“Uh… Edgar.”

“Yeah.”

“What is this in the back corner of your closet?”

“Oh, it’s just Mr. Checks.” He said this as if that was supposed to mean something to me.

“Um… Okay… Why is it chained up?”

“That’s just so he doesn’t get out again.”

You see, in his closet was an old tattered baby swing. Inside that swing was a doll. It was just a fairly unremarkable little guy with a scruffy beard. It was caked in dirt and grime, but his slight and pink smile poked through. This was of course a little off-putting. But what gave me the most pause was how it was tucked away into the back corner. The multitude of chains that encumbered it only made matters worse. There was something really eerie about that to say the least.

“Uh…”

“Yeah we wouldn’t want him to get out again.” He said this was a dismissive laugh.

Though every fiber of my being screamed that this was odd and terrifying, he was so nonchalant about it. His confident and cavalier demeanor put an abrupt end to my misgivings. I grabbed Turtles in Time off the shelf and returned to play some more. Mr. Checks was quickly forgotten.

That is until I slept over there a few weeks later.