Every child has certain unvalidated fears where toys are concerned. There's always that one doll with the glass eyes that seem to be following you across the room, or the puppet whose smile seems less than innocent. Let's face it, children have overactive imaginations, and it's not uncommon for them to project fears onto their toys. Furbies aren't like that. Furbies are little balls of evil looking for a place to unleash their terror. In fact, I'm almost certain that Furbies are possessed by the souls of the damned in order to wreak havoc on unsuspecting children. For those of you that were fortunate enough to have lived a furby-free childhood, they're a little imp-like creature with blinking eyes that speak in a made-up language known as "Furbish," which is really a thinly-veiled disguise for evil incantations to raise more spirits from the earth.
I would post a picture of one, but then there would be furby on this page and I would probably have to perform an exorcism on my monitor, or at the very least, set it on fire. I personally owned a "Furby Baby," which was supposed to function as a combination of a baby doll, requiring feeding and care, and a normal Furby, which plays games and happily titters away as its devious little eyes look for points of weakness in your house's structural plan that it can later exploit. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately after all), the evil spirit inhabiting my Furby must have been a more confused than truly devious entity, because my Furby was a hot mess of panic and desperation. Despite my constantly attempting to "train" it, it continually called me Daddy instead of Mommy, and often forgot who I was or why it had been awakened from its eternal slumber.
It begged for food constantly, and feeding it required me placing my finger inside its beak and pressing down on its tongue, which I guess was supposed to teach children that if a baby is crying, you should shove your fingers in its mouth to placate it. All I know is that every time I "fed" it, I came closer and closer to allowing the little ghoul to taste human blood. My Furby also shouted things at the top of its lungs, words which the included Fubish Dictionary roughly translated as "Do you want to play?"
Nice try, Furby, you dirty liar. I repeatedly attempted to play Hide N' Seek with my new friend to no avail. I would delicately hide my Furby under a pillow and then leave the room, counting backwards from ten within earshot so that it knew we were playing. But instead of what I was supposed to hear, my Furby excitedly calling "Furby is hiding! Come find me!" what I instead would hear is this: "It is dark....Furby is scared!" This would be followed by blood-curdling shrieks of terror, during which the lights would flash on and off and the windows would rattle by themselves.
But none of these things, as frustrating as they were, were even the worst part. No, the pinnacle of Furby deviousness was the fact that you couldn't turn them off. That's right. In order to discontinue playing with your lovely little friend, you had to convince Furbie to go to sleep. Furbies all include a sensor on their foreheads that detects light, so the only way to convince Furbie to sleep was to completely immerse it in darkness and silence until it decided to sleep itself. This sensor also allowed Furbies to sense a solar eclipse, during which I'm sure they would cry out in unison and bring the dead back to life. I don't know,I'm only assuming based on what I've seen.
Whatever the reason, this sensor required me to wrap the Furby in a towel and stuff it into the back of my closet until it stopped screaming and cursing at me in tongues and finally went to sleep. The problem arose when I forgot about my Furby nestled in its dark slumber in the back of my closet until one faithful night. I was asleep at the time, warm and secure in my delusions of safety, when my cat innocently wandered into my room and decided to go exploring the closet. In its attempt to jump onto a shelf, it accidentally unraveled my Furby from its blanket.
I awoke to hear a blood-curdling scream being emitted from my closet, my cat flying out of the room at top speed. Obviously, something evil was in there, something that had tried, and thankfully failed, to devour my poor cat. I sat huddled in my bed in terror, eyes trained on the opening of that closet, waiting for whatever was in there to come for me next. And that's when I heard it. Its voice was clear, laced with venom, and hungry.
"Furby is awaaaaaaake"
I ran out of that room as fast as my legs could carry me. Fuck that room. Fuck everything. I was going to abandon the house to the Furby and its evil demands. I might even have to assume a new identity in order to protect myself from its wrath. Luckily, my parents were able to halt my desperate flee and remove the Furby from my room. To this day I still don't know what happened to it or where it is. Knowing my Mother's tendency to never throw anything away, it's likely to still be amongst my old possessions somewhere, waiting for its next opportunity to feast upon the souls of the innocent.