I think I have a few more stories to tell about David the abuser. Not just yet though. Thought I’d try a change of tone.
Also, for those who weren’t sure, Keefoowoo is Cthulhu - Wikipedia
Edgar was, to put it mildly, a bit thick. Thick as two short planks, one might say. But only if one were trying to insult the intelligence of short planks.
Admittedly, he was striking looking, with his bright red fur and light green mane. A less imaginative person would have called him radish, or apple or some other generic fruit related fluffy name.
Not Lucy though. Lucy was Edgar’s mumma. She’d adapted him more or less on a whim, after realising that she liked living alone but also wanted companionship. A fluffy seemed like a good compromise.
And so, the two of them lived happily together in Lucy’s small but cozy one bedroom flat.
Lucy loved Edgar. A lot. But the only thing thay Lucy loved more than her little Edgar was horror. Especially classic horror. Manchen, Lovecraft, Stoker - she loved them all. Especially Poe. Poe was her favourite. In case you hadn’t guessed, he was Edgar’s namesake.
Edgar didn’t understand his mumma’s obsession with all things scary. In fact, he deeply disliked it. But he loved his mumma, so that was that.
Lucy had a YouTube channel where she read out classic horror stories. Edgar didn’t like them either. At least not the parts he understood.
But he loved lying in Lucy’s lap while she stroked his mane and if he tried hard enough, he could usually tune out what she was saying and just enjoy the sound of her voice. Lucy had a lovely voice.
And so, life went on in this manner until the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. Everything was fine. Until the day Lucy got the statue.
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It was Lucy’s birthday when the parcel from her brother arrived.
Edgar scuttled around Lucy’s legs in a sense of heightened anticipation. What treasures could it possibly contain? Blockies? Sketties?
So, you can well imagine Edgar’s disappointment when Lucy opened the parcel and pulled out the monstrous figurine that lay within.
It was hideous. A clawed, wingy monsta, with what looked like skettis hanging from it’s malevolent features.
It was all Edgar could do not to make scardy poopies. Fortunately for all concerned, the burning desire he felt to not disappoint his mumma proved stronger than his recalcitrant sphincter.
Lucy told him it was called a “kewfoowoo”. Edgar had no idea what a kewfoowoo was, much less why you’d buy one for somebody as a gift. Lucy loved it though. That much was obvious.
Had Edgar not loved Lucy so much, he would have asked her to get rid of it. Had she noticed his discomfort, she would have done. Or at least kept it somewhere less visible.
But it was not to be.
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Edgar gazed at the statue. The figurine gazed back from it’s place of pride on the living room table.
It had been a week. An extremely long week.
Lucy had gone to work. Edgar missed Lucy when she was at work but he bore it with good grace, for as we have said, he was a good fluffy.
Lucy took a minimalist approach to furniture. It meant that Edgar didn’t have to be confined to a tiny safe room all day.
There was a sofa, an armchair and a couple of small tables, including the one Edgar’s new found nemesis perched upon.
On an ordinary day, Edgar would play with his toys and snooze on the rug and before he knew it, Lucy would be home.
It was a fine day and Lucy had left the window open a crack so that Edgar didn’t get too hot. They were on the third floor, and there was no way Edgar could climb up onto the windowsill, so Lucy felt like it was safe enough to do so.
Edgar would have been quite happy, were it not for the demonic gaze of his new companion burning across the room from the table.
Edgar stared at Kewfoowoo and Kewfoowoo stared right back.
Slowly but surely, Edgar’s fear was being replaced by resentment. This was HIS living room. A good fluffy he may have been, but there is only so much that even the bestest fluffy can take.
Edgar had been thinking about one of his mumma’s stories that he’d half listened to whilst he was dozing in her lap.
It was something about a man who lived with a munsta. The man was scared of the munsta because he had a meanie looking see pwace. The man had given the munsta foweba sweepies.
Gentle soul that he was, Edgar had found that difficult to fathom when he’d first heard it. He was starting to understand now though.
He loved his mumma. He truly did. But how could he be expected to share his living space with this dummuh monsta, day in day out?
As thougj unbidden, Edgar began to walk slowly towards the table. Then he broke into a run.
He couldn’t take it anymore. It was like an external force was flowing through him.
“Screeeeeeeeee!”, he yelled. Not the usual scree of a frightened fluffy. Oh no, this was warrior’s scree. The scree of a mighty stallion.
“Dummah Kewfoowoo!”, came Edgar’s cry of fury. The collective rage of generations of Edgar’s fluffy ancestors was channeled through him.
The accumulated resentment of fluffies everywhere, oppressed by meanie munstas since fluffy kind drew its first breath, echoed through the tiny living room. “Take wowstest sowwee hoofsies!”
There was a crash as the statue fell from the table and a crack as the impact on the floor broke it in half.
Edgar raised his tail to unleash a stream of sorry poopies, a final blow to his vanquished foe. Then he stopped.
This was not an act of mercy, you understand. Edgar would have loved nothing more than to cement his glorious victory.
No, it was not mercy that stayed Edgar’s hand, or in this case, stayed his poopie pwace. Edgar had remembered Lucy.
The feeling of pride that had been swelling in Edgar’s chest began to fade, as the enormity of his deed sank in.
He had been a bad fluffy. And what’s more, he had done so in a way that would give his mumma heawt hurties.
Edgar sat in the floor and hu hu’d in remorse. And in his desperation, an idea began to form.
I hope that you enjoy the second part of the story anyway
