This is the story of Mr. Fuzzy. Mr. Fuzzy was my favorite childhood toy, A stuffed half-foot high rabbit; who sat in a magicians top hat. When pulled from the hat; a small string which connected him to the base of the inside of the hat would tighten, and cause him to play a bell-chime version of 'Pop goes the Weasel'.
I was only seven when I got him as a gift from my uncle. I was very into magic and magicians as a child, and my uncle knew this, which is why He became my favorite toy. That was until my eighth birthday.
It was a day before my birthday that my uncle was admitted into the hospital, and tragically passed away. Apparently he had a brain aneurism, and it was inoperable, leading to his death. My mother, his sister, was completely distraught. And being a single mother, she completely forgot about my birthday, in the face of such a tragic event.
That night after we returned from the hospital, was when the strange things began to happen. I woke up at exactly 12:01 and I still remember it to this day. There in the door way, in the fading moonlight, was my uncle. He wasn't smiling, like his normal self, but instead gruesome scars ran down his face, which was covered in horrible boils, and where his eyes had been there were two black shining orbs. Blood dripped from his hands, and as his mouth moved a sickening sharp voice echoed in my mind, speaking in some strange language. I blacked out, then.
The next morning when I woke up, I thought it had been a dream, a nightmare. So I went to school and was hopeful about my upcoming birthday. When I returned however, I found my mother slumped on the sofa, holding a bottle of whiskey in her hand. I dared not wake her, knowing from past experiences that it was a bad idea.
After finishing my homework, I played around with my magic kit, and Mr. Fuzzy. I didn't notice it at first, but then I could smell it. Inside of the hat beneath Mr. Fuzzy, there was a dead Rat!
I jumped, startled at first, but then I was curious. I slowly removed the rat and examined it. It's eyes had been poked out, its tail halfway cut off, and the abdomen opened to reveal it's innards. I was grossed out, but being a child, I was also intrigued.I continued to examine it for a little while, and after becoming bored with it, I discarded it into our nearest trash bin. The fact that a rat would not show up in such a strange place, looking as it had, did not occur to my 8 year old mind, so I washed up and went to bed.
That night I was plagued by nightmares of people dying in horrific ways, and there was a song I recognized but couldn't place, playing in the background.When I awoke in the morning, my mother had baked a cake for me, remembering my birthday was the day before. She swore that she would never forget again, and doted on me the rest of the day. Later that night though, I saw her return once again to the whiskey bottle she had the previous night.
It went on somewhat normal for a few weeks after this, with my mother continuing in a downward spiral with alcohol. She was a recovering AA member, and had not been to a meeting in over a month. My uncle was the one who used to take her, and since he had passed, her will alone was not strong enough.
Then I awoke one morning to someone screaming, it was my mother. I looked up and to the direction of the noise, and there on the floor was the crumpled body of a dead pigeon. The wings had been pulled from its body, the heart and lungs removed, and once again the eyes poked out.
I gasped, and my mother quickly picked me up and we left. We didn't return the whole day, but visited my aunt across town. Later when we returned she cleaned up the dead animal, which now had a putrid smell, and we later went to bed.I didn't have any idea where the bird had come from, and I remembered then the rat I had found, and realized the similarities. The thought kept running through my head that night, until I finally had to climb out of bed to look. I slowly pulled the Mr. Fuzzy from the hat and looked inside. There in the bottom were three feathers, each stained with blood. Then as I moved away quickly, the string pulled, and I heard the song begin to play. And then I blacked out.
I'm not entirely sure what happened that night. I woke up several hours later, comfortable in my bed, but there was something off. I pulled down my blanket, and saw my bed, my hands, and my entire body was covered in bright red blood. I tried to wipe the blood from my hands, furiously scrubbing them on a clean part of my sheet. That was when I looked up, and saw it.
The walls were smeared with blood, and here and there were bits of red fleshy things. Some were stuck to the walls as well. My heart was racing, and I was becoming frightened, as I stared across my room, I saw sitting perfectly fine on my shelf, Mr. Fuzzy. I remembered it was on the floor last night, or had it been, I couldn't be sure?
