Fear, and a wish to know what was making all that noise he heard, Harold looked around his bedroom and after a long scared minute he saw standing in a corner of the room, beside his chest of drawers was his baseball bat. Grabbing the wooden bat and slapping the thick end at his left palm, he thought it as a worthy weapon, if he would have need for using a weapon for defense.
Walking quietly, Harold made his way out into the upstairs hallway, stepping slowly down the wooden staircase to the main floor of the house. As he heard the sounds of things in the basement falling off shelves, as if whoever was in the basement were searching for something. Scared and apprehensive about his acting so bold, Harold thought about going down into the musty wet dark basement and his coming face to face with the unknown.
Suddenly, his eye caught sight of the small flashlight hanging on a hat hock there near the service door of the kitchen. The flashlight was a trinket friend Alex won in a fool raffle as a silly prize, but it worked well as a light. Harold grabbed the small flashlight, switching it on, he held it in one hand, with the baseball bat held soundly in his right hand. Feeling as prepared then to meet whatever was rambling about in the house basement, he swung open the door leading down into the dark unknown.
The damp basement stair steps made not a sound as Harold walked step after step lower into the dank abyss. The small flashlight place a four foot wide spot of light down the stair steps; as did the light cause the movement and sounds of stuff being moved to halt totally.
"Who is here in my basement," Harold said, his voice sounding like that of a scared man?
After an eternally long minute there came an answer, "Just me," said an obviously female sounding voice, though not scared like was Harold's!
"Just me, like who is me, who are you?" Harold asked, he stepping then off the last stair step to standing on the basement concrete floor.
"Oh Harold, you know me, or did know me before your sister grew older and discarded the likes of me, as forced to stay in this dark hole in the ground. I am Demonica, the furry half human, half monkey girl dolly that kept sissy happy for many years!" So said the very girlish and compassionate sounding voice, but coming from that monkey doll what Harold remembered so well and would like then to destroy.
"Who is here, and don't give that B.S. line about being a monkey girl dolly, dolls can't talk because dolls are not alive!" Harold said as he stood panning the flashlight around the basement dark.
"True, how true what you say, as most dolls were never alive, but some through the love given them come alive. I awoke and am alive, wishing for feeling love again, but wrapped in plastic bags and tightly so by rubber bands, my world here is more than dark, it is horrid!" The female voice said, as remarking what made sense to Harold, as what he recalled then the monkey dolly getting wrapped in grocery plastic bags and saved for posterity in the basement.
"I do not understand this, who are you, certainly not a dumb doll?" Harold asked, as heard a quick reply.
"Yes, I was made a silly doll friend for a young person. As some part of the endearing love given to me raised a spirit, a power what inhabits me, stirs me to want to live for a greater purpose. So, if you find me will you love me?" She asked, the female voice seemingly pleading for attention, wanting love, as seemingly wishing to give of her love.
"I do not like things or people who are Furries! If I find that monkey doll it will become as history, as I hate furry things!" Harold argued, knowing for sure the voice was of a person, a thief likely, and he was ready to defend or chase the person away.
"Ha, ha, ha, as I know better about you and your Friday night escapades with Alex, led by his older brother Mike. You three were infatuated then with a want to feeling what was born furry. As Alex held the reins to Molly the pony, you watching for her owner, as Mike did his fun. You liked furry ponies, telling Alex, phoned him after you felt bold and ventured to the pony farm. Ponies fascinated you then, so what changed as caused you to now dislike, hate what is as liking for being furry?" She said, knowing and telling what Harold never told to anyone other than Alex.
"I will kill you...!" Harold said, threatening what was for him and his reputation then as kept safe from those times when he was younger and more foolish.
"I think not dear Harold, as from my gift of living came a spirit, a power, and my wish to show love by giving. You threaten, but it is your memories of what you did that you learned to hate. As I can grant you now what you liked to feel and give affection..., yes, yes, why not, it might help change your mindset about they who feel a affection for what is furry." She said, as about then Harold tripped, stumbling, he fell, the baseball bat swung by his struggling arms to remained in balance; it struck his head and he yelled, "Ouch!"