“We have to get home,” James began, “I have to save my mother before I’m a bum.”

“What? Are we out of money?” R-Dog said, terrified at the thought of being penniless in the forest. Feeling that even among the wild, currency most have some value.

“Snuggles, you mean?” Sarah asks Hank. And the name of the Laundry Bear hangs in the air, floating in the minds of the seated, glowing in the darkness.

“Yeah, Snuggles, the Laundry Bear.” Hank affirms, comforted by the thought of his furry visage and softening ways. He suddenly feels warm and fluffy and smells a whiff of detergent on his shirt.

“It—It has a name?” James asks, turning around to face the back seat. The Laundry Bear was sitting now in the floor of his laundry room, turning his mother’s torso upside down and gulping the contents into its greedy mouth like a demonic version of Winnie the Pooh. A small name tag was pinned to its chest, dripping with blood, which read ‘Snuggles’.

“That’s a commercial.” Sarah says, confusing Hank with the distinction.