Turn down the lights because I have a scary story to tell. Everything you are about to read is completely true.
It started innocently, the way that these things usually do. The Bean was given a toy truck for his birthday. After unwrapping the present, we discovered that the truck went against our usual toy guidelines, which stipulated that toys that with lights and sounds needed to have an off switch (lest the added stimuli drive mommy and daddy to commit a violent act). Making matters worse was that the truck was motion activated. All it took was a slight nudge for it to make a loud engine sound, VROOOM!, followed by a HONK! HONK!
The boy loved this truck from the moment he saw it while I loathed it with the white hot passion that only a fellow parent will understand. But the Bean was crazy about his new toy, so I put up with the noise for his sake. Needless to say that it wasn’t long before the toy drove me completely insane. VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
Time went by and thankfully the toy was forgotten and heaped in the bin to live amongst the Bean’s other forgotten cars and trucks. But this truck, this evil truck, didn’t want to be forgotten. It would make itself known from the bottom of the bin. The kids would wrestle on the floor and we’d hear VROOOM! HONK! HONK! Somebody would walk past, VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
The truck soon began to torment me. There would be times when the toy would go off for no reason. I would be sitting in the other room and hear it. VROOOM! HONK! HONK! It began to happen at night, when the house was dark and I was the only one awake. VROOOM! HONK! HONK!
I finally had my fill of the wretched toy truck, so one day when the kids were out of the house with WonderWife™, I decided to do what I should had done long ago. I was going to end it.
I grabbed a screwdriver and slowly approached the toy bin. The truck seemed to know that I was coming and let out a VROOOM! HONK! HONK! as if to say, “What are you doing, DGB?”
I fished the truck out of the bin, flipped it over and gingerly went to work. But when I removed the battery cover, I was met with a most shocking sight:
It was completely empty! There were no batteries in the toy!
I recoiled and dropped the truck. How could this be? There was only one answer: this vile toy was surely forged out of pure evil from the fiery depths. There was no way I was going to live under the same roof as a possessed toy. I’d seen enough horror movies to know that doing so will always end badly.
I quickly took the demonic truck outside and tossed it in the dumpster. In a few days it would be off of my property and would no longer haunt me.
I imagine that the truck is now resting in some landfill, buried beneath trash and debris still making its ungodly noise. But somehow I don’t think I’ve seen the last of it. Each night when my family is asleep and I make my way through the dark house, locking up for the evening, I can still hear it…VROOOM! HONK! HONK!