5 Minute Horror: The Plush

“Arthur, did you remember to get a present for Callie?” Hailie, his ex-wife, sounded exhausted on the phone and with him.

Back to my full first name, are we? It had always been Art or Artie. Never Arthur. It stung, but he reminded himself that separation was the only option right now.

“I, uh—” Art spotted the thrift store up ahead and turned on his right blinker. “I’m working on it right now. I’ll be there soon.”

“Right. Bye.” Hailie hung up promptly.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Art sighed heavily. He looked to the picture on his dashboard of Hailie, Callie, him, and their recently deceased cat, Walter. Losing that cat had been the final straw for Hailie. Walter had been with her for years, and Art accidentally let the cat escape outside, only to find him struck by a car not even ten minutes later.

He studied the smiles in that picture as tears welled in his eyes.

Gathering his strength, Art went inside the thrift store to look for a toy for Callie’s fifth birthday. He wasn’t too optimistic about the prospects, but he also didn’t have the money to get her something extravagant. Passing by puzzles with missing pieces and dolls with knotted hair, he suddenly stopped. Sitting atop a mound of plush animals was a stuffed cat that looked exactly like Walter. Art let out a breath as he picked up the plush cat and rotated it in his hands, taking in the black patches, the yellow eyes, and the white paws.

“You’re coming home with me, big guy,” Art told the toy cat.

He dressed up the stuffed animal with tissue paper, a pink gift bag, some loose candies, and a book before heading to his old address. Dozens of cars were parked in the driveway, many he didn’t recognize. Art clenched the steering wheel as a pang of anxiety swept through him.

Everyone present knew that Hailie and him were done.

Arthur glanced over at the fake cat peeking out from the tissue paper and smiled. “Let’s get this over with.”

As soon as he made it to the backyard, where there were spirals of pink and cardboard cutout characters everywhere, Arthur heard it.

“Daddy!” Callie came out of nowhere, arms outstretched, a huge smile on her face.

He picked up his daughter, sweeping her around as she giggled. “Hey, pumpkin. Happy Birthday.” Art handed presented her with the gift bag. “You can open this one early, okay? Daddy might have to leave early.”

Callie gave him a concerned look as he set her down and put the bag into her hands. All her worry was erased when she saw the plush face gazing at her.

“WALTER!” she shrieked, yanking the toy from the bag, scattering wads of tissue paper everywhere. “Mommy, Daddy got me a Walter. Look!”

Suddenly, Hailie was there, her hands on her hips, blond hair in a loose braid. She looked…

Art glanced back to Callie, who looked so much like the both of them. His eyes. Hailie’s lips. Her hair. His facial expressions.

“Go play, sweetie,” Hailie said. When their daughter left, Hailie came slightly closer. “Where did you get that toy?”

“The thrift store, believe it or not.”

She smiled at him for the first time in a long time. “Good job.”

That evening, Callie asked for a sleepover at Daddy’s, so Arthur picked her up, along with the stuffed cat, a plate of cake, and his daughter’s pajamas. Hailie gave him a warning look that he knew meant to keep Callie from sugar then said she’d come in the morning. They enjoyed some cake and a Disney movie before Art carried a dozing Callie to the spare bed.

“Good night, Callie. I love you,” he told her as he grasped the light’s chain pull.

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

The light went out, and Arthur went still. The plush cat’s eyes were glowing, just like a real cat’s. He bent over, pretending to brush hair away from Callie’s face, and rotated the toy in her arms so it couldn’t look at him.

Then he went back to his apartment’s living room. Flopped down onto the sofa, beer in hand. He propped his feet up on the edge of a battered coffee table. The football game—a rerun—faded in and out as his eyelids got heavy.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked, and he sat upright, suddenly awake, looking to Callie’s bedroom. He’d expected to see her awake. No one was there. Settling back, Art focused on the ball fly across the field on the TV. The picture grew dim right before the TV shut off. In the reflection, he saw something hovering around his shoulders. Art shot up to slap at the cushions.

“What the hell?” he chuckled to himself after a moment.

Art decided to stop drinking for the evening and to go to bed. He flicked off all the lights, traded his clothes for pajamas, and slunk into his bedroom, trying not to make noise. Callie was sleeping soundly with the plush still wrapped tightly in her arms. Cozy under the blankets, Art shut his eyes.

Moments later, just as he was drifting off, a massive weight settled on his throat. Art struggled to breathe. He thrashed under the blankets and clawed at air.

That was when Callie started screaming.

Art frantically reached for the light on his nightstand, managing to turn it on before knocking it over, along with several family pictures. Sitting up in bed, Art finally caught his breath. His fingers were slick with blood. Looking over to Callie, he saw her stricken expression.

“Daddy,” she screamed in a whisper.

Something sunk claws into his shoulder. Art cried out, grasping whatever had a hold of him, and tried to throw it forward. The creature let out a gurgling yowl as he fought to pry it from his skin. As the claws ripped free, Art fell out of the bed, and found himself holding onto the plush, bloodstained, seams twisting like innards.

He recalled the screech of tires. Walter’s limp body. Hailie’s wail when she saw what happened.

You never paid attention to what’s important, Art, and now a family member is dead, Hailie had told him.

The plush barred fangs, transforming into a corpse. Hissed at him as a maggot wriggled in an empty socket.

“I’m sorry, Walter,” he uttered.

Then he reached forward, letting the dead cat sink its broken teeth into his forearm. It was stronger than it should’ve been, and as it fought to bite and scratch more, Art tripped several times. But he eventually made it to the kitchen, where he struggled to put the vicious corpse on a burner.

Out of nowhere, Callie appeared. She looked once at her father before hitting the knob for the stovetop, sending up a sudden flare of blue. With that, Art chucked the stuffed animal into the flames.

They stood and watched as the plush caught fire. A strange cry escaped it as the plastic eyes and fur melted.

“Daddy,” Callie said, looking up at him, “it’s okay.”

—

Thanks for tuning into another 5 Minute Horror! I always wondered, as a kid, if having a haunted stuffed animal would be fun or terrifying. But on a serious note, I think the true horror of this one was the grief of loss. So often, people hurt in ways that haunt them. They don't need ghosts, just their own memories.

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