The Search for Evil

She called me Evil. I didn't know why. I’m just a fluffy teddy bear with one eye slightly larger than the other, a quirk that makes me unique.

I still couldn’t figure out why she’d done it. I’d known Emily since she was a toddler when she clung to me at night as her guard against the darkness.

We were friends for years. She'd bury her face in my fur, squeezing me tight in excitement when she woke up each morning.

In her imagination and mine, we had adventures in sunlit gardens and under starry skies. But more than anything else, I loved the stories she would tell about the ghosts, ghouls, and goblins that lived in our house. It was enough to scare the stuffing out of you.

But after her parents divorced and her grandmother, who took her to bible study nearly every day of the week, came to live with us, I endured her angry tea parties without complaint—even when she spilled imaginary soda on my fur.

But last month, something changed. In a tantrum, after she tried to wedge a tiny bowler hat on my head and my ear got in the way, she started cursing me.

“Why won't you obey?" she screamed. “Why won't you listen to me? Grandma’s right. You are a bad influence. You’re going to hell!”

Snatching me by the neck, she ran and threw me into the hallway closet, and everything came tumbling down on me, burying me under family memories.

I shudder when I remember the sound when she slammed the door and walked away.

"You evil, evil bear. Let's see how you like the darkness, Evil!"

Still confused by her rage, I covered myself in a heap of musty jackets beside an old board game, Snakes and Ladders.

Days turned into weeks. In the darkness of my world, I pondered, why would Emily throw me away like that? Her only friend? I longed to comfort her at bedtime once more. I could hear her sometimes outside the closet, living a life that no longer included me.

I made friends with other castoffs in that cramped space – an old shoe, a music box, faded letters, and a photo album full of happier times. We kept each other’s company, but I missed Emily terribly.

Was she also lonely without me to cuddle at night? If she knew how lonely I was, she’d come looking for me, right? But, then again, no one knows how lonely I am.

For days, I listened to the sounds of the house – the clinking of dishes, the TV's murmur, Emily’s laughter and cries. But mostly cries. I wished I could comfort her like I used to.

I missed the warmth of her hugs as she told me stories about our fantastic future together. We’d travel to far-off places, climb the tallest mountains, and swim in the deepest oceans. Then, everything crashed.

Days turned into weeks. I imagined her playing with other toys, maybe a new teddy bear?

I was her confidant, her protector in the night. Did she remember when we went to Mars and came back in time for dinner?

I thought about our time together – the whispered secrets, the gentle way she'd fix my bowtie. We were inseparable. Did she recall those moments with the same fondness I do?

The house is quiet at night. I'd learned to find solace in the silence, but it's a cold comfort. I longed for the warmth of Emily’s embrace, the light of her smile. I tried to remember her face, but it was fading.

Then, one morning, I heard her crying in her bedroom and muttering that it had been forever since she hugged her dear Evil.

She paced around the room, trying to retrace her steps. Hoping against hope, I heard her footsteps behind the closet door.

The door creaked open, and a sliver of light pierced the gloom. I saw her silhouette first. She was opening the door! I could see her face. And then her smile where I could stay until I’m tattered and worn--the cutest little kid you ever saw.

“Evil!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and joy. She reached for me, her small hands gentle and familiar. As she lifted me from the darkness, the world shifted back into color and warmth. “I've been looking for you everywhere!”