I threw myself from my bed, and ran to my mother's room, throwing open the door. I was not prepared for what I found. Lying sprawled across the bed was my mother, or what was left of her. Her abdomen had been cleaved open, and her entrails spewn about the room. Her eyes were burnt from her skull, I would later learn from the medical report, and her heart lungs and liver had been finely diced, and plastered to my walls and bedroom floor.
I became immediately ill at the sight, and threw the door shut, before puking across the floor. As I looked down at my vomit I noticed small flecks of the same bits of red fleshy tissue lying in it. I'd learn later, that these were pieces of my mother's heart and lungs which I had apparently consumed somehow.
I walked back to my room and looked over at Mr. Fuzzy. His pristine white fur spotless, except for a small red fleck by his paw. I walked over and lifting him carefully so as not to activate his musical tune, looked inside. There were now only two feathers at the bottom of the hat, the third now gone. It was lying at the bottom of my dead mothers stomach, though I'd have to wait almost 13 years to find it out.
The police showed up shortly after, and I was sent to speak to a psychiatrist. They spoke to me about a lot of different things, and concluded that I had become mentally unstable from seeing what I had, and should be institutionalized. I was immediately sent off to Millview Manor, a child's psychiatric home.
I spent the remainder of my childhood years there, even going through school there, until I was 18. Then I was put up for evaluation, to see whether or not I could safely be thrust back into the world. It was deemed, however, that I was not and that I should spend another 3 years there.
This ended up being about 2 and half, because the facility had become run down, and was going to be demolished. I was able to get one of my doctors to testify that I was now safe to return to society, and the committee approved my return.
By this time I had been through so much treatment, and so many drugs, I had almost completely forgotten about the entire incident, and had no recollection of Mr.Fuzzy, at all. So when I went through reception to leave, and they returned some of my personal belongings to me, I simply took the box and went out the door.
Hailing the nearest taxi, I gave them the address to the halfway house that I was to be staying at. I had also been provided a job, at a local school as a janitor. The woman I was staying with was a kindly old woman, named Harriet.When I arrived she greeted me kindly at the door, and showed me my room, and where to put my things. She already knew my story, and probably more than I had at that point, but had let me stay there even still.
The next morning, after Harriet made breakfast for us, I went to my new janitorial job. It wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be, and actually the kids there didn't seem all that bad. Not like the Hollywood stereotype of food fights and cherry bombs in the toilet.
In fact it was pretty great, for a guy who had just been released from a psychiatric home. The boss was great, the co-workers were nice, and the students didn't bother me at all.The next few months were probably the best of my life really. I had a job I loved, and Harriet, who I had come to think of in a grandmotherly capacity. And recently I had started dating one of the teachers at the school, whose name was Chloe. Everything was going great.
Then I started waking up in the middle of the night, sweating and frightened. But I didn't know what of? The psychiatrist I was seeing increased the dosage of my drugs, and said if it didn't work to come back.
I took the new meds, and for a while it seemed like it worked. But then it started up again. I didn't bring this up to the psychiatrist, knowing that if I became deemed too dangerous or at risk, I could lose everything. So I dealt with it, the night sweats and nightmares.
But soon it became more than this, there were horrible dreams, I couldn't remember them, but I knew they were. And I would wake up trembling, and cold. Once I woke up screaming, and Harriet rushed into the room, thinking the worst. I begged her not to tell anyone, and thankfully she obliged. I wonder now if I could have saved her, had I not told her to keep it secret?
It happened not too long after that night, I remember waking up and looking at my clock, it was 12:01 am. I got out of bed and stumbled into the hallway, not sure exactly why I was. As I slowly moved along the hallway, I felt as if something were guiding me, leading me somewhere. Then darkness. Almost as if a moment later, like I had blinked, I was in the kitchen. There were knives on the counter, and I reached out and picked one up. Darkness again.Next I remember the hallway again, but it was different from before. The air was gone from the room, and it felt like my mind was swirling and my body was floating along a predestined path, and I couldn't stop it. Then there was music, and I was inside a dark room, or was I asleep, I couldn't tell?
I don't remember anything more of that night, but I clearly remember the following morning. Somehow, I woke up at Chloes apartment. I was on a sofa, and there was a strange smell in the air. Eggs. I sat up quickly, and immediately felt dizzy. I looked around, and saw Chloe standing in the kitchen, cooking.
