Mr. Floppers was clearly possessed. He watched little Billy eating his breakfast, his beady black eyes cold and unfeeling. Billy had felt uneasy ever since his father shoved the still warm plush body into his arms a few days ago.

There was something not right about that bunny. Not right at all.

At first it was little things. The staring. The unmoving frown. Then Billy noticed the bunny seemed to move from where he'd placed him.

Last night he'd had a nightmare in which his fluffy companion crouched over him, opening his mouth to reveal a set of cold white fangs. He'd woken, sweating and screaming. Mr. Floppers had been on his chest, Billy couldn't breathe.

He screamed and screamed until his parents came in, trying to explain the evil that was the bunny. His father got that look in his eye, the one that said what a girl he was being. His mother held his hand until he was asleep.

The next day he knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of the bunny. He went into the yard to play, past the trees that marked the end of their property.

He dug a hole deep enough for the bunny and went to place him inside.

You don't scare me, he said.

The bunny's black eyes blinked. His mouth opened.

I should.

Billy felt a cold chill enter his body. He fell, dropping the bunny. Then everything was quiet. Everything was still.