I was scared to stay alone in my room, especially after I woke up one night to the gaze of Vili’s red X eyes. Vili was lying on my pillow, staring right at me, even though at night I would always make a warm, cozy nest for him on the floor, in the first place to protect him from potential bedwetting and secondly because I could barely stand his smell anymore. He smelled of death, and I would choke from it at night. My eyes, Vili shouted at me. Where are my eyes? I screamed and tossed Vili away, causing him to fall on the floor with a painful groan. For the first time I peed my bed while I was awake. Vili was whimpering quietly on the floor, so I got out of bed, carefully slipped my hands under his head, and placed him back in his nest. Although I was scared, I wasn’t angry at him. He was only a sick, demented plush toy. He didn’t mean to hurt me, not consciously at least.

Not yet.

The others reported similar stories about their plush toys’ disturbed minds. Our rich friend claimed that Egyes had been whispering terrible things in his ear all night about the endless, bleak darkness that swallows everyone like an insane father, and about the Black Emperor who ruled in its guts. The girl stated that Ferkó had attempted to sneak out the window – whether he wanted to escape or kill himself was not entirely clear – but after she thwarted his plan she could feel him pinching her feet and thighs so as to prevent her from falling asleep. After that she would sometimes wake up to find her plush toy lying on her chest with his mouth attached to her skin, as if trying to suck the flesh and the life out of her. Our friend with the glasses recounted that his plush toy walked in circles around the room, cursing and swearing and listing the names of those who had offended him, those who ought to be ended, whose heads should be hung on the wall of the Lego castle, whose blood should be smeared across the television screens.

My therapist maintains that these episodes were no more than violent fantasies, the products of a child’s imagination, which we brought to life in order to confront the unbearable stress and confusion we were faced with. Still, after a while I had to tie Vili up at night because he would often crawl into my bed, nauseating me with his foul breath, his burning gaze pointed at me, and clutching a tiny plastic sword in his hand. If I tied him up, nothing of that sort would happen; then I would only hear his painful groaning, his whining that overflowed with his terrible fear of death and his cursing of life. He cursed the one who brought him to life, who forced him to live and die, for he had existed in lifeless unconsciousness until then.