I walked over, and not hearing me approach her, she yelled; startled. I asked her how I had gotten there, to which she told me the story of how I had shown up on her doorstep, the previous night, apparently drunk. I apologized, and offered to leave straight away. Instead of swiftly throwing me out, she invited me to stay and have breakfast, during which we had a fantastic conversation, about puppies I believe.
Afterwards she told me that I should take the day off, and rest easy there at her place. She would tell the principal and head janitor that she had seen I was violently ill, and required the day off. Before leaving she kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye.
I sat down on the sofa and flicked on the television, flipping through the channels, watching bits here and pieces there. Until I came across the local news. I watched it at first curious about the headline story of a 'Cultist Murder'. Then, intently when I saw the home that was the scene of the crime. It was Harriets house. Where I had been staying. My heart sank in an instant.
The news reporter came on, and described that the victim was an elderly woman in her late 60's, and that her recent boarder had not yet been found for questioning, and may be a suspect in the case. At that time no further details were being released, other than what Harriets friend Marge had let slip to a slime ball reporter, about what she had seen.
"I walked in the door, after no one had answered, worried of course" the cameraman took the pause as a momentary advantage to get a better, closer view,"- and the walls were covered with blood, and things, markings, I don't know what...I was so frightened, I called the police."
I didn't know what to think, as I sat there on the sofa. I had become very close to Harriet, as a friend, and almost like a family member. Then I thought maybe it had been me, but it couldn't have been. Could it? After all I had been at Chloes last night, that's right, it couldn't have been me.
Finally pulling myself together, I went out and made my way to Harriets home. When I arrived the police were still there, and one immediately pulled me aside as I walked up. Apparently he knew who I was, because he started to read me my rights, and stuff me into the back of a police cruiser.
When we arrived at the station I was put in a cubicle of a room, which smelled of smoke and coffee. The chair was hard, and I felt uneasy about the coming situation. After a short period of waiting, and so obviously being studied through one sided glass, a portly little police officer walked in. He sat at the opposite end of the table, and began to question me on things such as 'Demonicism','Satanism', and 'Cults'.
I had no idea what he was talking about, and every time I asked if Harriet had been murdered, he simply avoided the question. He continued to push me for answers, which I simply did not have, until finally a lawyer arrived, and told them that I wasn't going to answer any more questions. Apparently he had been hired by Chloe, who had heard what happened.
After I was released to go home, I was told I couldn't return to Harriets house, an active crime scene. So Chloe offered that I could stay with her, with nowhere else to go I gratefully accepted. I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened, all the rest of the night.
I tossed and turned, and the dreams were of the worst possible kind, when I did pass out momentarily. Exhausted, I got up around 4 am, and went for a walk outside. I eventually found myself walking towards Harriets. I didn't know what I was going to do there, but I had to see inside.
When I got there, there were no police guarding the scene, or cruisers on the block. So I went up to the door and tried it, to my surprise it creaked open, allowing me to slip in.
The smell was horrible. It hit you like a subway train, right in the face. I coughed and gagged for air, before finally getting control of myself and looking around.
The walls were indeed covered with blood, and some odd scratchy style of symbols, which meant nothing to me. I walked to the kitchen and the table was set, like Harriet had done, but the plates were filled with putrid flesh and what I can only say was a slushie of human pieces. The cups were overflowing onto the white tablecloth with coagulating blood, and various pieces of flesh and skin were strewn here and there.
The scene was horrible, I wanted to run from the place immediately, not to mention the smell. And the flies, my god the flies were everywhere! I pushed on however, to the bedroom that Harriet slept in. There on the bed was a massive bloodstain, with an imprint of a human body slightly identifiable. The walls were again covered in blood, and more of the scratchy symbols, and oddly though the room had less of an intensely gory scene to it, it smelled incredibly worse.
I left the room quickly, before I could gag up some vomit they could use to prosecute me with. Before leaving, I went to my room. It looked almost untouched. My bed was even still made, fortifying my belief that I hadn't done it. But something was off. I didn't place it at first, but after I looked around a few minutes I saw it.
A small white rabbit, sitting in a top hat. I felt as if it's eyes were glaring at me, with the pale moonlight reflecting off of there small black orbs. I examined it for a moment, and noticed a small fleck of blood on its paw. Maybe the killer had left this, maybe this was how to prove my innocence!
