Fugleigh, the Zombie Teddy Bear
by Headley Hauser
with Nick Craver and Carrie Harman
Fugleigh was nestled for the night, tight within 8-year-old Carrie’s embrace. It was all very warm and cuddly.
“Bah,” said Fugleigh the Zombie teddy bear. He gnawed gently at Carrie’s ear – not so much as to wake her up and only the skin of the ear, not the cartilage. The missing ear flap on the other side of her head testified on how difficult it was to re-grow cartilage but Carrie was very clever at growing back ear skin.
Clever… The word made Fugleigh hungry. But Carrie had a math test in the morning. Well, maybe a little.
Fugleigh gently sucked at Carrie’s brain. Sluurrrpppp. Not too much now. Sluuuuuuurrrrrpppp!
Self-control was never a strong point among zombie teddy bears.
“Mmmmmmm,” said Fugleigh. “Good brains!” Fugleigh smacked his cloth and emaciated zombie teddy bear lips. “I think Carrie must be partially Chinese, because just seconds after I eat; I’m hungry again. I wonder where the cat is?”
Fugleigh found Muffinpie circling her food dish. There wasn’t any food in the dish and there wouldn’t be till morning, but Muffinpie just kept circling staring intently at the dish as if the food might appear any second and run away. Fugleigh approached and started walking behind the cat. Muffinpie glanced Fugleigh’s way and hissed, then quickly resumed the circling and study of her food dish.
Fugleigh stopped and waited. Muffinpie came around the dish and stopped, studying Fugleigh, then the dish. There was no room for Muffinpie to pass between Fugleigh and the dish, and if she went around Fugleigh, the zombie teddy bear would be between her and the food dish.
“Bah!” said Fugleigh.
The cat cowered. In spite of the fact that she had claws that could have ripped Fugleigh to shreds, the cat sat back on her haunches and howled.
“It could be,” said Fugleigh, “that this cat has no more brain matter to spare.”
For the next few hours, Fugleigh haunted the house looking for brains to eat. Carrie’s parents wisely kept their bedroom door locked, with not an ax or sledge hammer in sight. Fugleigh found an unusually intelligent cockroach, but in spite of the insect’s cerebral gifts, the total amount of brain matter wasn’t at all satisfying.
An hour before dawn, Fugleigh found himself back in Carrie’s room, staring benevolently, though ravenously at the little girl who loved and cared for him.
“I couldn’t really hurt her,” he told himself. “If only she didn’t have that math test today.”
Fugleigh heard the stuffing within him growl as the first hint of dawn came in the latticed window.
“Carrie doesn’t much like math anyway,” he said.