In case you forgot to buy your Valentine that plush $39 teddy bear, Chris Rhatigan has a present you can give.
Nothing says "I love you" like a cute, murderous monster. Take a bite out of Furby's Revenge
Nothing says "I love you" like a cute, murderous monster. Take a bite out of Furby's Revenge
Furby's Revenge by Chris Rhatigan
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Furby
slung the machine gun over his back and clamped the razorblade in his beak. He
climbed the gutter to the second floor with surprising grace, especially
considering that he had no arms.
He’d
cased this house for a week. A chest full of toys grown fat and lazy. A
twelve-year-old Master didn’t pay attention to them anymore—except for Pup Pup,
a raggedy stuffed Golden Retriever who was his sentimental favorite. Master
would be asleep at this hour anyway, making for easy pickings.
Furby
reached the window, left open to let in the summer night’s breeze. He razored a
slit in the screen and dropped silently to the hardwood floor.
No
one noticed him. Toys everywhere but focused on one thing—partying. A bunch of
action heroes doing tequila shots, stuffed animals playing poker, few
Playmobile figures doing rails of coke off Barbie’s nippleless tits. Furby
remembered days like these. Days when he had all his fur and life was easy.
Before
Furby could get too wistful, a LEGO cop held up his hand and approached, legs
snapping back and forth mechanically. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Where do you
think you’re going?”
Furby
popped off LEGO cop’s head with a swipe of his razor.
Figured
that’d set the tone just fine.
Toys
started screaming; a crowd of Bratz dolls scattered and revealed Pup Pup,
reclining in a Fisher Price hammock, smoking a joint.
Furby
said, “All your cash, jewelry, and drugs. In the bag. Do it nice and slow, and
nobody gets hurt.”
Silence.
Then a Playmobile Davy Crockett pointed at the LEGO cop. “What about him?”
“Er,
nobody else gets hurt,” Furby said.
The
sack filled up quick. Furby glanced into it. Haul looked pretty good—like he
thought, these were some privileged-ass toys.
The
Incredible Hulk decided to be a hero. He pointed a big green finger at Furby.
“This doesn’t have to do with our money or our jewelry or our drugs. You’re
doing this because you used to be popular, but now you’re not. Nobody loves you
anymore. You’re simply jealous and taking it out on us.”
Furby
shot him twelve times. Full auto. “Anyone else have an inspirational speech?”
He waved the gun around. “Anyone? Good. Now Pup Pup, I’m gonna need all your
weed.”
“Aw,
c’mon,” Pup Pup said. “You used to be cool.”
Nothing
got Furby going quite like the phrase used
to be. He ran straight for one of Pup Pup’s hoes and stabbed her where you’d
assume her heart would be.
As
Furby dislodged the knife, footsteps echoed down the hall. Human footsteps.
“What the hell, Sara?” Master said. “I thought I told you not to play with any of my toys!”
The
door swung open. “Sara?”
***
The
boy was perplexed—he’d heard a bunch of noise and thought it was his sister,
but no one was around. He turned on the light and found toys scattered wildly
across the room.
Wanting
to avoid his mother’s wrath, he began stuffing them back in the chest by the
handful. Maybe he should just throw them in the trash. If anyone from school
saw how many toys he had, he’d get the shit kicked out of him.
“Ugh,
Furby? How do I still have this?”
“Wee-tah-kah-wee-loo,” Furby robotically cooed.
“What the hell does that mean?”
He
kicked the plush toy to the corner.
He
was about to shut the toy chest, but he hesitated. Pulled out Pup Pup. He could
get rid of the rest of them, but not Pup Pup.
He
left the room hugging the stuffed animal to his chest.
***
Soon
as he was gone, Furby brushed himself off.
Kick
him to a corner, eh? Time to teach
that little punk a lesson. Nobody dicks around on Furby and gets away with it.
He
weighed his option. Of course, he could slit the kid’s throat or riddle his
body with miniature bullets.
But
that seemed a light punishment.
***
Kid
woke up the next morning, screaming.
Pup
Pup’s eyes had been ripped out, two x-shaped scars left behind. Tail had been
severed, shoved into his open mouth.
In
the next room, Furby heard the screams and laughed. The other toys were white
with horror.
He
swung the sack over his shoulder. “See you bitches later,” he said.