I picked up the rabbit, and suddenly the hat fell away from the rabbit, and something began to play as a feather floated down onto the floor. I thought I recognized the song, but I shoved the rabbit back into the hat before contemplating it too long. I reached down and picked up the feather, I could tell it was a pigeon feather, living around them my whole life, but it had blood all over it. I assumed that it was Harriets, but it looked as if it had long since dried up? I didn't have time to think about it though, I heard sirens in the distance, and got spooked. I bolted from the house, with the rabbit and feather in tow, and made my way back to Chloes.
It was daylight entirely too soon, and not having gotten any sleep, I was exhausted and my head pounding. I heard an alarm going off, what seemed miles away, and was suddenly jerked from my sleep; as it's intensity increased, seemingly screeching right next to my ear. But there was nothing, when I opened my eyes and glanced around.
The TV was off, Chloes alarm wasn't going off, and the cars outside were silent. I convinced myself that the screeching siren was just my exhausted mind playing tricks on me.I pulled myself out of bed at this time, and stared across the room. At the little white rabbit in the hat. I couldn't help thinking of the children's story "Alice in Wonderland" as I did, and wishing this had all been a dream and I would wake up soon. But my wishes were never to come true.
I spoke briefly with Chloe that morning, who seemed a little distant since the day before. She left without saying anything, for work. I took the chance to examine the rabbit closer.It seemed completely harmless, played the tune "Pop goes the Weasel" when you pulled it from the hat, had the name "Mr. Fuzzy" written in scribbley child's handwriting across the bottom of its black hat, and was altogether not that menacing. The blood on his paw and the bloodied pigeon feather inside his hat, were the only off things about it.
I decided to look a little more into how I had come across this particular toy as a child. Keep in mind the entire memory of my childhood had been wiped almost clean, I had forgotten my mothers alcoholism, my uncle's death, almost my entire life before Millview Manor. I'll save you the tedious time waste of re-telling you my story, but I will inform you now of other details that are important, details I found out that day and the following:
My uncle had indeed died of a brain aneurism, and the complications thereof. However there were suspicions in his death apparently. The files had all been sealed apparently, but from what I could tell murder by poison was not out of the question.
He had grown up with my mother, and their father and mother, my grandparents. I had not known them, incidentally, as they had perished in a car accident while my mother was young. My uncle being older, took care of them and started a career in the family business. Magic.
It wasn't long until my mother moved away to the city, and seemingly lost touch with my uncle. No files on her other than a few arrest records could be found; Possession, Possession with Intent, and Public Drunkenness to name a few.
A few years later however, she showed back up, living again with my uncle, who had apparently given up Magic. I was born a few months after they showed back up on the radar.
They lived at his home until I was 3 and she moved out again on her own. This is when she began Alcoholics Anonymous, and was for all intents and purposes clean. Nothing was very weird about this, except for one thing.
Around the time I was turning seven years old, many of her outstanding bills were being paid off. This could have just been coincidence of course, but why all at once? How could a single mother afford such a thing?
I came to no conclusions from any of these findings, and decided to search about my grandparents and my mother's murderer.
My grandparents were what seemed like good people, and wealthy as well. My grandfather was a great magician in his day, rivaling even Harry Houdini. Many in the magic circle called him "Devil Eye" because it was said he could captivate an audience, just by staring at them.
I read about several of his amazing tricks, but learned little of the man. His parents were both poor farmers from Indiana. He left when he was 14 years old, and disappeared. Until seven years later when he showed up on the Magic scene, hot and new.
My mothers case file was not easy to come by, but needless to say I got it. This is how I found out that My stomach contents contained...parts of her. And also that my walls in my room, and throughout the house had been plastered with the same odd writing-like symbols I had seen inside of Harriet's home. This too is how I learned of the rabbit.He was apparently supposed to be in the evidence lockup, somewhere. But yet here he was. How had I come to have him once again, had my mothers murderer somehow re-obtained it, and this was all a huge twisted game?
I immediately wanted to know more about these symbols. So obviously I turned to the internet, which provided me with some clues. They were a very,very,very ancient style of writing. The language and characters had been used by several cults over the years, including demonic and satanic.
