Boglin

You wouldn't give your three-year-old son a creepy rubber puppet now, would you? Well, you shouldn't My mother thought it was a bloody good idea for me though; I don't know what inspired that thought in her head, but if I had a time machine, I've got half a mind to go back and throw that silly little thing in the bin. Or burn it, it'd make me feel a whole lot better to know that the thing would be gone once and for all. But it's not, it's in some other house nowadays. I gave it away because, well, I hated the thing. But not when I was a child, funnily enough.

The doll was a "Boglin". This guy's name was Drool. You could google up "Boglin Drool" and get a few pictures of them, some pictures including the weird little cage-like box they came in. If you're too lazy to search it up, then allow me to write out a description of him. it. Whatever. The thing looked like a human head except smaller. It had a scrunched up face complete and little pointy cat-ear things near the top of its head. Its face contained two posable eyes that glowed in the dark, a little nose and a mouth with two teeth: one on the top, one on the bottom. Where the ears SHOULD have been were two little spindly rubber arms, three fingers and a thumb per hand. 'Round the back of the thing was a weird pointed devils tail thing. Guess what it was made of? Yep, rubber. The whole thing was coloured a greyinsh tan with smudges of light purple and green around its face. But where the magic happened was underneath it. Underneath the damned thing was a hole you could fit your hand into. If you shove your hand up Drool's hole (heh) you could open/close its mouth and make its eyes move from left to right due to some weird little plastic mechanism.

Well, that creepy little thing was given to me when I was 3. And I loved that thing. Up until I said, and this is according to my mother, "I'm gonna have nightmares." in my little innocent voice. That's when the night terrors started; the star? Mr. Blobby. Just joking, it was the little rubber cunt.

Strange how I can't remember much in my life, yet I can still remember my first night terror.

I woke up in my bed- it was an elevated wooden bed with a little ladder so I could get up- and I saw this little spot in the ceiling. I thought nothing of it until it grew and started shaking. I hid under my covers and I felt something hit my legs, bounce off and a second later, hit the floor. I woke up after that, definately crying, probably screaming, maybe drenched in urine.

Over the years the night terrors got more vivid; most were just me waking up in an enclosed room, watching Drool walk over me using his little arms. Man, now that I think about it the thing in the dreams looked nothing like Drool; it lacked a tail and ears. All I can remember is that it had the same face, same colour, and it moved like a puppet. Felt as heavy as a small dog, though. But that wasn't the only thing in the night terrors; I often smelled the scent of burning rubber. Creepy thing is that I often smelled that in my waking hours, too. Never knew what caused it, nobody else seemed to smell it, so after a while I decided to peg it up as bodily odor.

After five or so years of this nonsense the nightmares just stopped. Strangely enough, this was about the time where the thing got shoved up into my attic. Those five years were bliss, until one day I was helping my parents carry stuff down from it and, whilst waiting for another box to carefully lift down, Drool flew out and hit me in my face. Parents laughed, I didn't. Almost fell down the stairs too. I may have been 12, but still, that wasn't a very nice thing to do to me.

After those five years I stopped being scared of him. In fact, I thought he was funny. I mean, all those silly little night terrors over THIS tiny thing? It was much smaller than I remembered. I decided to keep it in my room again, because I could show it off to people and maybe sneak it to school once or twice to freak people out. I put it in a shoebox in a slot under my bed- by then I had a new bed which was lower and had shelves underneath int- and there it stayed. But weirdly enough, I started having night terrors again; none of them had Drool in them, but they were night terrors nontheless.

The night terror that freaks me out the most was when I woke up and heard fast, heavy breathing behind me. Naturally I covered my ears and curled up like a scared puppy. Then the breathing was IN MY HEAD for a few seconds before I woke up. Man, that was worse than most of the night terrors I had before. Anyway, after that I decided to put a weight on the shoebox lid. For some reason, that worked fine and dandy. Never had a night terror again.

Skip forward to when I'm 14 and I have my first (my only and also now ex) girlfriend. She lived two hundred or so miles away, and we met in person only a few times. She tells me that she used to have a boglin as well, and so I thought "huh, I oughta give her mine. I don't exactly like the thing." She liked the idea. (she had two little brothers who loved to smash stuff and I thought if there's one way this thing should go out, it should go out being bashed to bits by kids.)

When I had that marvellous idea I was at her house. After returning home, I decided to just leave it until I travelled over to her house again. The wait excited me. Finally getting rid of the thing that caused so much hassle in my life? Finally getting rid of that goddamn rubber... [i]thing?[/i] It was like Christmas was coming. I was ecstatic right up until the day before I was due to travel two hundred miles to go see my lovely, lovely GF to give her the present of the Boglin Bastard: Drool. I was ecstatic right up until I ran up to my room to get that weight over that roughed-up shoe box to get the thing out inside. I was ecstatic up until I had the thing in my hands and I looked inside the box.

Scratches everywhere. Some were deep enough to go through the cardboard, leaving barely-noticable marks on the outside of the box. I'd be lying if I said that I don't know where the scratches came from, because there just so happens to be a little rubber thing in there which likes to cause pain. But I looked at it, right in the eyes. I looked over it, trying to see if there had been any changes in it; I don't know why I looked, it had been so long since I cast eyes over it that if there HAD been any changes i wouldn't have been able to notice them. But as I was looking over it, trying to figure out why this thing caused me so many realistic night terrors, why this thing seems to leave the air smelling of burning rubber, why- no, how- this thing left scratches in the box, a thought came over me.

How the hell did it leave scratches with hands made of rubber?