| A Yurble stole my cinnamon roll! |
Circulation: 194,767,710 |
Issue: 793 | 11th day of Hiding, Y19 |
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"They Call Him Insidious" by faeriemelly
The early morning silence inside of the toy factory was deafening. The metallic machines that stitched together each piece of fabric for the toys sat dormant. Darkness cloaked the room in a black blanket of nothingness. Large wooden shelves lined the interior walls of the large room. Upon the shelves sat thousands of soft plushies in every pet style imaginable. In the light, a rainbow of color would burst forth from these shelves, making the factory bright and lighthearted. However, when the lights were off, things were not so pleasant. Hidden in the shadows among the cheerful toys was a malevolent presence. This presence had been haunting the factory for many years. No one had actually seen the sinister being, but evidence of its existence was apparent each morning when the factory began its daily operation. Fluffy white stuffing from the belly of hundreds of plushies littered the concrete floor. Plastic eyes were ripped from the faces of the ever smiling toys, and crushed into obliteration. The cold floor of this immense room had threatening grafitti spray painted on it, with ominous sayings like, "Soon you will meet your doom", and "I'm going to get you". Several staff members were so frightened by these evil words they ended up quitting their job. This amused the wicked presence to no end. This was exactly what the presence wanted.
Little do the workers know, this being they are so frightened by is of their own making. It had been 5 years since the night of the long forgotten storm had taken place. Tired workers were at the factory that night, working a double shift to catch up on a massive order when it was created. From a box of mismatched plushie parts came a plushie that was not like the others. As the storm raged outside, one of the workers saw the decimated pieces of the useless plushies, and decided to create a special toy. The employee had no idea how special this plushie would be. At the exact moment the machine stitched the last thread of the patchwork plushie, lightening struck the factory. The lights immediately went out, and the factory was enveloped in an inky blackness. Some of the workers groaned deeply in the frustration, but had there been silence, they would have heard a malicious giggle. When the lights finally came back on, the unique plushie had vanished from the machine, never to be seen, again.
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