Mr. Fluffy

Warning: This story involves a mother who has just murdered her child and is loosely inspired by a real person who has committed such crimes.

“Squeaky. Squeaky.” 

Jessie Bair turned around and looked behind her. Her daughter’s teddy was sitting on the floor in front of the linen closet. She rubbed her eyes, moving her fingers to her temples massaging them before turning around and heading back down the hall to the stairway. She was obviously a wreck. Her mind was definitely imaging the sound of the plastic squeaker in the teddy bear’s feet. “Get a grip Jess, “ She said to herself, “You got to convince them. They got to think you had nothing to do with it. Focus.” she said and made her way to the stairs.

Number three. Anabelle was number three. Number one was Naomi, named after her husband’s great aunt. Calvin was a wreck when she finally passed in the hospital. It was the final result of a month of slipping small doses of prescription barbituates she had snuck from her job in a pharmacy and slipped into her milk. Slow poisioning was easier to hide than a big fat dose. She passed after months of vomiting, and screeching. She was pleased to see her go, she was pleased to be lavished with sympathy. It was a high no drug could give. After Naomi, came, Liza. She didn’t want to think of that one. It was messy, not in terms of the act but the fact she almost got caught that time. She learned from that one, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes with Anabelle. As she stood on the edge of the step first step down she heard it again, the squeak.

“Squeakysqueakysqueakysqueakysqueaky” the sound was faster now she turned and watched as the teddy bear ran towards her, her mouth agape, body frozen. It’s furry paw gripped her ankle. She let out a scream as it’s unseen claws dug into her. She stumbled, arms waving as the bear lost it’s grip and she tumbled down the stairs, blacking out as her head hit the floor.

She woke up. Her head pounding and body aching in the area between the living room and dining room of her spacious house. Through the pain induced haze she tried to process what just happened. A bear, her daughter’s favorite, the one her husband named “Mr. Fluffy” had just ran up to her and sunk it’s claws into her ankle. A fucking teddy bear, just attacked her. It was difficult to process even with the pain. She tried to stand up, to get some Naproxen and the meds Doctor Wilson gave her for anxiety. It would steady her, and make her think rationally. Calvin would be home in less than an hour, she had to make sure the cops were here beforehand so he didn’t suspect anything, that was the big mistake from Liza. Being alone added suspicion and it made thinks more anxiety ridden and less sweet. The ice between the two was palpable then, she didn’t get much pleasure out of the sympathy of others, she sensed their suspicion. Having the cops there made things more believable, that is was truly an accident and that she had nothing to do with it instead of having to wait for the autopsy report. A bolt of pain shocked her back on the floor, she couldn’t stand, something had either broken or sprained during the fall, she had no idea what. Laying there she felt the panic build, she had to calm herself, think rationally and adapt to the situation at hand. She couldn’t get up that was certain, not without some pain. Her cell phone was on the dining room table. If she could could crawl over to the table and pull herself up to sit at the table she can call the paramedics and get the help she needed and deal with Annabelle at the same time. She reached out with her left hand and began to slowly drag herself to the table. Time was of the essence and while it was only a couple feet to the table it was a task that if done without urgency would be disastrous. Luckily she still had her strength and was pulling herself along at a decent pace. Then she heard it again. “Squeaky” the bear, that damn bear. She turned around as much as her head would let her. Nothing. The bear was nowhere to be seen. She pulled herself again. “Squeaky squeaky.” again that bear, tormenting her, but she had the last laugh. She raised her arm up and grasped the edge of the table, smiling in triumph. Then she saw the world turn a shade of translucent blue and felt the weight of Mr. Fluffy on her as the bag went around her head and he pulled it tight. She clawed frantically but this was one of the more sturdier shopping bags she had from the store. Her breathing became more panicked, she gasped, screamed for help but no good came, the bright light of the end came into her vision and all was done.

Calvin Bair came home to find both his wife and daughter dead. Jessie on the floor next to the dining room table, Anabelle in her crib. The worst part wasn’t the finding of the bodies, but the note on the table, written in Jessie’s perfect script. It told everything, how she poisoned Naomi and how she had suffocated both Liza and Annabelle. She also told how she even poisoned him, the time he thought he had ben down with a really bad stomach virus. She had snuck Anti-Freeze in his morning coffee. She was a monster, the question now was what next. Call the cops and of course, call their lawyer Van, too. The media was going to have a ball with this one, he needed to be protected just in case some snot nosed podcaster came snooping around for an episode. He picked up the phone and dialed nine-one-one. “Hello my name is Calvin Bair, I just found my wife and daughter dead.”

Meanwhile upstairs a glowing light filled Annabelle’s room. A girl, no more than 5 stood in flowing white. Her features were remarkably similar to the baby in the crib, changed only by the passage of time in the celestial real.  The girl reached out a glowing hand and patted the bear sitting in front of her. She only said four words, “Good Boy, Mister Fluffy.”