I wasn’t supposed to buy it. It started as a joke. My friend sent me a video — someone on TikTok unboxing this weird little toy with huge eyes and sharp teeth. "Isn’t this your vibe?" they said. I laughed. “What is that? A haunted Furby?”
I didn’t plan to look it up, but the algorithm made sure I did. Labubu showed up everywhere: unboxings, mystery pulls, people styling their shelves with rows of the little creature. Creepy, but cute. Harmless… probably.
A week later, I ordered one.
The Box Was… Off
It came in matte packaging, sealed like a collector’s vault. Inside, the toy stared up at me. It was smaller than I expected. Its grin was wider.
There was something strange about its eyes — glossy, reflective. I tilted the toy. The eyes didn’t follow me, but I still felt watched.
I put it on my bookshelf. That night, I dreamt of it — only I didn’t remember the dream, just the feeling it left behind. Like static behind my ears.
Things Started Moving
The first time, I blamed myself. Labubu was on my desk when I woke up, not the shelf. I must’ve moved it. Or maybe I’d taken a photo and forgot?
The second time, it was in my kitchen. Then on my bed. Then… under my pillow.
I live alone.
I told myself I was tired. That I was overthinking. That the human brain sees patterns where there are none. But every time I moved Labubu back, it came a little closer the next day.
I Wasn’t the Only One
Late one night, I scrolled through the darker corners of TikTok. Past the shelf setups and hashtagged joy. That’s when I found them — videos people didn’t laugh through.
“Don’t sleep with it in your room,” one girl whispered. “Mine moved while I was filming.”
Another user posted a split-second clip. Their Labubu stood up — stood up — on its own, before the video cut out. Comments were filled with nervous jokes, but some were dead serious.
“It mimics my face.”
“It copies how I sit.”
“It watches.”
I turned mine to face the wall. It didn’t matter.
Then Came the Dreams
I started waking up at 3:11 a.m. Almost every night. Sometimes from a noise. Sometimes from nothing.
Once, I swore I heard my name.
Another time, I saw a shadow — small, bent, just beyond the door.
The dreams got worse. Not gore. Not jump scares. Just… unease. A feeling of being studied, measured, learned.
Labubu sat on my dresser like it hadn’t moved. Like it hadn’t memorized my habits. My voice. My breathing.
I Tried to Throw It Away
Twice. Once in the trash outside. The second time, I left it at a thrift store 15 minutes away.
Both times, it came back.
No door opened. No package arrived. I would just find it in my house again. Grinning. Head tilted in a way I hadn’t left it. Once, it was sitting in front of my mirror.
I stopped trying.
You think it’s a toy. A trend. A shelf aesthetic. But Labubu isn’t just a design.
It feels like a mirror. Like something that reflects not what you are — but what you’re afraid you’re becoming.
People say it’s cute. Collectible. That it brings comfort.
But if you stare too long into its eyes, you’ll feel it — that quiet, sticky fear.
That whatever’s inside Labubu… has already figured out how to become you
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