You have lived a pleasant life so far on Earth since the day you arrived out of the womb.

You were constantly showered with an abundance of toys and clothing, receiving endless gifts and treats.

But today it took a turn, as your father John had come home from deployment with toys as usual, but had brought the forbidden cactus.

The one that danced and jigged around, copying your every statement and breath and adding lively music in the background when you never expected it.

His wife said nothing of it, just holding you in front of him merrily, as in the inside you were screaming and kicking.

But you just didn’t. You had to be a good baby.

“Here you go, bonnie.” John placed the cactus in front of you, switching it on.

In the presence of this terrifying entity, silence is your only refuge, for any utterance will be echoed back with haunting precision, like a chilling mimicry in a cursed mirror.

Even your wails.