I don't remember my Great-Grandfather, my mother's grandfather. In the family, we called him Paw-Paw. He died when I was two years old. All my life though, I had a reminder of him. He gave me and my baby sister toys that we kept until we were adults.

First, allow me to elaborate on Sisser's toys. They were two dolls named "Big Baby" and "Green Beans." Big Baby was big but we have no clue where Green Beans came from. (Of course, I'm not one to talk about being a weird kid...) They survived until at least high school, although I'm pretty sure they're gone now.

I was given a teddy bear named Fuzzy Wuzzy. I used to sleep with him every night and he was my favorite stuffed animal. When I was in about the 4th grade our dog Tootsie, (a less-than-intelligent Cocker Spaniel forerunner of Bert and Ernie), got a hold of Fuzzy Wuzzy and chewed off his rubber nose and mangled his hand. A neighbor sewed up his hand but for his face, all we could manage was medical tape. The results were more Frankenstein's monster than anything else. But he was my favorite, so he stuck around.

Cut to today. Beeki and I were cleaning out a closet/bathroom when guess what we found? (I know that the term "closet/bathroom" doesn't exactly make sense. Sorry. You'll just have to go with it for now.) Alas, the years were not kind to Fuzzy Wuzzy. He never seemed creepy to me before... but now... well, see for yourselves:

I didn't know! I didn't know! I loved Fuzzy Wuzzy! He was my friend! My sweet snuggly friend! No one told me he was a monster. I was blinded by the innocent love of a boy for his stuffed bear. But now... well, even I can see that if I let him leave the house he would be quickly stormed by a mob armed with torches and pitchforks.

But I wasn't the only one who noticed that Fuzzy Wuzzy was supernaturally creepy. They say that animals can sense things like this. And usually I would immediately discount Bert and Ernie on account of their being colossally stupid. But...


Ernie knows something's just not right.

The fear in the air was palpable. I had no choice, I couldn't leave Fuzzy Wuzzy out. Ernie couldn't rest. So we distracted her and I hid Fuzzy Wuzzy in a pile under a bag. What we didn't count on was Bert actually paying attention to something other than food or her own butt:


Don't worry, Bert's lack of short-term memory took over and she's already forgotten.

So we had to rid the house of Fuzzy Wuzzy. He could not remain to haunt us. I'll always have those loving memories. But somewhere, down deep, I think that a part of me will always be haunted by my last encounter with my old friend...