Wozzles

When I was a kid, I loved puppets.
From when I was a toddler to when I was a reclusive seven-year-old, it was all about puppets. My favorite shows and movies consisted of The Muppet Show, Dark Crystal, Labyrinth, Fraggle Rock, Cousin Skeeter and the like, though I used to get in trouble all the time for doodling my imaginary puppet pals instead of doing my math work at school. My parents, however, didn’t mind my niche obsession, unless it got in the way of my education. And even then, my prime source of edutainment came from the religious watching and rewatching of the countless seasons of Sesame Street that were provided to me when I was a child.
I loved puppets.
They were practically my second family and literally my entire childhood. All of that was about to change, however, on the night of this unforgettable birthday.
It was a cold autumn of 2003. It was my seventh birthday party, and my friends had all gone home for the night. Nobody planned to stay over, as my parents didn’t want giggling and screaming kids keeping them awake before work. I was content however, as I didn’t really know many of those who came to my house that day. Mostly the kids of other parents who were friends with my mom and dad. I sat at the table alone, mumbling incoherently as I dug into a small piece of my birthday cake. Dad approached me from the side, holding a large rectangular box wrapped in pinkish-red paper. He set it to the side of my plate, my young eyes drifting up the box and up to my father who was smiling wide. “Here kiddo. Your mom and I got something very special for you, and we wanted to keep it a surprise until the end of the night. Enjoy.” I thanked my dad, going to rip and tear at the salmon wrapping paper. My eyes widened in surprise at the familiar figure that sat before me through a plastic screen.
It was my old imaginary friend. Not alive or talking as my younger self would have hoped, but brought to life in a doll form. I gave a small gasp of surprise and delight, clutching the gargantuan box that held my puppet-ish friend. I looked up at my father with questioning eyes, my mouth open in silent shock and wonderment. Memories of my early toddlerhood came flooding back; visions of dirty red socks blabbing random nonsense and crumbled doodles of the odd character filled my head. A wave of nostalgia filled my pittering heart and my smiling head.
“It’s Wozzles, Charlie! Your imaginary puppet friend, remember?” He pat my back, admiring the doll like he made it himself. After excited giggles and countless ‘thank-yous’, I asked him where he had gotten this larger-than-life Wozzles. “Well, your mom had found a dollmaker a while back, and he was glad to bring Wozzles to the real world for no charge at all. Pretty cool, right bud?” I nodded profusely, tearing the doll out of the box and setting it on the table underneath the dim dining room light. From what I remember, Wozzles had long floppy black ears, like a rabbit. Its head was red and narrow, his mouth agape. The four cartoony, rounded teeth that lay inside of the doll’s hanging jaw were spaced evenly apart like a quality Muppet crafted by Henson himself. His black, beady eyes glistened underneath the yellow light to top it off, capturing every detail that I could remember off the top of my head. I smiled, hugging the long-bodied toy, giving a last thank you to my father before rushing off to my room to set Wozzles in front of my vast collection of puppet merchandise.
Bedtime approached quickly soon after I had acquired my final present, my parents hastily shooing me off to bed to get ahead on the coming workday weekend. I snuggled myself in bed with my brand new friend, quickly going off to sleep. I was as happy as a child could possibly be, having their old imaginary friend be brought to life. It was a dream come true. My sleep was quiet, full of small giggles as I nuzzled my face into the stomach of the doll; my overactive brain rushing about all the potential fun that I could have with Wozzles. But while I was neck deep in scenarios, I noticed that Wozzles was... Warm. Not like, hot to the touch but it was as if he were another person right beside me. I felt Wozzles’ thin, red arms cross on my back, holding me close like I was to him.
I paused.
But I paid no mind to it, only playing it off as some kinda trick my sleepy head was playing on me. I tried to doze once again, but was interrupted by a sound. Not just one noise, but a few noises. I can only describe them as noises that a monkey would make.
They were coming straight out of the toy in front of me.
I knew at this point that I was wide awake.
I was not dreaming.
I did not want to move, out of fear that I would alert whatever was clutching me close.
My heart throbbed all through my body, the blood aching my fearful head. I tried to come up with a plan to swiftly escape, fight or flight kicking in. I did not want to wait until the Wozzles creature did anything to me to make a decision. Suddenly, as if a lightbulb went off in my head, I came up with an escape plan. I shut my eyes, giving a tired moan and rolling over slowly from “Wozzles”. The thing a gave a confused hoot, going to weaken its grip on me and shift back to a silent state, obviously wanting to conceal its aliveness from me if I woke up. I could feel the beady stare chill my spine as I laid facing away from the seemingly living plaything. My head pounded still, my heart throbbing as I held my breath. I was ready to make a break for my door. The bed beside me began to shift as seconds ticked by, the noises rising in volume once again. Once I felt something graze my back, I snapped. I swung around, using my feeble strength to shove the thing away. I belted out a scream. I rolled off my bed and sprinted for my door, which was diagonal from me. My hands felt for the light switch near my door panickedly, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
I heard a scream out of the darkness.
It wasn’t a man or a woman’s scream; I heard a high-pitched, animalistic screech.
Rapid footsteps were nearing me as I jiggled the door, my sweaty hands fighting to open the exit from my room. I didn’t give a second's thought as to whether or not I was imagining the whole thing.
I felt the same two long tendrils wrap around my shoulders, the howling right in my ear as I let out a final shout. The door in front of me swung open finally, but not by my fruitless tugging. It was my parents. My dad swore and suddenly thwacked the creature off my back, leaving me sobbing on the floor. Mom ripped me from the floor with a maternal grip, taking me out of my room and out of the house itself. She trembled with her old cell phone as she called the police, leaving me shaken and snotting in my jammies. Soon, the police and the ambulance arrived and retrieved my father from the house. Light red chunks and hot pink liquid coated his face and his hands, an estranged and terrified look painted across his stained face. The police tried to question me, but I was inconsolable at this point. Hours seemed to pass like minutes as I sat in the back of the ambulance, holding a blanket around my sore shoulders. I recounted the events that took place in my room over and over in my head. Was all of this real? Was this really happening? I thought to myself repeatedly as I cried stale tears into my sleeve. The night turned to dawn eventually as I sat there, unmoving.
I got rid of my dolls, toys, and all of my puppet paraphernalia within the coming weeks. My parents never sought to buy me anything resembling a doll or a toy again after that night. Eventually, after an investigation was conducted, we received word that the dollmaker that my parents spoke of had either gone missing soon after giving the thing to my mother or never existed in the first place. No trace or record of them seemed to exist out there, anywhere. Further analysis of the creature, who was bludgeoned by my father soon after I was carried outside, revealed a whole system of organs within the thing. Various inorganic structures filled the creature such as plush bones, red felt tissue, plastic organs and an assortment of other things that would classify the toy as a living breathing organism. It was a biological marvel.
That aside, I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of that things howling screams anytime soon. Even to this day I can still its phantom grip on my shoulders. Let this be a warning to you and to all parents who want to fulfill their child’s, or their own, wildest dreams. Be careful what you wish for.
That dream may turn out to be your worst nightmare.
Category:Items/Objects