This all seemed incredibly hokey to me.In fact none of what I learned really added up to me at this point. I didn't believe in ghosts or goblins. And if anything my Mother and Harriet had probably been murdered by some psycho. But I still couldn't shake the feeling, the feeling that there was more.
It took about a month for my life to return to 'normal'. I was able to move in with Chloe, and return to work. The police stopped harassing me. I was able to move on. My 21st birthday was coming up, and I was happy.
I hadn't entirely forgotten about the rabbit, it would have been too risky to give it up as evidence, so I'd kept it. But it was deep within the attic space of Chloes apartment, hidden away now.
I was determined to move on.
It was determined, not to let me however.
My 21st birthday was on a cold September evening, a few weeks later. I planned on celebrating the same way every 21 year old does, getting drunk and passing out, probably at Chloes place. She knew a good bar downtown, and had made plans for the both of us.
I was ecstatic, and had let the murders and the rabbit completely fade from my mind. I had no idea that night would change my life forever.We ended up going with a few of Chloes friends, and their husbands and boyfriends. I didn't know any of them too well, and had only met a few of them before. At first I felt awkward, but after a while and a few drinks, I was loosened up.
Someone brought up darts, and next thing I knew I was playing darts for the first time. Looking back I'm not sure if I was really good, or just so drunk I thought I was good. It didn't matter at the time, because I was more interested in the fleeting but intimate glances I would get from Chloe now and then.
We ended up being the first ones to leave my party, and bid everyone a good night, before quickly heading to the car. I started to kiss Chloe passionately, but she insisted we drove home first. So I drove us home, not very safely considering it was my first time driving drunk. Chloe didn't seem to mind however.
When we finally got back to her apartment, I opened the door and pushed her against the wall kissing her. As we moved towards the bedroom I thought I caught a glance of something in a mirror, but I wasn't sure what it was, and I was too busy.
After we made love that night, I didn't remember being any happier, before then. I fell asleep soon after in an exhaustive drunken stupor.
This is the point at which my life changed. My world changed. I changed.I remember waking up at 12:01 am, looking around and not seeing Chloe. And having a splitting headache. I willed myself out of the bed, and looked around. It was really quiet, too quiet. Then I heard something...
It was a soft jingle playing somewhere. It sounded far away, but yet so near? I walked into the hall, and looked towards the living room. The moonlight spilled in from the large window, and I thought I could make out a small shape on the table through my blurry vision.
As I made my way towards the living room, the music grew slowly louder. When I had finally made it to the table, and saw what was there, the music stopped suddenly. There was the rabbit, on the table, pulled from his hat. It was staring at me with its soulless black eyes, almost with what felt like hatred. My heart sank.
I felt dread, as I suddenly realized that the killer must have come for Chloe, and perhaps for me as well. I looked again at the rabbit, and noticed the bloody feather lying on the table, and next to it a large butcher knife.
I picked up the knife, and looking around cautiously, I crept my way back to the hallway. The only room I hadn't been in was the spare room/office. And the Attic space. I slowly opened the door to the spare room, and entered it looking around. Everything looked normal, but it was much darker than it should have been. Even at night.
Were the curtains drawn? I could hardly see an inch into the room. I stepped slowly into the room, and felt something soft underfoot, squelch a little. I didn't have a lighter, or a flashlight on me, but I pushed forward anyway. Something was willing me to go on, I felt like I was destined for this somehow.
As I took a few cautious steps further into the room, it grew very cold all at once. Then the door slammed behind me. My heart nearly jumped from my throat, I swirled around, too quickly, and slid on the soft wetness underfoot. I fell back, hitting my head hard on something. And slowly I entered the dark black void of nothingness.
It was dark here. Not like the dark when you can't see anything, or the dark when you close your eyes. This darkness was not normal. It moved around you, it swallowed you up, and took you where it wanted to go. And while I was there a horrible noise almost like a voice, was screaming something far off in the distance.
I was cold and wet, then hot like I was on fire. I smelled horrid things, like putrid rotten animal carcasses. At times I could feel things touching me, but they always moved before I could touch them. I had no perception of distance, time, or relative space. I simply existed here.
And the voice was getting ever closer.
I thought I could almost understand it now. It was saying something, something about me. Something about Chloe. But what? I wanted to know. My fear pulled me away, but my curiosity wanted me to go back.
