Furby Story

Hannah, my sister, and I liked to play tricks on each other. I remember mostly things that I did to her because, naturally, my tricks were much more hilarious.

One time when we were living in Sweden, I went upstairs and discovered that she was in the bathroom. I stepped up quietly and put my hand on the door handle, pulling it towards myself.  As she tried to open the door, she got agitated, yelling at me to let the door go. Finally, as she made one strong tug, I let go. The door smacked her in the face and as she said “Ow!” the door slammed shut again.

I remember once we both decided to jump out and scare each other. As we leaped out and yelled out, we both scared each other so then we both started screaming in surprise, which then caused another surprise scream. We just stood there screaming at the top of our lungs until we broke down in a fit of giggles.

One of my favourite torments was when I had been up in Hannah’s room chatting. As I walked out of her room, I turned a Furby around. She had this Furby on a shelf by her door, facing the wall because it freaked her out. So, naturally, I turned it around to face the room as I walked out and down to my room. About thirty minutes later, after I had fully forgotten I had even done that, I heard a blood curdling scream followed by the stomp-stomp-stomp of Hannah running down both flights of steps. She appeared in my doorway, frantic. “Emma! Did you touch my Furby!?”

I burst out laughing and said “Oh yeah, that was me.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and then glared at me. “You have to come up and dispose of it now.”

I followed her upstairs, laughing. Her fear only mounting as I tried twice to toss it in the trash can and it bounced right back out again. Finally, I stuffed it down and went back downstairs. What happened next -I don’t think she believes it wasn’t me – was that another Furby turned up to torment her.

I maintained for a long time that it was probably the cat, but about twenty years later, Abby admitted she had been stealthily observing the previous events, and it was her. We hadn’t even realised she had come home.

Anyway, Hannah decided to lay on the couch up there and watch some TV, her long hair hanging over the side. She said she felt a tug on her hair and she turned around to see one of my other sisters’ Furby. She was creeped out and ran into her room, shutting her door behind her. When she came out a little while later, the same Furby was sitting in front of her door. I’m relatively certain that this experience scarred her for life. She still can’t handle Furbies.