A few weeks ago, my ex-husband showed up at my doorstep with a gift for our 4-year-old son, Ethan—a plush rocking horse. It looked harmless enough: soft corduroy fabric, sturdy wooden base, cute little ears and button eyes. Ethan was thrilled. He named it “Rusty” and rode it nonstop from the minute it entered our home.
My ex has always had a habit of overcompensating with gifts. After our messy divorce last year, he rarely visited without a toy in hand—some louder or more impractical than others. But Rusty seemed different. Thoughtful. Almost too thoughtful. Still, I didn’t want to overthink it. Ethan was happy. That mattered most.
At first, everything was perfectly normal. Ethan would ride Rusty in the living room while I cooked dinner or folded laundry. His giggles filled the house again. It felt… peaceful. But about four days in, I noticed something odd. Every time the horse rocked, there was a clicking sound. At first, I figured it was just a spring or some part settling into place.
But the sound didn’t go away. In fact, it got louder—and weirder. Not just mechanical, but deliberate. Rhythmic. Like something being triggered over and over again.
One evening, after Ethan had gone to sleep, I wheeled Rusty into the hallway to investigate. I flipped it gently on its side and rocked it. The click happened again, exactly halfway through each rock. I ran my hand underneath the horse, expecting to find a loose screw or maybe a broken piece of plastic.
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