Script
Why does your old teddy bear glare at you with just one glossy eye?
You left it years ago—on the dusty shelf, torn at the seams, claws poking out where stuffing should be.
You remember how you held it in the dark, whispering secrets.
Now, it sits at the end of your bed, even though you locked it far away in the attic.
Every time you switch off the lights, it moves an inch closer.
You flick them back on—nothing. Turn them off—closer still.
You tell yourself it’s just your mind, tricks from childhood.
But last night, you woke to the soft scrape of claws over wood.
And that single, shining bottom eye, unblinking, staring straight at you.
You reach for the light, but tonight—something cold and plush clasps your wrist.
You realize the secret you whispered is the one it never forgot.
Now, it’s come back to finish the story.