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It started with a gift.
Eight-year-old Lily had been playing in the yard when her father came home with a small, tattered box wrapped in faded red paper. He had found it at an old toy shop on the edge of town, tucked away in the corner, covered in dust. A forgotten relic. The old shopkeeper had practically given it away.
Inside the box was a doll. Not just any doll—it was a stuffed bear, its fur once white but now tinged a strange shade of crimson, as though it had soaked in something dark. It had wide, glassy eyes that gleamed with an unsettling, lifelike shine. Its mouth was stitched into a wide grin, the threads a deep red.
“Isn’t he cute?” her father said, ruffling her hair. “He’s yours now, Lily.”
She named him Buddy.
At first, Buddy was just like any other toy. Lily carried him around the house, tucked him into bed at night, and whispered secrets to him. But Buddy seemed... different. Sometimes, when she wasn’t looking, she could swear his eyes moved, following her as she went about her day. His smile, once stitched in place, seemed to grow wider every time she glanced at him.
One night, after tucking Buddy under her arm, Lily woke up to a strange sound. It was soft, almost like humming. She rubbed her eyes and listened closer, her heart pounding.
It was coming from Buddy.
She blinked, staring at the doll in the dim moonlight. His head was turned toward her, and his glassy eyes gleamed unnaturally. The humming stopped. For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then Buddy moved.
Slowly, his small arm lifted, one stitched paw reaching toward her cheek. Lily froze, her breath catching in her throat as the bear’s stitched mouth twisted into a grin far wider than it had ever been before.
"Lily," Buddy whispered, his voice raspy and hollow. "Let's play."
The next morning, Lily’s parents found her bed empty. They searched the house, calling her name, but she was nowhere to be found.
In the corner of her room, sitting upright on the floor, was Buddy. His eyes gleamed brighter than before, his red-threaded smile wider than ever. His fur was darker now, soaked in a deep, fresh crimson. In his lap lay a single, small lock of Lily’s hair, tied neatly with a red ribbon.
The police searched for days, combing the house and yard, but Lily was never found. Her parents, devastated, moved away from the town, leaving everything behind—including Buddy.
The house stood empty for months, but eventually, a new family moved in. They had a young boy, Timmy, about Lily’s age. When they unpacked their boxes, they found an old, stuffed bear tucked away in the closet, sitting perfectly still. His fur was dark red, his eyes wide and gleaming.
“Look, Mommy!” Timmy said, holding up the bear. “I found a new friend!”
That night, as Timmy lay in bed with Buddy tucked under his arm, a familiar sound filled the room. Soft humming.
That night, as Timmy lay in bed, the soft humming grew louder. It was almost like a lullaby, sweet but eerie, carried by the darkness of the room. Timmy stirred, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly around Buddy’s paw.
“Buddy?” Timmy whispered, sitting up in bed.
The bear’s glassy eyes glinted in the dim light, staring back at him with that ever-growing, unsettling smile.
The humming stopped.
Timmy, feeling a strange warmth from Buddy, pulled the bear closer. “You’re just a toy,” he muttered, trying to convince himself. “You can’t hurt anyone.”
But just as he was about to lie back down, Buddy moved.
His stitched paw slowly reached up, brushing Timmy’s cheek. The threads in his mouth pulled tighter, his grin stretching impossibly wide.
"Playtime," Buddy rasped, his voice like a whisper from the grave.
Timmy gasped and leaped out of bed, his heart racing. He backed up against the wall, staring in disbelief as Buddy began to twitch and shuffle on the bed, slowly sitting up on his own.
The bear’s small body trembled and shook, his glassy eyes locked onto Timmy’s. “Let’s play,” Buddy hissed, his voice more sinister now, as his once-soft fur seemed to bristle with something dark and alive.
Timmy screamed and bolted for the door, but it slammed shut on its own with a loud thud. He yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps as he turned back to the bear.
Buddy was no longer on the bed.
The floor creaked behind him.
Timmy spun around just in time to see Buddy leap at him, small stitched claws outstretched. The bear latched onto his leg, crawling upward with terrifying speed. Timmy thrashed, trying to shake him off, but Buddy’s grip tightened, his sharp threads digging into Timmy’s skin.
“Please!” Timmy cried. “I don’t want to play!”
Buddy’s mouth opened wider, revealing a row of tiny, needle-like teeth that glistened in the dim light. “But I do,” Buddy rasped, his voice low and menacing.
Just as Buddy lunged for Timmy’s throat, the bedroom door burst open.
Timmy’s mother stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with terror. She rushed forward, yanking the bear off her son and throwing it across the room. Buddy hit the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled to the floor, his glassy eyes still fixed on them.
"Mom!" Timmy sobbed, clinging to her.
They didn’t waste any time. Timmy’s mother grabbed him by the hand and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind them.
They called the police the next morning, and the bear was taken away as evidence. But no one could explain what had happened. Buddy was just a toy, they said, worn and old. There was no sign of anything wrong with him—except for one detail.
The bear's fur, once a deep crimson, was now a rich, fresh red.
The officers left, but the bear never stayed in the evidence locker. That night, Buddy reappeared, back in the corner of Timmy’s room, sitting perfectly still, his mouth stitched into that haunting smile.
Timmy’s family moved away, leaving everything behind—just like Lily’s had before them.
And yet, Buddy waited, his eyes gleaming with a dark promise.
Because Buddy never stopped.
He was always waiting.
Waiting for the next child to play.
The End... or is it?
