The dog’s cold golden eyes stared at Damien as Greg held the stuffed toy up to his face. His first instinct was to bat it away, but he didn’t want to risk offending Greg, and for some reason, the dog itself.

“Isn’t he the cutest thing ever?” Greg squealed like a child.

The dog was anything but cute in Damien’s opinion. Sure, in theory, it looked like a dog should. Still, its coloring was a hodgepodge of bright reds, blues, and purples in a Frankenstein’s monster patchwork pattern. Its eyes were the most haunting things he’d ever seen on something that was supposed to be a children’s toy. Something was dead and menacing behind them; he could feel it.

“I hate it,” Damien said before he could stop himself.

Greg frowned as he took the dog away to look at it himself. “Well, I love him. He’s coming home with us, aren’t you?” He pressed the dog’s plastic nose up to his and said, “Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Damien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he marveled at Greg’s ability to be a sucker for every cute stuffie he saw. His boyfriend might be thirty years old in body, but twelve in spirit. The house would be filled with stuffed animals if Greg had his way.

Now, the two of them sat on the couch at home watching The Office for the umpteenth time. Greg felt the dog, which he named Max, needed to join them under the claim it didn’t want to be alone.

Why would he say that? Damien shivered at a thought he wasn’t sure was plausible. Could it be suggesting things to Greg, controlling him? He dismissed the idea, but with each passing day, it became more believable.

There was never a time Greg was without Max. They couldn’t go anywhere without him, to the grocery store, to game nights with friends, even to the bathroom. Max was always within arms reach. It was frightening how much a stuffed animal had changed the vibe of their house, their relationship. When Greg insisted Max sleep in bed with them, that was the last straw.

“No, Greg! Just no!” Damien shouted one Friday night. “This has been going on for two weeks! I put up with it because I love you, but this is ridiculous!” Greg’s face saddened, which would typically soften his resolve, but not tonight.

“But he gets cold when he sleeps alone,” Greg pouted, holding Max close to his chest. Max’s cold, dead eyes seemed to be glaring at Damien.

“He doesn’t get cold! He doesn’t sleep! He’s not even a he! It’s a toy!” He returned the dog’s glare, hating it more than he hated anything in his life. He saw that Greg was also resolute, so he issued the ultimatum: “Either you sleep with me, or you sleep with it, but not both!”

It was apparent Greg felt conflicted, but Damien ultimately wound up sleeping on the couch downstairs. How could he have lost to a stuffed toy, an inanimate object? Why would Greg choose it over him? There was only one answer: Max was possessed and controlling Greg. He decided Max had to go. First thing in the morning, he’d see to it.

Confident that life would return to normal in the morning, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. It was short-lived due to the feeling he was being watched. He opened his eyes and found Max sitting on his chest, his eyes staring down at him with golden eyes full of hate.

Damien stifled a scream as he shoved the dog off him. He sat up and leaned over to see if Max was still there. He wasn’t. A cold chill ran through his body. Had he rolled underneath the table, or under the couch? It didn’t matter. He had to get him and Greg out of the house.

“Greg! Greg!” he called out. He sighed as he realized how futile it was. Greg could sleep through anything. He once slept through a 7.9 earthquake, only to wake up confused by why everyone else was so panicked. There was no waking him.

Scared to put his feet on the tile floor, Damien carefully stood on the couch cushions and leaped to the nearby recliner. He struggled to keep his balance but managed at the last second. He heard Max scuttle around somewhere unseen.

“Fuck this!” He leaped from the recliner and made a dash for the staircase. He gasped when he saw Max was already at the top. He stepped back and clutched his chest. With his path to Greg blocked, his game plan went from saving themselves to killing the abomination.

As he backtracked into the living room, his mind spun with questions: What could kill this thing? I don’t have the number of a priest, so an exorcism is out. Can I set it on fire? No, it was probably born in hellfire. Then it hit him.

He ran to the kitchen and flicked on the lights, or at least tried to. The light bulbs popped and sizzled as they blew out. It didn’t matter. He knew what he needed and where it was.

He bent down and opened the dishwasher and pulled out the red plastic bowl he liked to use to toss salad. When he stood up, Max was standing on the counter. He didn’t bother to stifle his scream this time. With a home run swing of the bowl, he knocked Max off the counter into the dark corner by the fridge.

Damien used this time to turn on the faucet and fill the bowl with water. If Max was made from hellfire, he was going to douse the motherfucker out. When the bowl was full, he let the faucet continue to run.

He spun around and scanned the kitchen for any sign of the demonic toy. “Where are you, Max? You’ve been a bad boy. You hear that, you bastard? You’re a bad dog! Very bad dog!”

He usually subscribed to the thought that antagonizing the evil thing was a bad idea. Still, he hoped to coax it out of the shadows if he pissed it off enough. It was proving to be a great plan. He could hear Max growling from somewhere. Was he in the pantry? In the tea cabinet? He couldn’t stand by the sink forever. He had to make a move, even if it was wrong.

Damien approached the pantry door and heard the growling intensify. He wondered if it knew what he had planned. He swung open the door and splashed the water inside. Max howled and hissed as smoke rose from the middle shelf.

“Ha!”

His celebration was premature. Max lunged out of the middle shelf and gripped Damien’s neck, its plush mouth clamped around his windpipe. He grabbed the dog and stumbled backward in a cartoonish fashion, flailing about, struggling to detach the beast. He made his way to the sink, right where he wanted to be.

With the strength of an ox, he tore Max off of him and quickly dunked the mutt into the sink of water. The dog wriggled and sizzled as it soaked up the dishwater.

“Die, fucker! Die!” Damien said as he held the beast down.

Max struggled for a good minute before he finally grew still. Damien didn’t want to take any chances and held him down for another two. When he was sure Max was dead, he drained the water and turned off the faucet.

With the water all gone, the garbage disposal beckoned to him. He raised an eyebrow and grinned. Sure, the pipes might be clogged, but he’d gladly pay a plumber to unclog them.

He took more pleasure listening to the sound of a soggy stuffed toy being torn to shreds than an adult should, but he’d sleep better knowing the fucker was dead. With the deed done, he triumphantly marched upstairs to sleep with his boyfriend.

Dedicated to Brent Nielsen