Oh, what a cute plushie! Can I have it? Pleeease?" A young xweetok leaped up and down, pointing excitedly at an old, worn-down plushie zafara plushie sitting dejectedly at the back of a dusty old shelf. The plushie had buttons crudely sewn on for eyes, and one had been carelessly torn off. The thin, washed-out blue cloth at its knee was torn, the white stuffing poking through the hole.

The plushie shop keeper leaned across the counter and peered at the plushie. "Oh, that plushie isn't for sale," She explained to the xweetok. "I... I don't think you'd want it," Her voice shook anxiously. "Why don't you pick out another plushie instead? There are many more like that one." The cybunny gestured at the towering shelves before her, stuffed with a beautiful array of plush-toys.

The blue xweetok swished her tail irritably. "No, I don't like any of the other ones. I only want this one!

But this plushie is broken and torn! Don't you want a brand new plushie?" came the reply from the shop keeper, intent on drawing her attention away from the plushie zafara plushie. "Look- this one squeaks!"

She held up a blue kiko squeaky toy and gave it a squeeze. The xweetok eyed it critically.

No, I only want this one!" She crossed her arms stubbornly. "I'll pay you all my pocket money for it!" Stuffing her paw into the pocket of her trousers, she drew out 5,000 neopoints and spread them on the table. "I don't care if it isn't for sale, I want it!!

The cybunny sighed. 5,000 neopoints for this plushie was a lot, and she'd profit greatly from it. Still, there was something uncanny about that particular plushie. It had exited and entered many stores before this one. None would keep the plushie for long, or so she heard. Every time the cybunny passed it, a chill ran down her spine. It felt as if there was some dark malice that lurked within it. It'd do her customer no good.

She quickly dismissed her thoughts as total nonsense. What harm could a mere plushie do? Besides, she might as well get rid of it. It gave her the creeps.

The cybunny glanced at the glistening pile of neopoints on her counter. All the better to get rid of it, then. She could buy herself some great accessories with that kind of money. Her thoughts drifted for a moment, visualizing herself adorned with sparkling jewelery.

Done." She exclaimed. Reaching up, she snatched the plushie from its dusty old corner and handed it quickly to the xweetok. She avoided looking at the toy's shining button eye. At times, she thought it gleamed a terrifying blood-red.

Thank you very much!" The xweetok hugged the plushie close to herself, caressing it in her arms. The cybunny gave a guilty glance at the girl, but her remorse was quickly forgotten as she gathered up the pile of neopoints and stuffed them into her purse.

The xweetok pulled her warm cloak around her, wincing as a gale of wind slammed her full in the face. Plushies wobbled as the wind swept across the plushie store through the open door. Glancing at the angry cybunny storekeeper, the xweetok hurriedly closed the door behind her, sighing and watched a thin whisp of breath spiral from her mouth. Hadn't she heard that if you can see your breath, you were in the presence of a ghost?

She brushed off the thought quickly. Of course there was no ghost, it's no surprise she could see her breath. It was so cold! With that, she made her way across the street. Whirlwinds of crisp autumn leaves swirled around her as she endured the bitingly cold weather. Pressed against the xweetok's chest was the limp plushie, wrapped up in the folds of the xweetok's cloak. Its glassy button eye stared grimly into the distance.

Night was beginning to fall as the young xweetok approached her home. It was a large house, complete with a posh little garden with a small fountain as a centerpiece. Carefully, the xweetok meandered through the twisting vines and the once-flowering bushes up the stone-paved path to her door. She stole a quick glance at the plushie tucked firmly in her arms. Its one button eye stared back up to her. As the sky darkened, the neopet thought she saw a red gleam in that eye. She shuddered, not entirely from the chill, and quickly pushed open the polished wooden door to her household.

Casting aside her cloak, she cried out, "I'm home!

A voice from the kitchen called out in response, "Why are you home so late? I was worried about you!" but the xweetok gave an irritable swish of her bushy tail before bounding up the spiral staircase up to her room on the second floor.

Her room was decorated with posters of famous xweetoks. On her white nightstand a heavy pink lamp was perched, surrounded by little plush toys. Next to it sat an obscenely large bed, a pink canopy draped over it. More plush toys gathered around her frilly pink pillows, sitting snugly in the puffy (also pink) blankets. In one corner of her room towered a giant white wardrobe, the doors fit to burst open. On top of it teetered a large ceramic cookie jar.

Another little plaything gave a feeble squeak as the xweetok strode into the room, carelessly trodding upon the toy. As she did so, the plushie zafara plushie in her arms shifted slightly. The xweetok took no notice of this, though, as she bounced onto her blindingly pink bed and set her newly acquired plushie zafara plushie beside her. For a while, the xweetok fiddled with it, happy with her new toy. Before long, though, she grew tired of it and set the ragged old plushie among the piles of many other neglected ones. Leaving it there, she walked out of the room once again to find something new to do. Before she left, she took a cookie from the jar high on her wardrobe. The plushie stared blankly at her as she glanced at it, smirking, "No, you can't have any. They're my cookies.

The wind whistled and raged outside the serene little room, tree branches striking the wet glass window every so often. Thunder tore through the dark sky as droplets of rain poured from the heavens. In her cozy room, the xweetok slept peacefully, ear twitching at the sound of thunder but otherwise barely moving at all.

The xweetok gave a groan and rolled over. All the raucous outside was beginning to bother her, and the tree branches whipping at the window gave off a creepy scratching sound. She buried her face in her pillow and drew another one over her head to muffle the sound. That was better; now the sounds of the raging storm were distant. She sighed and prepared to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, the xweetok felt a pressure on her head, causing it to sink deeper into her fluffy pillow. She strained her neck, trying to raise her head. The weight held the pillow firmly in place. Her nose buried in the pillow, she tried to take in a breath. She only filled her nose and mouth with feathery cloth.

Stricken by panic, the xweetok began to twist and thrash in her covers. Her lungs were beginning to ache as she gasped for air, and her neck was sore from the thing that was slowly smothering her. Her tail whipped and batted the walls of her room, and with a last feeble effort, she clawed at the bedding with her powerful claws before falling limp. Before she was fully unconscious, though, she thought she heard a hoarse cackle and a horrid, blood-red glow.

The next morning, the xweetok was found dead. Smothered, they said. The pink lamp on her nightstand had toppled and crushed her head against her pillow, and she suffocated. Her room was briefly searched. A plushie zafara plushie was found missing, a small hole in her window was found, and a shattered cookie jar lay on the floor next to a pile of plush toys. All that was left in the jar was a small handful of cookie crumbs. It was presumed the crack in the window was probably caused by the tree limbs whipping about in the storm. The plushie was found laying in the garden, soaked with rain and covered with cookie crumbs. Its once unhappy sewn-on mouth now curved slightly upward in a satisfied little smirk, but what significance was that of, anyway?