Dr. NoSleep

You wanted to take it apart and teach your son about the chipboard and the synth vocalizer and how to... It killed my boy!

He plops the red and orange plastic electronic toy onto the counter and roughly shoves it at me, either no longer afraid of the thing or upset enough that he doesn't care.

I clear my throat, look about the store to see if any other customers have slipped in without my noticing, which would be impossible considering the annoyingly loud door buzzer we have.

Then I return my attention to the guy.

I'm sorry, but did you say this killed your son?

I ask, keeping my hands free of the toy.

Yeah, it's possessed, and it talked him into doing something bad.

Very bad.

It killed him, and you're going to make it right.

A lump forms in my throat.

Sir, this is a toy.

You play spelling games on it, and yes, this model can be disassembled in order to study the components, but I believe I warned against that when you purchased it.

His eyes bore into me.

I doubt he's slept in days.

He looks like it, and smells like it.

He just stands there, staring at me.

I shuffle uncomfortably.

I, um, am sorry to hear about your son, but I'm just a clerk here.

I want to speak to the manager.

He's out for the rest of the day.