan hesitated for a moment. Was it really a good idea to try and adopt a fluffy from somewhere this weird? The sketchiness was still off the charts. Ah hell, he was already in this deep might as well see what kind of fluffies were up for adoption. Who knows - maybe he’d take a shine to one immediately?
“Well… yeah. It’s been kinda lonely ever since I got out of college, and I’ve been thinking that maybe a fluffy would liven things up in my apartment, y’know?”
“Of course, of course - a perfectly understandable line of thought,” the old man said as he turned toward’s one of the doors leading out of the foyer and further into the building.
“Follow me, herr Ryan. I will take you to the dormitory and together we will find a companion perfect for you.”
Ryan followed behing Weber as the two headed through the door. Inside, was an area of the building that reminded Ryan of a church hall. Tall, thin windows flanked the walls on each side of the hall, and between them lay rows and rows of cages. Voices echoed through the room, some plaintive, some heartbroken, some enraged. Regardless of the tone or timber of the individual voices, all of them were in pain.
Weber swept his right hand in a theatrical motion, like a showman drawing attention to his next marvel on display.
“You see, herr Ryan. The fluffies here all unique - special. Each has come across some great tragedy or endured terrible misery. Each has perservered through hell itself to find their way here - to me.”
The old man motioned for Ryan to come closer, as he stood next to a cage containing a auburn and green stallion. As the two observed it, the fluffy seemed to take no notice of them whatsoever. It was instead preoccupied with pacing around the cage. As soon as it would reach one end of the small wire enclosure, it would spin around and walk to the other. Over and over again.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“This found its way to me from an abusive home. It’s prior owner delighted in tormenting the poor creature by forcing it to work itself to exhaustion. He’d force the fluffy to walk around the safe room on threat of punishment. Whenever the fluffy tired, whenever it tried to rest, his owner would whip him mercilessly. Walk. Try to rest. Pain. Repeat. Unitil the fluffy collapsed from exhaustion.”
“That’s…”
“Cruel. Oh yes. This fluffy endured years of of this treatment, until one day it seems it found an opportunity to escape. Ironically enough the owner’s own sadistic games had engendered great endurance in the fluffy, to the point it was able to walk out of its home, and keep walking…”
Weber trailed off as he opened the cage door, and reached in to pet the creature. Sensing the old man’s hand upon his head, the fluffy froze on the spot, and was quiet for moment. Then, it began to shiver and shake.
“…until he’d walked his way to my doorstep.” Weber intoned.
“Pwease. Fwuffy nu can west. Fwuffy hab tu wawk. Fwuffy awways hab tu wawk. If fwuffy nu wawk den git wowstest huwties. Pwease wet fwuffy wawk. Hab tu wawk. Awways hab tu wawk…”
Ryan was equal parts fascinated and horrified. This fluffy had clearly suffered a severe psychological breakdown and been left irreversibly changed from his trauma.
Weber withdrew his hand and locked the cage once more. The fluffy inside immediately began pacing once more, tears now soaking the fur around his eyes.
“Now the only way for this poor creature to sleep is by working itself to the point of collapsing. Every moment it’s forced to stay still - eating, drinking, defecating - is like torture. And yet…”
“And yet?” Ryan repeated, curiosity piqued.
“And yet he still wishes to live. It does not wish to die, to rest from the hell that has been it’s life. It still struggles to survive, and that, herr Ryan, is the nature of all the Hopefuls under my care.”
Ryan stared down at the pacing fluffy. He felt a mixture of pity and… to his own shock - enjoyment - at the fluffy’s fate.
Weber seemed to take notice of the look on Ryan’s face, and motioned for him to follow yet again.
“I can tell that this is not the one for you, herr Ryan. But follow me, and I believe I know exactly the companion you’re looking for.”
The two then came upon a smaller cage containing a foal with pale white fur. As Ryan leaned over to inspect the foal more closely, he failed to spot anything immediately wrong with it. The small creature was currently curled up on a soft imitation-fluff bed, evidently asleep.
“Oh little Blur~” the wizened proprietor quietly called out to the babe.
“Wake up little one…”
The foal first raised its head groggily, turning to look at the source of the sound that had awoken it. As the infantile fluffy opened its eyes, Ryan took notice of something odd. The foal’s eyes were milky white with a deeper reddish tone lying underneath.
“Wha? Wha mista Webbew wan?” the foal asked, clearly a little upset at being awoken so suddenly.
The old man looked down at the foal with an expression somewhere between “grandfatherly” and “predatory” and spoke.
“Someone’s come to meet you little Blur. If all goes well, he might just be your new papa.”
The foal’s face scrunched up in apprehension. “Nyu daddeh? Bwuw nu wan nyu daddeh. Gu 'way,” the foal declared before clambering up to his fee-
Only now did Ryan notice something else about the foal - it was lacking both its rear legs. It pushed itself upwards on its forelimbs and slowly dragged itself out of bed, turning its back on the two men entirely.
Ryan was taken aback somewhat. He wasn’t an expert on fluffies by any means, but if there was one thing he did know about them, it was that they all yearned to be adopted by a “hoomin mummah” or “daddeh”. Yet here was this fluffy - a foal no less - outright rejecting the possibility.
Weber put a finger to his lips, and let out a quiet “ssh” while looking to Ryan. Carefully and quietly, he unlatched the cage door, and slowly reached his hand inside. Weber’s hand hovered over the foal for a moment, before ever so gently brushing against the fur on it’s back.
