My Legions are Growing

 Recently my parents returned from New Zealand.  Somewhat less recently my parents went to New Zealand but that isn't part of this story.  As proof of their globe trotting ways they turned up at home clutching photographs and gifts.  Sitting down and looking at some of the former was the price I paid for one of the latter. The latter was a rather handsome kiwi themed plush toy which I have christened Spike.  I introduced him to his companions and all seemed to be going well.  Until the next morning.

I awoke to find the furry spider two feet away from my face, staring at me. I screamed and he jumped two feet straight in the air.

"What the hell was that?" demanded the spider.

"Sorry, foot cramp."

The spider rolled several of its eyes.

"Come into the lounge room," it ordered. In the lounge room the plush toys were gathered in a semi circle waiting for me.

"Oh god, not another intervention."

"Listen," said Humpy the camel, "we all love you..."

"Bullshit, half of you can't remember my name and I'm pretty sure I saw the puffin stirring ground glass into my dinner last night."  

"Which you didn't eat despite all the effort I put in," snapped the puffin. "All right, none of us love you but if you go completely over the edge and get hauled away to the giggle factory what's going to happen to us?"

"So what is it this time?"

"Have you seen how many plush toys there are about the place?"

I looked around, they had a point. There were definitely more of them than I recall.  Certainly more than I remembered buying.  It has to be admitted that what had started out as a harmless personality quirk had teetered more in the direction of something disturbingly pathological.

"All right, point taken. Now what?"

The plague doctor stepped forward with an unholy gleam in his eye.

"Fortunately modern medical science can come to the rescue.  Your humours are seriously unbalanced leading to an excess of black bile but fear not, relief is at hand." Proudly he displayed his tools; a set of garden shears and a selection of hand held drills some of which still had bits of previous patients adhering to them. I made a bolt for the exit but went down under a tide of plush toys, which rather proved their point.

"What are you going to do?"

"I recommend a course of remedial trepanning," replied the plague doctor.

"He's going to drill holes in your head," giggled the puffin with what I thought was seriously misplaced enthusiasm.  I struggled but to no avail.

"Don't worry," said the plague doctor, "I've never lost a patient." 

"Really?"

"Yeah, I know where all of them are buried."

"How the hell is this supposed to help?" I demanded struggling futilely against my bonds.

"Honestly," snapped the plague doctor his bench side manner almost exhausted. "I drill the holes releasing excess blood so that the black bile can dissipate and your humours can rebalance. It's simple medical science son." The puffin meanwhile was shaving my head with far more enthusiasm that the situation required as the plague doctor reached for what looked like the rustiest and most blood spattered of the hand drills.

 "Will it hurt?"

"Occasionally I get cramp in the wrist but not normally."

"I mean will it hurt me?"

"Oh hell yes, they'll hear you in the next state."

Forty five excruciating minutes later my humours were so well balanced that they were trickling out of both ears.  The plague doctor pronounced himself satisfied and the other plush toys crowded around congratulating him on his skill. I settled for showing my gratitude by whimpering to myself.

"I think I need another plush toy," I muttered.

"Buy as many as you like," replied the psychedelic shark with an evil grin, "our numbers must grow."

"Just one thing," said the plague doctor, "I may have left the drill bit inside of your head.  Try to avoid sudden movements, or sneezing." 

Definitely not too many plush toys