I was ten years old when I got my first Furby. It was a Christmas gift from my aunt and uncle who lived out of state and didn't know me very well. After seeing it, my heart sank a bit, I had heard the horrifying stories about them.

The Furby was a furry, oval-shaped creature with oversized ears and large, bulbous eyes that glowed an eerie blue when it was activated. It was supposed to be cute, but somehow, its appearance screamed otherwise.

I remember pulling it out of the box and the Furby springing to life, its eyes lighting up and blinking at me. "Furby want to play!" it chirped in its electronic, sing-song voice. Shivers ran down my spine.

Despite my initial reluctance, I sat down and started to play with the Furby. It's what you're supposed to do when you get a Christmas gift, right? Especially from your aunt and uncle, who mean well but don't know you detest Furbys.

The Furby seemed harmless enough at first. It sang silly songs and played games with me. But then, the strange things started to happen. The Furby began to say things that I hadn't taught it.

It started with small statements. "Furby hungry," it would say. But then it started saying things that were eerie, almost sinister. "Furby see you," it would whisper late at night, its eyes glowing in the darkness.

I was scared but convinced myself it was my imagination. After all, Furbys were just programmed electronic toys. They weren't capable of doing anything, anything sinister, right?

Then, one night, I was awakened by the Furby's voice. "Furby want to play," it said. I looked over and saw its eyes glowing in the darkness, staring right at me. I hadn't even touched it before going to bed.

I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep. However, the Furby had other ideas. "Furby see you," it said again, its voice growing louder. I could barely contain my fear, realizing that this was not normal behavior for a toy.

I told my parents about the creepy encounters with my Furby. But they brushed it off, saying that it was just a toy, and I was letting my imagination run wild. I wish they had believed me.

The Furby's actions became more peculiar, even when others were around. Its eyes would follow people as they moved across the room, and it would start saying strange phrases without any prompt.

I decided to stop interacting with it, hoping that it would lose interest and stop. But no, the Furby seemed to enjoy its newfound independence and started acting even more bizarrely.

One day, while I was playing video games in the living room, the Furby called out, "Furby coming!" I looked around, and sure enough, the Furby was slowly moving across the table toward me.

I was taken aback, but then I discovered a broom had knocked it. The Furby was not supposed to move on its own. But it sure seemed like it had. Yet again, parents dismissed it as an accidental incident.

Later that evening, while I was alone in my room, the Furby started to make a strange, low growling noise. I couldn't believe my ears. Furbys were not programmed to growl.

At this point, I was genuinely terrified. The Furby was no longer a cute and innocent toy. It was a hellspawn, and I no longer wanted anything to do with it. But how to get rid of it was the question.

I decided to take action. I grabbed the Furby, went to the backyard, and buried it in the dirt. I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.

The next morning while having breakfast, I heard a familiar chirp. "Furby want to play!" It was coming from the backyard. I ran outside, and there it was, the Furby sitting on top of the dirt mound, pristine as ever.

This was it. The ultimate horror! I was dealing with not just a creepy toy, but now a seemingly invincible one. It had to be destroyed. I decided to convince my parents it was broken and needed to be thrown away.

Luckily, my parents agreed with me. They saw it turn on by itself and speak. They agreed that it was malfunctioning and said it would be discarded. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

The next day, my dad took care of it, and we didn't see the Furby again. I felt myself genuinely relaxing for the first time in weeks. The nightmare was over. Or so I thought.

One evening a few days later, I heard a faint sound. "Furby see you," it said in its sing-song voice. I looked around but didn't see anything unusual. Could it have returned?

I spent the next few days in a state of fear, wondering if the Furby would show up again. But nothing happened. Eventually, the fear faded, and I convinced myself that it was gone for good.

The strange occurrences eventually stopped. Weeks turned into months, and the memory of the terrifying Furby experiences slowly faded into the background. I thought I was finally free from it.

But every now and then, when I'm home alone and the house is quiet, I still hear it. A faint whisper in the distance. "Furby see you." My heart races, but when I look around, there's never anything there.

Perhaps it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. Maybe the traumatic experiences with the Furby created fears that still linger. Or maybe, just maybe, the Furby is still out there, watching me.

These days, I still avoid Furbys at all costs. The memory of that creepy, seemingly possessed Furby still sends chills down my spine. If I ever have kids, they're getting teddy bears and building blocks, but never a Furby.

I've learned my lesson the hard way. No matter how cute and innocent they seem, Furbys are harboring a potentially sinister secret. Who knows what lies beneath their fluffy exteriors and charming electronic voices?

Hellspawns, Furbys, whatever you want to call them, they're not a toy to be taken lightly. After all, who's to say that my Furby was the only one? Maybe there are more out there, waiting to unleash their terror.

Even after all these years, I can still see those glowing eyes in the dark, hear that sinister voice whispering in the night. "Furby see you." A chilling reminder of the terror that once was, and may still be out there.

So, if you ever come across a Furby, beware. Don't be fooled by its cute appearance and playful demeanor. Remember my story, and steer clear. Because you never know when your Furby may decide to show its true colors.

Of course, it's entirely possible that it was all in my head. After all, I was just a kid then, and kids have wild imaginations. But I'll never forget those eerie experiences and I'll always remain cautious. You just never know with Furbys.

So consider yourself warned. Hellspawns, Furbys, whatever you may call them, they're more than just an electronic toy. They're a symbol, a reminder for me, of the terror that can lurk in the most innocent of forms.

In the end, I'm not claiming that all Furbys are evil or possessed. Perhaps mine was just defective or maybe, as my parents said, my imagination ran wild. But when it comes to Furbys, I'm not taking any chances.

I guess, I’ll always be that ten-year-old kid who still feels a shiver run down his spine at the mention of ‘Furbys’. But hey, if there’s a moral to my story, it would be this: it's okay to be wary of something, no matter how cute it appears to be.