“EEEEEEEEEEEE NU WAN TOUCHIES! NU WAN! MUNSTAH GU 'WAY!”
The fluffy had just burst into hysterics at the barest touch on its back. It was swinging its head wildly as if trying to lock eyes with whatever monster it thought was harassing it.
“DADDEH WEBBEW! SABE BWUW! NU WAN! NU WAN!”
Webber leaned closer to the cage to try and comfort the hysterical foal. “I’m here little Blur. Don’t worry, the monster’s gone now. You’re safe.”
Weber sat his hand on the floor of the cage in front of the foal, and the little one stared at it for a few moments before slowly dragging it over to try and hug his hand. As the fluffy sobbed and tried to take comfort from Weber’s hand, the old man turned to address Ryan once again.
“I can tell you’re curious, my friend. You see, Blur’s previous master was another very cruel man that delighted in torturing fluffies. The little one had an entire family once, a mother and sisters and brothers. All of them met with fates most terrible, and Blur was no exception, in spite of his survival.”
“What happened to him? Exactly, I mean.”
“Blur’s old master partially blinded him with chemicals. His eyes are too damaged now to see anything but indistinct shapes in a formless world. His legs were taken from him just as he’d begun to first walk. The old master had noticed that Blur had grown ever more attached to its family for comfort, hugging them constantly. The man reasoned that since Blur loved hugging so much, he might as well lop of a few legs and reduce him to a fluffy only good for hugging.”
“That’s… horrible” Ryan couldn’t help but exclaim, though it was moreso to hide his own growing fascination and excitement.
“Horrible indeed”, Weber intoned with a sly grin. "From then on the master tormented Blur in various ways, though his favourite method was taking advantage of the little one’s near-blindness in creative ways. Torturing the poor foal and causing it to fear unseen monsters all around it.
So that’s why the foal had freaked out so much at just a slight touch, Ryan mused. He felt bad for Blur and a part of him was already considering adopting the foal, but at the same time… he was tempted to try out what it would feel like to mistreat it instead.
“Eventually the master grew bored with his menagerie, and dumped them all out onto the street. All but little Blur had perished by the time I came across them. Now, poor little Blur lives his life always on edge. Every movement in the corner of vision, every indistinct shape that flickers before him is a new horror come to torment him.”
Turning to Ryan, Weber clapped one hand onto the young man’s shoulder in an overly friendly gesture.
“So. Herr Ryan. Would you like to connect with poor, sweet little Blur? Would you like to take this innocent hopeful, and grant him the salvation he so sorely deserves?”
Ryan thought for a moment. He… should probably adopt it. Blur was undeniably pitiable and cute, and it engaged some dormant paternal instinct in Ryan, but he was concerned with the darker feelings that had been tempting him. Maybe it’d be best to just forget about Blur? Forget about this place and leave…?
He gazed down at Blur in his tiny cage, with no family and no friends. Crippled and mostly blind. He couldn’t just leave him here, right? Yes - he should adopt Blur and give him the life he deserves. And… if he messes with him a little now and then - what’s the big deal?
“Yeah. I’ll take him”
Weber beamed triumphantly and clasped Ryan’s hand in his own.
“Splendid, herr Ryan!”
“So is there, like, any paperwork I gotta sign or…?”
Weber laughed.
“Of course not, herr Ryan. I am no salesman and there will be no bill of sale to sign today.”
“Oh. Okay then.”
Weber turned to Blur, and spoke. “Blur! I have such good news for you! My friend has decided to be your new papa after all. You’ll be getting a new home!”
“Wha- NU! NU WAN! WAN STAY WIF DADDEH WEBEW”
“Oh hush now,” Weber said as he roughly reached into the cage and pulled out a crying, wriggling Blur. Ryan could hear the foal begging not to be sent away, but Weber ignored him. Turning to a nearby cabinet, Weber pulled out a rough hewn sack from within and unceremoniously dumped Blur into it before holding it out to Ryan.
“Uhh… don’t you have like a carrier or something? That doesn’t seem good for him.”
“I’m afraid not, herr Ryan. But as I am but a poor old man, I lack some of the… conveniences of the established pet trade. Little Blur will just have to grin and bear it,” the old man said with a grin of his own.
“NU WIKE DAWK! WET BWUW OUT!”
Blur, evidently, was not grinning and bearing it.
Ryan reached for the bag containing Blur, and took it from Weber. The two men, now accompanied by a wriggling, terrified fluffy foal in a sack, returned to the foyer to say their goodbyes and go their separate ways.
“Goodbye, herr Ryan. Goodbye little Blur~” Weber called out from the front door. Watching as Ryan made his way back onto the streets and out of sight. The old man contemplated for a moment. Would one of his darling hopefuls find their hopes realized? Or would they plunged into a new hell entirely? Alas. That was not his place not know. He merely made the connections, where they ended up was another matter entirely.
Ryan for his part made his way home on foot, hiding the bag containing Blur in his jacket all the way there, unwittingly looking even more suspicious to any onlookers. By the time he’d made it to his apartment door, Blur had stopped wriggling and crying out loud, instead merely sobbing quietly.
Ryan roughly dumped the foal onto his kitchen table and stared down at the foal.
“What the hell did I just do?”