Suddenly I was awake. It was dark, but it wasn't the other darkness, it was the normal kind. My head roared with pain, and I noticed my eyes were now adjusted to the darkness that had filled this room before. The floor was still covered in an unknown soft and wet substance, so I steadied myself on a nearby desk and slowly stood.
The door leading out was once again open. And I could see in the faint moonlight, bloody footprints leading out of the room. I knew what the wetness was now. The room was entirely covered in blood. Too much of it for any one person to have had in them. Even if they had, they would be dead.
I didn't want to go out of the room, knowing that whoever had done this was out there. But what choice did I have. As I made my to the door, I cut my toe on something sharp. Reaching down, I picked up the knife I had before.
I walked into the hallway. As I looked down towards the living room, I was shocked. Standing there, in front of the window, was Chloe. Her silhouette outlined by the soft moonlight gleaming in. I made my way slowly toward her, wanting to see if she was okay, wanting to get the hell away.
Then it came.
It walked, if it can be called that, into my view as I neared the end of the hallway. I would have screamed, but my throat failed me. My heart took a nosedive. My eyes could not be seeing this. It could not be real. I had to have gone completely insane.
As it slowly moved closer, I began to hear its breathing wheezing in and out, like fingernails on a chalkboard. It had a stench that could be compared only to a pile of rotting corpses, and I wanted to vomit several times.
I backed away towards the other end of the hall, hoping it wouldn't follow me. As I did, the moonlight struck it, revealing forever burnt into my mind, it's horrible form in all it's glory.
It is hard to describe with human words, what I saw, but I will try. It's body was massive, covered in brown blood stained fur. Blood dripped from long slender black claws, that protruded from ravaged and scarred arms. Bits of fur were missing here and there all over. As it walked its feet made a scraping sound, this was from the fiendish claws that curved out of its enormous paw like feet. These were attached to almost impossible legs, at the top they were bulky and missing chunks of flesh. But as they got closer to the foot more and more flesh eroded away, until there was only a spindly bone with tendons running along it attached to its huge feet.
But it was the creature's head that inspired my reaction. It was almost like a giant rabbits head, with the fur stripped away revealing all its muscular tissue. Two bulging Black eyes, which had blood running from them, stared into my very soul, with burning hatred. Enormous teeth protruded from within its mouth, but they had grown in a tangled mess, pointing and jutting out from its flesh even. The air that scraped its way out of the creatures nostrils was steaming in the unnatural cold that had taken over the entire apartment. I could also make out two large pointed objects, which resembled crooked horns, protruding from the back of its skull.
I stood at the end of the hallway, my back against the wall. I watched it get closer and closer. I could feel it's breath caressing my skin, It smelled like rotten fish, and I vomited onto the floor unable to control it anymore. Then it stopped.
It's mouth opened, and a sickening noise that split my ears began to pour from somewhere within it. I grabbed my ears, but the noise wasn't outside, it was inside my skull! I scratched at my head trying to pull it from my brain. Then slowly, the noise became a voice. My voice. But not my thoughts.
It said, over and over:"You or The Woman, the choice is yours. You have the knife. Now make the choice. Which of you will it be? If no choice is made, then you both shall die". After what felt like an eternity of this, I was released. As I looked up the creature was gone. Then a new thought played in my mind, "Will you be my vessel, and suffer for her, or will you allow her to suffer for you?". I didn't understand. I didn't want to, this thing had somehow invaded my mind?! What did it want from me, what did it mean the vessel? What did it mean one of us had to die?
I took my chances, and hoped the creature truly was gone, and went up to Chloe. She was staring off out of the window. I screamed at her, shook her, even slapped her but she didn't answer me. Her eyes remained ever fixed on the horizon.
The voice in my head spoke again, "Go on, she won't feel a thing. Not as she is now. Or are you too afraid? Are you too weak for me?"."Take up the knife..."
I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt Chloe.
I looked down at the knife in my hand. The moonlight played across its bloodied blade.
Looking back now, cutting the string that connected Mr. Fuzzy to the hat was not a very nice thing to do. Not to such a caring and compassionate entity. After he rid us of that harlett who stood in our way, I realized this.
I know everything now, because he told me. Here inside my mind, where he lives now. He is me, and I am him. And we are Mr. Fuzzy.