The chipped porcelain cat on the shelf seemed to stare, its painted eyes following Elias as he browsed the dusty yard sale. He hadn't planned on stopping, but the faded sign, promising "Treasures!", had snagged his attention. Now, his gaze was locked on something far more personal. A familiar, moth-eaten snout peeked out from a cardboard box crammed with forgotten toys. He felt a prickle crawl up his spine, a sense of… wrongness.
He bent down, ignoring the cramp in his back. There it was, Barnaby. Or rather, a shadow of Barnaby. One button eye was missing, replaced by a threadbare hole. The fur, once a vibrant gold, was now patchy and gray. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he picked it up. He hadn’t thought about Barnaby in… decades.
“How much for the bear?” His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears. The woman, a round-faced stranger with a floral dress, shrugged. “Dollar? Five?” Elias fumbled for a crumpled five-dollar bill, his fingers clumsy. He needed to get away, needed to analyze this.
He clutched Barnaby to his chest, the soft stuffing offering no comfort. Back in his car, he found himself staring at it, unable to look away, the old bear radiating a peculiar sense of dread.